by Shirley Jump
Trent paused a long time, because if he said anything, he would start to cry. It had to be the tumult of these last few weeks, or maybe just the simple words, I’m proud of you.
“I wish we could go back there, Dad.” Trent sighed. He traced over the statement on his desk, the words he was going to have to say very soon. “I’ve got some hard decisions to make, and I’m not sure which way to go.”
“Then take a breath, Trent. Pull it into your chest and hold it there, and think about the things that matter most. The moments you want to hold on to with everything you have. When you have to make a choice to go right or left, always go in the direction of the things that matter most.”
Trent considered those words for a moment. The manuscript sat on his desk, waiting for him to approve it for the publisher so they could print it and launch his life story. An incomplete story. He couldn’t change that, but he could change the next moment and maybe give his dad more than a sunset to hold on to. “Say Dad, do you think it would be okay if I came home for dinner on Sunday?”
There was a long silence, so long that Trent worried his father would tell him no. Then he heard Dad take a breath and a sob catch in his throat. “That would be more than okay, Trent. And maybe after we eat, we could go watch the sunset over the valley?”
“I’d love that, Dad.” He cleared his throat and swiped away the emotion in his eyes. “I’d love that a lot.”
An hour later, Trent sat in his conference room with Sarah on one side and the reporter from Outdoor Fun on the other. Trent was sure the reporter, a thin guy in his twenties with dark-rimmed glasses, had no idea what kind of turmoil he’d gone through in the last couple of weeks. He set a tape recorder between them, preparing to do the interview that meant the future for his company, and all Trent could think about was Kate.
“So, Mr. MacMillan, I would like to start with talking about the book.” On the table beside the recorder, the reporter had a printed copy of the tabloid story about the ghostwriting. “This article says Ms. Winslow was your ghostwriter. That you, in fact, didn’t write any of the words in that book.”
The statement Sarah had prepared, polished and memorized in his head was ready to go. Ms. Winslow served as an editorial consultant only. I wrote every word in Be True to Your Nature. I’m a hundred percent the author of my memoir, and Ms. Winslow was merely a go-to for advice on structure and grammar.
Sarah gave Trent a questioning look. She nodded toward the statement, printed and sitting by Trent’s elbow. A couple of sentences, that would be all it took to set the company to rights again and get things moving in a positive direction. A couple of sentences, and the book would launch without a hitch and the IPO would go smoothly. A couple of sentences, and he could erase the publicity road bump caused by the tabloid article.
Even though the printout with the reporter was facing away from him, Trent could see Kate’s face in the picture the fan had taken on the mountain. She was standing to the side, watching Trent pose with the couple they’d met on Mt. Cascade. Her gaze was intent, and a half smile played on her lips. She looked like…
Well, like she was proud of him. And like she loved him.
The book was heading to the publisher later today. The complete story of Trent MacMillan’s rise to fame and fortune, the back cover copy said. The truth about how a small-town kid took a hike up Machu Picchu and before he knew it, became the owner of a multi-million-dollar company.
“Mr. MacMillan? About the book? I just want to verify that you wrote Be True to Your Nature.”
“No, I didn’t.” The words slipped out, almost under his breath. Sarah gasped. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her pointing toward the statement, her face full of panic. His main focus, though, lingered on Kate’s face, on the honest emotion in her eyes. “Kate Winslow wrote every last word.”
“Wait…you’re saying that tabloid story is true?” The reporter leaned closer, his eyes wide behind the owlish glasses.
“More or less, yes.” Trent flipped the prepared statement over. He wasn’t going to need that. “I have known Kate Winslow since college. We dated for about a year and broke up shortly after graduation.”
“So that rumor is true? You two did date?” The reporter scribbled notes, as if he couldn’t wait to get this exclusive down fast enough.
“We did. And because of that, there was some understandable history between us. In fact, when I found out she was the ghostwriter for my book, I initially said no,” Trent said. “But then I realized no one will know me like Kate knows me. Plus, she’s a phenomenal writer, and I knew she would do a great job.”
“So you hired her even though you two had a past history?”
He nodded. “I hadn’t seen her in almost fifteen years, not until she was standing in this very room a few weeks ago.” He could still see her curves, silhouetted against the view outside the window. That determined set of her jaw and the sparkle of interest in her eyes. “She and I started working together on the book that night.”
“And you weren’t dating during the writing of the book?” When Trent shook his head, the reporter plowed forward. “Then why was she reported to be seen wearing your jacket?”
“It was raining the night we had our meeting, and she forgot her raincoat.” He chuckled, remembering how Kate had been swamped by his jacket yet had looked so cute in it, he would have given her every piece of his wardrobe. “She forgets her raincoat all the time. It’s sort of…adorable.”
Sarah’s brow arched, but she didn’t say anything.
“And was it Kate Winslow’s foot in that picture from the hike?”
“Yes, it was. I took her along with me to sort of see my world and to talk some more. She was never much of an adventurer back in college, but she took this in stride. She surprised me.”
