by Jill Jaynes
“Got the stuff sorted into stacks, Mags. These binders and pile of old L.A. Times are going to the recycle bin.”
“Thanks, Noah. Great.” She sidestepped a pyramid of paper and grabbed her laptop and notes from the desk. “Just label the stuff you think I might want to look over. I’m going to work upstairs and dodge the dust.” Plus, she wanted to keep the MM project a secret for now.
Maggie climbed the back steps to the second floor and shouldered her way through the door to the flat. The scrumptious aroma of apple pie still lingered in the air. She’d dropped the pie off at the station first thing that morning. Thankfully, Swinton had been out on a call.
She’d grown to love her small place in such a short time. The three-room flat above the offices came with the lease. Her uncle had lived there for years. With what little extra money she had, she’d made the place bright and airy and fun. She’d painted and hung cute curtains. A shelf held her favorite books along with a collection of seashells she’d picked up on the beach.
Maggie loved all the windows, especially the one in the living room looking out to the marina and lighthouse. She’d shoved her small dining table under it and set up her laptop. She lifted up the sash. A warm breeze laced with the wildness of open ocean ruffled the gauzy curtains.
Within a couple of minutes, Maggie brought up the website.
“Yes!”
Carter Culhane.
Maggie sat back in her chair. There he was, a very nicely cleaned-up version of Nick Carraday. Dark, wavy hair, swoon-worthy handsome face, clean-shaven. Those signature eyes: one turquoise green, the other sapphire blue. He must have been wearing contacts at the Honey Bee. His online photo album pictured him with his black cat Felix. She recognized the photo from a gossip rag. Seeing him with Karma, along with the certain way he’d smiled, clinched it for her. She’d hustled out of his place as soon as she could to check if she was right.
Wow! Culhane, Celebrity Magazine’s Handsomest Man of the Year and Most Eligible Bachelor. Bestselling author of dozens of thrillers, many of which had been made into movies. His latest, Lost and Found, had been number one on the N.Y. Times bestseller list for twelve weeks. He was the subject of countless gossip rags with a different beautiful woman on his arm for every fancy party. The website showed his trendy glass and chrome New York penthouse apartment—a far cry from where he was now.
Maggie got to work outlining her article. Front page. Huge headline. She’d have to think about what angle to take. She worked for a couple of hours, filling in known facts about the famous author. Thirty-four, younger than she thought. She wasn’t surprised to learn he’d been a reporter back in the day. Yes, this was going to be ginormous. Maybe she should think about selling the story to another publication first. Didn’t some rags pay ten thousand dollars for celebrity news?
Wait. No self-respecting writer who called herself a journalist would do any such thing. She’d do this the proper way. She’d interview him and ask his permission to run the story in the Gazette.
Maggie’s hullabaloo balloon burst. Culhane was obviously here incognito, his laughable disguise aside. He was probably telling the truth when he said he needed to get away. Was he burned out? Were his cold symptoms related to a more serious illness? Only one way to find out. She’d ask him, even though she knew he’d never agree to an interview.
Something else besides having to ditch her paper-saving headliner dug at her subconscious like a determined little sand crab. Something to do with Nick Carraday. A vague—disappointment.
She’d begun to really like Nick while they shared soup. He was funny, apologetic. Generous to offer his critique of the paper. And anyone who talked to cats was prime in her book. She had hoped he’d turn out to be just as he said, a guy who needed to get away from some kind of high-pressure job. No one special. A guy she could maybe get to know better while he was here. To vaca-date.
Really, Maggie? Are you that desperate?
She hadn’t thought she was desperate at all. She put dating and romance aside while she licked her wounds from her ex-boyfriend Traitor Trevor and got the Gazette back on its feet. Her bio-clock tick-tocked, but at twenty-nine she still had plenty of time to find Mr. Forever Right and future father to her four kids.
Maggie heaved a sigh. Right. Plenty of time.
She heard someone calling from downstairs. Noah.
“Mags, your landlord is here.”
