by Shirley Jump
Trent nodded. “That’s who I want. Average Joes. Find a diverse group of stories. From the guy who bought our running shorts to do his first 5k to the long-distance cyclist riding the hills of Tennessee. I want the stories to be ones everyone can relate to.”
Jeremy fiddled with his pen, a nervous tic that said he was still thinking through the wisdom of Trent’s idea. “And the goal of these is…?”
“To show the investors what GOA is all about. There will be press coverage of the book launch, and I think we should start laying that positive press track as soon as possible. The message is easy: the investors might be about the bottom line, but we here at GOA want more out of our business and out of our lives.” Something Trent had forgotten in the last few months, but vowed to change going forward. The bowling had been a departure from the mundane sunrise-to-sunset days in the office, and he needed to do more things like that. The ideas his brain had generated after he’d gotten home were proof enough that getting out of the office was good for him and the company.
Of course, some of that residual excitement could have been because of spending time with Kate. Her smile. Her words. The way she’d traced a baby sea turtle in his palm. He could still feel her hand there, and the outline she’d drawn.
“I’m not so sure the investors are going to be all touchy-feely, you know,” Jeremy said, drawing Trent’s attention back. “Like you said, they’re only going to care about the bottom line.”
“Sometimes people need a reminder that there’s more to life than business.” The first person who needed that was himself. Outside this building, a big world waited, a world Trent had spent far too little time exploring lately.
“I’ll put it in motion,” Sarah said. She made a note, then reached into the folder beside her and pulled out a stapled pile of papers. “By the way, the results of the employee survey are back from HR.”
“Let me guess. They want more vacation time and less work hours?” Trent chuckled as he flipped through the report. “I would vote for that.”
“Actually, the number-one suggestion was getting rid of the glass walls.”
Trent looked up. “What? Why?” He scanned the open space beyond the conference room. In a single glance, he could see every one of his employees at work. He could wave to George in Sales, or give Leslie a thumbs-up for her great customer service. The entire floor had a light, airy, cooperative feel to it, just as Trent had planned.
“Well, they say that the glass walls make them more distracted and reduces privacy. If someone’s having a bad day, they don’t exactly want the entire office to know about it.”
Trent’s brow creased. “The entire purpose of the glass walls is to build a cooperative, supportive environment. Switching to traditional partitions would erase that.”
“Maybe not. The employees—”
“Need to get used to the environment I created. Being open and honest is the first sentence in our mission statement, and that includes the glass walls.” Trent set the survey aside. He didn’t want to argue this, not when he had so many other things on his mind.
“How about we try a middle ground?” Sarah suggested, unwittingly echoing Kate’s words from last night. “We could let them hang some posters in their spaces or put up a curtain or—”
“No.” Trent was rarely curt with his employees. For some reason, the whole idea of a middle ground irritated him. Maybe because he’d never found one with Kate, and she’d reminded him of that last night. Maybe because Kate kept questioning how open and honest he was really being in his life and in his book.
It didn’t matter. They were over, and whatever happened after they were done working together would be a friendship at best. “I want this company to have the look I planned and created when we do press about the IPO—”
“And the book,” Sarah added.
The book. Trent both dreaded it and couldn’t wait to work on it again, because the book came tangled with Kate. And everything to do with Kate seemed to become more and more of a mess every day. “The glass walls aren’t going anywhere. I want that clean, open aesthetic for any photos and interviews with the media.”
“You’re the boss.” Sarah got to her feet and gathered up her files. “Oh, about the book launch party…I think it might be good to invite members of the press. We can talk up the buyback program, tie it in with a preview of next season’s designs. I think it would give GOA some much-needed positive press.”
Trent still wasn’t sure the IPO would work out. Investors could be fickle, and it could all backfire. He’d built GOA from the ground up, and going public with stock options and all that entailed was like putting his baby out in the world to be judged—or rejected. He’d always told himself he’d be content running a small, profitable company. Until GOA became a huge, unwieldy thing that kept him away from the very activities that had formed the basis of his approach.
Either way, too much was riding on this to have doubts. “Invite the press,” Trent said. “Let’s show everyone how amazing Get Outdoors Apparel is, and will be.”
Three days of basically chaining herself to her computer, and only communicating with Trent by email and short phone calls, had resulted in fifty pretty decent pages. Kate built on what she knew about Trent from college, because he still hadn’t opened up much about his childhood or his life in the last few years. Everything he’d emailed her had been corporate—press releases, media articles, end-of-year review reports. None of it was personal, and none of it fit the theme of the book. Somehow, she needed to get him to open up more and give her that true, unvarnished look at himself and the company.
Well, sort of true and unvarnished, at least when it came to the college years. She’d left a gaping hole in Trent’s history—a Kate-shaped hole of truth. Putting herself in the book seemed weird, because she had no idea how Trent felt about the year they had dated or how their relationship had impacted him. In the end, Kate decided that meeting her hadn’t changed anything when it came to GOA, so she left out that part of his personal history. But when she read the pages over, the paragraphs seemed as hollow as a half-filled bottle.