Had she changed that much since college? Or had he changed? It seemed like they got along better now, understood each other better, and that she was more open to being a part of his world. Even if it cost her everything.
The reporter leaned back and gave Trent a grin. “Seems you have more than just professional feelings for her?”
That wasn’t a question Trent was going to answer, not to a nosy reporter from Outdoor Fun. Trent tapped the reporter’s notepad. “I want to make sure that when you write this article, you give all credit for the book to Kate. Mention how brilliant she is, what an incredible writer she is, and how she took my box of Post-It Notes and scribblings and turned it into something…well, something pretty amazing.”
The reporter nodded as he wrote all those words down. The recorder whirred in the background. “So you’re pleased with how the book turned out?”
“I’ve read it several times, and it’s kept me captivated, even though it’s my life story, which I know pretty well.” He grinned. “She has this way of weaving suspense and emotion into everything from climbing a mountain to rescuing sea turtles.”
The reporter glanced up. “There’s a story about rescuing sea turtles in there?”
“No. But there should be.” Trent got to his feet. “Call me or email me if you have any other questions. Sarah can provide you with an excerpt from the book. Just make sure you get the author’s name right. K-A-T-E W-I-N-S-L-O-W. That’s the only name that should be after the word by.”
He left the conference room and headed for his office.
Sarah stopped him in the hall, a little out of breath from hurrying after him. “What…what was that?”
“A little bit of the truth.”
“You know this could be disastrous, right? We needed to keep the image of the company pristine, and this whole social media firestorm is only going to get worse now.”
Trent considered her words. Sarah had worked for him for a long time, and he trusted her guidance. Almost every time. What had Jeremy said? That it was Trent’s gut instincts that had brought them all this far. He was
going to trust those instincts again right now, just as he had with the reporter. “The day I got the idea for this company, I was standing on the top of Machu Picchu and looking out over the ruins of the Incan civilization. I saw a world that stairstepped up the side of that mountain in Peru, one level after another, until they reached the pinnacle.”
“And you saw trash, and that gave you the idea of the eco-friendly outdoor apparel company. I know the story, Trent. I wrote the company brochure.”
Everyone knew the story of the genesis of GOA. Even Trent had thought he knew every detail, but it turned out he had forgotten a thing or two. “I was thinking about that day this morning when I woke up. I was flipping through some of my pictures from then, because the publisher wants to include them in the book. And you know what I saw?”
Sarah sighed. “I give up. What?”
“People who got to the top because of each other. There wasn’t one Incan who decided, ‘hey, I’m going to take this spot on the apex of the mountain.’” He could see the excavated site before him in his mind, rows and rows of stone remains, built one above the other. “There was layer after layer of homes and buildings, built by people who worked together for the common good. More than a hundred sets of stairs, over a hundred and fifty buildings, all created by the Incan people together. No one stamped their name on it. No one took sole credit. It was a team effort, just like GOA.”
“What does that have to do with the book?”
“I wouldn’t be here, with this company as successful as it is, without you and Jeremy and the dozens of other people whose hard work has helped build GOA. And I wouldn’t have the book that I have without the hard work of Kate.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “She was the one who built all the structure and filled it in with walls and roofs that I could set the next layer on. She was the one who created all those steps that took my scraps of paper and turned them into a mountain. My taking credit for that would be wrong.”
A look of understanding dawned in Sarah’s eyes. “And not true to your nature.”
“Exactly.”
Sarah let out a long breath, still holding a little worry in her features. “Okay. I’m not sure it’s going to work, but I trust your instincts, Trent.”
“And it’s about time I did too.” He said goodbye to Sarah, then grabbed his jacket and headed out the door into a bright, crisp day with a sweet hint of spring in the air.
Seventeen
Kate perched on the edge of the sofa, her stomach in knots, waiting. The slight rustling of paper was the only sound in the room. She’d worn her lucky T-shirt, because she figured she needed all the luck she could get today. When the last page was turned, Kate leaned forward. “Well?”
Angie set the printed pages on the end table beside her. “It needs work.”
“I figured that. But is it…good?”
“No.” Angie drew in a breath, and a second later, just before Kate fell apart with disappointment, the serious tone in her voice yielded to bright notes. “It’s incredible. I loved the relationship between the sisters and their mother. It made me tear up several times.”
“I’m glad.” She’d worked so hard on those pages, drawing on the emotional connection with Grandma Wanda as inspiration. “Not that I made you cry, but because that’s exactly what I was going for with those pages.”
“You should want to make me cry, and make every reader cry,” Angie said. “That’s what creates memorable, compelling books that people remember and share and recommend. I’ll put together some thoughts about revisions and send them to you. Once those are done, I have a few editors in mind already who would love this book.”
“That sounds awesome.” Kate had to restrain herself to keep from bouncing with joy. All the time she’d been writing, she wasn’t sure how the book would turn out, or if she really had what it took to produce a novel worth publishing. Penny and Grandma had only read snippets, but Angie had seen the entire book and loved it. “I’ll make whatever changes you ask for.”