The rent wasn’t due for three more days. Maggie dragged herself from her chair. No good came from a personal visit from Leonard. What could he want now?
* * *
Carter checked in the mirror, tugged his wig in place and then jammed his Yankees ball cap over it. He fussed with the hair that stuck out until satisfied he looked somewhat human. His eyes watered with the new brown contacts. He regularly wore blue ones to even out his eye color, but coupled with a cold and a new lens supplier, these contacts felt like he’d picked them up off the beach and stuck them right on his eyeballs. He donned the Clark Kent no-prescription glasses.
Last night he’d rinsed out Maggie’s container. He went through the paper, jotting in the margins, circling columns, redlining some prose. He hoped she wouldn’t be insulted. Again. Since he felt a whole lot better this morning, especially after writing a pretty decent scene last night, he decided to deliver both to her. Besides, he wanted to see her again. Just for a Maggie Muse fix, of course.
“So, what do you think? Acceptable?”
Karma gazed up at him with adoring eyes. “Meow.”
“Yeah, that’s what you always say.” Carter stroked her sleek fur. Karma arched her back in appreciation. “Let’s hope this cheesy disguise still holds.”
He gathered the newspaper and container and opened the door. Maggie stood there with fist upraised, ready to knock.
“Hey, good timing.” Carter noted her long hair all sexy-messy loose and her wide-eyed surprise. “I was leaving for your office.” He waved her in with the newspaper.
“Oh yeah, my container.” Maggie walked past him and put her bag on the sofa.
This time she wore navy capris with a white tee. God, she was cute, but something was off about her. Her sunshiny self had gone behind a marine layer.
“Can we sit and talk?” She perched on the edge of the sofa beside her bag.
“I hate that question.” He sat across from her in the armchair. His heart did a slow ka-thud in his chest. Karma jumped up on the wide arm and rubbed against his shoulder. He gathered the cat in his lap. “What’s up?”
“A bunch of things. But let’s start with the most important. Well, not sure it’s the most important, but it sure is…”
He waited a moment to see if she’d continue. “Let’s start with that anyway.”
She blew out a breath. “I know who you are.”
Damn. “Who am I?”
“Carter Culhane.”
His heart rate shot up. A dozen thoughts raced through his brain. Find another getaway spot. Pack. Leave on the next stage outta town.
Leave Maggie Muse.
“I can see you’re upset.”
“You think? But, hey, you don’t have to tell anybody. You haven’t told anybody yet, have you?”
She shook her head.
“You’re saving the big reveal for the Gazette. Big, splashy headline.”
“I was. But I was going to interview you first, get your permission and write an in-depth article.”
“Was.” His heart settled back down.
“I realized you’re in disguise for a reason. You don’t want anyone here to ID you and let the world know where Carter Culhane is.” She sighed. “So I’m pretty sure you’re not going to want to do an interview.”
“You’re right. To tell you the truth, and this is off the record, I hit a brick wall with this book. Damn writer’s block. Never had it before. I decided to get lost for awhile and find my mojo again.”
“It happens, Nick—er, Culhane.”
“But you said I wasn’t the
most important thing on your mind.” Disappointing.
Maggie fidgeted with the strap on her bag. “Just the usual with a small-town weekly—finances. The paper barely breaks even so there’s nothing left over for new equipment, my living expenses. My savings are almost gone.”
“And this big story about the infamous Carter Culhane in their midst would help sell newspapers.”
She nodded. “But all this might be a moot point. The owner of the building wants to sell his prime location. I don’t blame him.”
“Sorry, Maggie. I saw a couple of vacant storefronts in town you could check out.” He mulled over her problem for a moment. Should he? What the heck. “Tell you what. For keeping my identity a secret, I’ll help you whip the paper into shape. Not that it sucks, but I have some ideas that’ll help your bottom line.” He waggled the redlined paper at her.
Her eyes lit up. “Really?” She reached for the newspaper and scanned it. “Oh, doesn’t suck, eh?”
“Nah. Your actual writing is great. If you have time now, we can go over some ideas.”
“What about your writing? Or are you still blocked?”