Charlie came over, slinking his body against her leg. He let out a plaintive why-are-you-ignoring-my-not-even-close-to-empty-food-bowl meow.
“You have plenty of food, silly cat. I filled your bowl an hour ago.”
Charlie vehemently disagreed. His tail flicked along her calf, and his meows became louder.
Kate gave him a head rub. “Silly cat. Dinner is at six. You can wait.”
Charlie purred for a second, then walked off in a picky-cat protest. The clock chimed three, which meant Kate had just enough time to run over to Grandma’s for a quick visit before she met Loretta at that party. She’d almost forgotten about it until Loretta had texted her the invite a few hours ago.
She checked her phone for the hundredth time since she woke up. Nothing from Trent today. No How are you? Had a great time bowling. Thinking of you.
Of course there wouldn’t be anything personal from him. They weren’t dating. They weren’t even technically friends. They had a working relationship, and working-relationship people didn’t send thinking of you texts.
As she threw on some shoes and brushed her hair, her gaze strayed to the phone at least a half a dozen times. On the short walk to her grandmother’s house, she checked it another three times. Not a word.
Kate didn’t feel so much as a smidge of disappointment. Nope, not at all.
“I made cookies,” her grandmother said as soon as she opened the door. Grandma Wanda’s bright orange shirt burst like a flower over the long, pale green skirt she wore. On rainy days, Grandma always seemed to bring something sunny in exchange. “I had a feeling it was a cookie-needing day.”
Kate laughed. “I swear, you can read my mind.”
“No, dear”—her grandmother cupped her cheek—“I can read your face. You’ve been look
ing like something is troubling you lately.”
Kate used the excuse of hanging up her raincoat and umbrella to avert her gaze. Talking about Trent would only make her think about him more often. If there was such a thing as more often than ten thousand times in the last six hours. “A little stressed about work, that’s all. You know how I get when I have a tight deadline.”
“Or a difficult client.” Grandma led the way into the kitchen and started filling a kettle to make tea. “Another overly-in-love-with-himself race car driver?”
“No. Worse.” Kate sighed and dropped into a kitchen chair. Who was she kidding? Not talking about him wasn’t going to make any of this any easier. Her brain circled back to his sky-blue eyes and that mop of hair that never seemed to be perfectly parted either way. “Trent MacMillan.”
Grandma spun away from the stove, still holding the kettle. “That nice young man from college? The one who broke your heart, and so now I don’t think he’s such a nice young man?”
That caused a little laugh on Kate’s end. Grandma, always defending those she loved. “He’s still a nice young man. And a very successful one. His company hired me to write his memoir. Which means spending a lot of time with him.”
Grandma put the kettle on a burner and turned on the flame. “And that’s hurting the heart you thought had healed?”
“Does it show that much?”
Her grandmother nodded and slid the platter of cookies across the table toward Kate. “It’s a good thing I made cookies.”
The warm, rich scent of chocolate and peanut butter filled the air. Kate picked up one, fresh from the oven, and took a big bite. They were a blissful treat that might ease some of this constant ache in her gut.
The sugar hit her palate with an immediate rush of ahhhhh. Cookies might not be the healthiest way to stop thinking about a man she shouldn’t be thinking about, but she didn’t care. “These are awesome, Grandma.”
“I’m glad you like them.” While she waited for the water to boil, Grandma sat at the table and fussed with the linen napkins, folding and refolding the edges. The nervous gesture spoke volumes about how Grandma worried, even though Kate was well into adulthood. Kate’s mother had always said Grandma Wanda could do enough worrying for an entire country full of Mother Teresas. “So, what is happening with Trent, dear?”
“I’m supposed to be working on his memoir, and I am, but then we somehow ended up going out to dinner and bowling and…” Kate sighed. “It felt like a date, and even though I know that even entertaining the thought of dating him again was crazy….”
“You did.” Grandma’s soft hand covered Kate’s. “You used to be in love with him, honey. That’s to be expected. And chances are, he still has some feelings for you.”
That night, Trent had stood so close to her, close enough to kiss. He’d touched her, a brief, whisper of a touch, but every time, Kate had felt a zing run through her veins. Even now, just thinking about it gave her this fizzy, giggly feeling she hadn’t had since she was young.
Did he still hold a remnant of feelings for her? If so, the days since their date that wasn’t a date had been as devoid of emotion as a chalkboard. Their conversations and emails had been businesslike, almost distant.
“He’s not acting like it,” Kate said. “Either way, the book is a rush job, so I’ll be done in a few weeks, and he’ll be out of my life again.”
“And you’re already kind of sad about that?”
Her grandmother could read her well. Kate didn’t have to say a word, just give a little nod, and Grandma leaned over to wrap her arms around her. Grandma pressed her cheek to her granddaughter’s, and the soft scent of L’Air du Temps whispered between them. “He was a silly man to let you go in the first place, and if he’s still that silly, you don’t want him anyway, right?”
Kate laughed and nodded. “You’re right. I don’t.”
“Good. That’s my girl.” The tea kettle whistled, and her grandmother got to her feet and began fixing two cups of tea. As she always did, Grandma Wanda used the delicate porcelain cup and saucer sets with the rose patterned bases and gold rims.