Angie picked up the printed manuscript and leafed through the pages. “I can tell that when you wrote this, you went with your instincts, rather than some predestined plot. You took risks with what you were writing, and too many authors don’t do that because they’re so afraid to step outside the box. There were a couple of times the book went left when I expected it go right, and that was awesome.”
“It was?”
“You have good instincts for story, Kate. That’s what has made you such a success as a ghostwriter. So when you see my suggestions, take them as just that, suggestions. Trust what your gut says about which changes to make and which changes won’t work. I have no doubt you’ll make this even better.”
“Thank you. I’m so excited you liked it, and I can’t wait to see it in print.” She got to her feet and slung her tote bag over her shoulder. “I’m going to go home and get right to work.”
“Before you go…” Angie grabbed her tablet, pulled up a page and turned it toward Kate. “I assume you’ve seen this interview?”
Below the online article for Outdoor Fun, Trent’s picture stared back at her, familiar and painful. She recognized Moulton Falls behind him and the poses Carissa had set up for the photo shoot that day. The memory shredded Kate’s heart, and she tore her gaze away. “No. I…I’ve avoided anything to do with that project.”
“Well, this one you shouldn’t avoid.” Angie slid the tablet over to Kate. “I highly suggest you read this.”
Was it going to be another speculative piece that trashed her as a writer? Or the public statement Trent had promised to make relegating her to the role of editor and consultant? Kate settled back in her chair and at first, only skimmed the article. Her jaded view began to slowly soften as the words filtered through. Kate Winslow is the sole author… Incredible writer… Knew exactly what questions to ask and how to capture my truth… Couldn’t have done it without her expertise… Team effort, with Kate pulling most of the weight… Took my scattered notes and turned them into a story I couldn’t put down.
Kate raised her gaze to Angie’s. “He said all this?”
Angie nodded. “He made it very clear that the book is your work, not his. The reporter says that later in the story.”
“But I thought…” Kate shook her head. This didn’t make sense. It wasn’t what they had agreed to say, and not what Trent had planned. “I’m just the ghostwriter.”
Angie grinned. “Not anymore. This ghost is out in full view of the public now.”
Great. No client would ever trust her with a nondisclosure agreement again. “That’ll ruin my chances of ever working on another project.”
“Actually, it’s had the opposite effect.” Angie motioned toward her desk and a stack of pink call notes sitting beside her keyboard. “My phone hasn’t stopped ringing with people looking to work with you. I’ve got several emails to return, and a bunch of voicemails to answer.”
“That all happened in the last couple of weeks? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I knew it would distract you from what you needed to be doing—working on your own book. Ghostwriting can be a side business, but really, you’ve put your dreams on hold long enough. This”—she hefted the manuscript Kate had worked so hard to write over the couple of weeks—“is amazing. Your voice is beautiful, and your story is rich and emotional. I want to see this on a bookshelf, not languishing in your computer.”
Kate laughed. “Okay. I get it. I’ll go home, make some revisions and start another book. You happy?”
“Delighted. I can’t wait for the world to see how Kate Winslow creates a fiction story the reader just can’t put down.”
The echo of Trent’s words in the article caused an ache in Kate’s chest. She’d ignored his calls and texts for weeks. Had he been trying to tell her he was going to tell the world she was the real author? Or had this story been just ano
ther publicity move? “I’m just so surprised Trent changed his story. I wonder why he did it.”
“You can ask him yourself in a minute.” Angie cleared her throat. “He wanted to meet with me to discuss the book and asked if there was a time anywhere close to when you would be here. Apparently, he’s been trying to reach you for a while.”
“I’ve been ignoring him.” Her landlord had turned away several flower deliveries from her building, and Kate had sent every call to voicemail. She’d deleted the messages before she’d listened to them and had a stack of unread text messages from Trent. The only email she had responded to was his short list of corrections—sending the revised book back to him indirectly.
“Maybe,” Angie said gently, “maybe it’s time you stopped being a ghost there too.”
Before Kate could answer, there was a knock at Angie’s door. The sound startled Kate. Her pulse raced, and she fought the urge to bolt before her heart got broken a third time.
“I can send him away or ask him to come back later. What do you want to do?”
Kate glanced at the tablet, at the selfless act Trent had done, saving her career over his company, over himself. He’d come clean with the truth, no matter what it cost him, because of her. The least she could do was thank him. “Let him in.”
Angie crossed to the door and opened it. “Trent, hi. Nice to see you. Kate’s already here.”
Kate’s heart stopped. She half expected Trent to turn around and leave. Instead, she heard the familiar notes of his deep voice.
“Good. I was hoping to speak to her.” He skirted past Angie and stopped in the center of the office, quiet, almost shy. His hair was a little long and brushed across his brows, almost blocking his piercing blue eyes. He had on the same fleece jacket he had given her, over a white Henley like the one she’d worn the day of the hike. She wanted to curl into him and never leave. “Hey.”