Carter smiled. “After you left yesterday I had a breakthrough. I think you’re my muse.”
“Me? That’s—great. Glad I could help.” Maggie looked at her watch. “Let me call Noah, my intern. I’ll tell him to start setting up the next edition. Only the two of us are on the payroll. Well, no payroll, since we both work for nothing.”
While Maggie made her call, Carter took a minute to go to his room and remove his wig and itchy contacts. He ran a hand through his hair. Ah, utter relief. At least now he had a greater appreciation for what he put his characters through when he disguised them.
He grabbed a couple of water bottles from the fridge and joined Maggie at the kitchen table. She looked him over. “Isn’t that better, Culhane?”
He nodded. Unscrewing the cap from one of the bottles, he took a swallow.
“I was hoping the scruffy beard was fake.”
“Sorry. I planned to scrape most of it off tomorrow.”
She continued to stare. “Your eyes are so beautiful.”
“I blame my mom.”
“She did good.” Maggie smiled, and then sighed.
“What?”
“Nothing. Let’s do this.”
For the next two hours he went over everything he’d marked in the newspaper. He shared ideas for generating more revenue while she wrote on a large yellow notepad. They discussed the wisdom of going completely digital except for a free, ad-enhanced handbill for tourists with a provided link to subscriptions. He found her to be bright, receptive, funny and self-deprecating. She was unlike most of the women he dated, who dangled their assets from their earlobes and wrists.
She pulled her chair closer as they worked. Her knee brushed his every few minutes. She was a fidgety little thing, driving him crazy in a strangely erotic way. Under normal circumstances, if Maggie were like those other women, he’d have made a move long before now. But she wasn’t, and he wouldn’t, and knew he’d pay the price tonight in a cold shower and sleeplessness.
Soon they were done. Maggie talked about growing up as an only child in a loving family. Of course, perky Maggie was from Sunnyside, an old-fashioned middle-class Queens neighborhood. He talked about his large, boisterous Irish-immigrant family in Woodlawn, the Bronx.
“So Maggie, what did you want to be when you grew up?”
“A brilliant, respected journalist. I was thrilled when I got a job at the New York Times. Wow! The Times. I started out as a cub reporter grinding out puff pieces, but I never moved off that desk. I thought I’d come a long way when I inherited my uncle’s paper.” She laughed. “Here I am in Moonlight Cove writing puff pieces again. You?”
“Big dream—a television news anchor. I settled for being a reporter for Newsday, handling the NYPD until the fiction bug hit ten years ago. I loved all the publicity after I hit it big and loved the sweet life in the celebrity limelight. But, for the last year or so all the fast living has seemed to sour on me.”
“Really? You tired of the parties, the beautiful women?”
“Not to mention the relentless paparazzi.”
Karma took advantage of an available lap and jumped up on Maggie’s, circled once and curled up with a purr so loud that they both laughed.
“Any heartbroken boyfriends you left behind in New York?”
“Hardly. I dumped my almost-fiancé after he stabbed me in the back. The traitor went for a feature writer’s position he knew I desperately wanted. I know I would have gotten it, but he lied to my boss, then called me a hack.”
“The moron. He didn’t deserve you.”
Maggie smiled. “Thanks. I’m an expert at reading people, analyzing them. I don’t know where I went wrong with him.” She stroked Karma’s back in a way that had Carter all hot and bothered. “So, why do you think you’re experiencing writer’s block now?”
“Don’t know. I have this great premise I sold to my publisher about a crooked cop who masterminds a bank heist of six million dollars. Wrote a general outline, so I knew where the book was going. I got into the first two chapters then my words just dried up.”
“How long ago was that?”
More knee kissing under the table. Did she just rub her leg against his? On purpose?
“Culhane?”
“Uh, yeah. About the time I found out one-time friend Jack Buckney had the exact same idea and was going to publish a week before me. My publisher moved up my deadline by three weeks.”
“Buckney. Wow! He’s such a big name. Coincidence of course.” She raised an eyebrow.