“You always use those,” Kate said. “Aren’t you worried the china will get broken or chipped?”
“Now, what good is my best china doing inside that dusty old hutch? It should be out here, with us and the linen napkins, celebrating.”
“Celebrating?” Kate thought a minute, scanning a mental calendar. “It’s an ordinary Friday at the end of March, Grandma.”
“Ah, but it’s also another day when the sun rose. Every morning that we wake up and see that sunshine is a reason to celebrate.” As if on cue, a low rumble of thunder rolled through the air, and rain began to patter the windows.
“This is Seattle, Grandma. It’s always raining, not sunny.”
“But the sun comes out at the end of every storm, doesn’t it?” Grandma poured some milk and sugar into matching serving dishes before adding them to the tray that held the cups. “Which means every day has a reason for using the good china.”
Kate laughed. “That’s logic I can’t argue with.”
“So, what’s else is new in your world, my favorite granddaughter?” Grandma waved off Kate’s attempts to help, picked up the tray and crossed to the table. The hitch in her step made the cups chatter against the saucers.
“I’m still your only granddaughter, so I can’t be the favorite.” It was a familiar refrain, as warm and comforting as the cookies. If there was one thing in life Kate could depend upon, it was Grandma Wanda. Maybe now she could repay at least a little of that love and support. “Nothing else is really new. Except for… this.” Kate pulled a check out of her pocket and put it on the table. “That’s enough for a new furnace and a plumber to fix that pipe.”
Grandma hesitated for a second, staring at the numbers, then her eyes began to water. She sat down slowly, sliding the tray to the side as she did. “That’s too much, Katie girl. I can’t let you do that.”
“You practically raised me, Grandma.” And she had. Kate had spent more time here, with the plants and the cookies and the warm hugs, than she had at her own house. “You’ve done more for me than anyone else in my life. Now it’s my turn to do something for you.”
“But…that’s so much money. How…” Her grandmother paused, then looked up, realization dawning on her face. “From working on Trent’s book?”
“He has a very tight deadline and a budget with a lot of zeroes.” Kate smiled. At least one good thing was going to come out of this crazy, torturous alliance with her ex-boyfriend. “Let me help you. I have plenty left to pay my bills.”
“It’s just so generous, honey. I don’t know how I could ever repay you.”
Kate reached for the plate and picked up another dessert. “Make more of these cookies, and we’ll call it even.”
To get through spending time with Trent and writing his life story, while writing herself out of it, she was going to need a lot of cookies. A lot.
Seven
Kate pulled up to the restaurant right as the skies opened up. There was no valet parking and no nearby spaces, so she ended up pulling into one of the last spots in the lot. She leaned over to look in her back seat—
And no umbrella. No raincoat. They were back in her apartment beside the door, drying off after her walk to Grandma’s earlier today. The time had been tight when Kate had gotten home, so she’d hurried to get ready, and left in a rush. Without any raingear. Again.
The only thing in the backseat was the fleece jacket she’d borrowed from Trent after they’d gone to the bowling alley. As soon as she had gotten into her car that night, she’d tossed it in the back, because having the scent of him against her skin made her think about him altogether way too much. Even now, just seeing the pale-green soft fabric, she remembered the feel of his hand on hers, the tender way he’d draped the jacket over her. Prote
ctive and sweet.
She tried not to inhale as she slid her arms into the jacket, tried not catch his cologne or remember his touch. She failed.
Kate hurried across the parking lot, hunching into the jacket to protect her hair and dress from the rain, then ducked into the hotel entrance. The lobby opened up to a Twenties’ themed bar and restaurant, already teeming with attendees for the party. Kate tugged the fleece jacket off, shook the worst of the water onto the carpet, then draped it over her arm.
The crowd in the restaurant seemed to move as a unit, with conversation and laughs flowing between the groups as easily as water running down a hill. Kate lingered on the fringes of the room, unsure and hesitant. She didn’t see Loretta anywhere, or anyone else she knew. Stepping out of her comfort zone and just jumping into a conversation was akin to bungee jumping off the Space Needle—somewhere in the realm between not going to happen and never ever going to happen.
A passing waiter gave her a glass of champagne. Kate clutched it and took tiny sips, glad to have something to do with her hands. She smoothed her black dress over her hips and tried not to look out of place.
“And so I told my editor, if she wanted me to put a dog in that story, she was going to have to write him in herself,” an older man with a thick white beard said to a young woman in a pale purple dress. “I’m not the kind of author who gets pushed around by my publisher. You make sure you stand your ground, miss, or the next thing you know, you’ll be writing a Pomeranian into your political thriller.” With that, the older man moved toward the bar, hefting his empty rocks glass in the direction of the bartender.
“Can you believe that guy?” the younger woman said as she turned toward Kate. “If I ever become that kind of diva, shoot me.”
The woman, who looked to be around thirty, had a wide smile and long blond hair that she’d twisted into a messy bun on the top of her head. She thrust out her hand and gave Kate a smile. “I’m Penny Wilkins. I don’t write political thrillers, and I love Pomeranians.”