“I’m not so sure. In any case, I’m under the gun to get this done within the next six weeks.”
Maggie tapped her pen in a steady rhythm on the table. She was deep in thought with furrowed brow. Carter didn’t interrupt her process. He loved looking at her.
“Okay. Let me lay this out for you.”
Maggie moved closer, disturbing Karma. Did she know she was now within lip-kissing distance?
“A, you hit it big with your first book. Boom. Instant success. B, the parties, the fame, the money and the women were great. You loved it all.”
“The women—yeah.”
“Three—”
“C.”
Maggie narrowed her eyes at him. “Three years in the fast lane made you jaded, the pressure to perform grew and grew until you—”
“I can still perform.” Carter waggled his eyebrows.
“—reached the breaking point. Your creative juices dried up.”
“I hate when that happens. The juices—”
“Culhane, I’m serious.” She cuffed him on the arm. “Your problem is not the story you’re writing or Buckney. It’s your lifestyle. You’ve realized the way you’ve been living is artificial. It’s not authentic. Your subconscious is rebelling. Think about it.”
“And you know this because, uh, you’re good at analyzing people?”
Maggie blew out a breath. “Exactly. You are a simple man. No offense.” She laid a hand on his arm.
“None taken, I guess.”
“I can tell you’re elemental in the way you live here. The way you dress here. Your relationship with the cat. And with me.”
“And what relationship do I have with you?”
“I’m pretty simple, too. Uncomplicated. Low-maintenance. Good candidate for a muse.” She squeezed his arm and gazed at him earnestly. “You’ve begun to loosen up. You’re back to writing, right?”
“Yeah.” But he was far from loose. In fact, he was on the way to rigid. Lucky his bottom half was under the table. “What if I wanted a complicated relationship with you?” He covered her hand with his own.
Maggie’s eyes widened. She ran the tip of her pink tongue around the seam of her mouth and then bit her bottom lip. Carter’s pulse shot up.
“With—me?”
“If I didn’t have this damn cold, I’d kiss you right now.
”
Maggie smiled. “Too bad. I shoulda brought more chicken soup.” She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “Will that keep you for awhile?”
“Hardly.”
She got up and gathered her notepad and pencils. “Your muse is ordering you to get back to your story, Culhane.”
He saluted. “Aye, aye, Cap’n.”
After Maggie left, Carter sat at his computer considering what she said. Maybe the burnout he felt about his crazy fast-paced lifestyle was the cause of his writer’s block and not the story itself. Maybe a major life change was in order, and just maybe he’d like Maggie to be part of it.
Chapter 4
When Maggie returned to the office, Noah was gone. He had left a small, neatly stacked pile of folders and binders in one corner with a note asking her to look them over. He’d either file or dump them, depending. The room looked like an entirely different space—clean, tidy, spacious. She took a deep breath. No sneezing and wheezing. Maggie would enjoy the place while she could, and start looking for a new one this week.
She intended to get to work on the next edition right away, eager to use some of Culhane’s suggestions about increasing ads and revenue-generating content, but she found herself with chin in hand, daydreaming as she gazed out the window. She was so attracted to Carter Culhane. Her stomach did a double flip when he came out of his room all de-Calladay’ed with tousled dark hair and magical eyes.
But what had her walking on sunshine was that he seemed interested in her, and more than just for her muse-ability. He opened up about himself, shown her his vulnerable side. But in the end, Culhane was a world-famous writer, a hot babe magnet. He was out of her league. What did he see in plain old Maggie Henderson? She never fussed with herself. Preferred comfy clothes over trendy. She wore little makeup, hair either loose or tailed. Life was too short to waste time in front of a mirror.
Well, she’d see where this summer fling-thing took her. That’s all he could be looking for. She wouldn’t be the one to initiate any make-outs, though. She was not desperate. Culhane would have to be the cheek—or wherever—kisser next time. And she’d love it to be wherever. Meantime, while everything was fresh in her mind, she’d type up her notes about him. Maybe by the time Culhane was ready to leave town, he’d allow her to run a feature story on him in the paper.