Written on Her Heart

by Paige Rion

  WRITTEN ON HER HEART

  Book One in The Callaway Cove Series

  By Paige Rion

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2014 by Theresa Souders

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. No parts of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  To my husband for his unwavering support these past months. Thank you for your patience with my obsessions and belief in me. And in memory of my grandmother. Mom said you would’ve loved this one.

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER ONE

  Andi bit her lip and fiddled with the hem of her shirt. The assistant peered at her with frigid blue eyes above thick wire frames. Her light hair was pulled into a knot on the top of her head, and a halo of frizz surrounded her round face. “You may go through. Take that hallway there all the way down to the sitting room, and wait until either he or I call you in. The rest of you missed the cutoff for an interview,” she said to the throng of people that stood behind her.

  Her words were met with a cacophony of groans and protests. Andi hurried into the hallway before the assistant changed her mind.

  “The cutoff was at nine o’clock,” she heard her say to the others. “Do you think we have time to interview the whole godforsaken town? Now go!”

  Andi glanced behind her. The assistant was shaking her head and her glasses were falling further down her nose. “Callaway Cove,” she muttered. “Why the hell did he have to pick Middle-of-Nowhere, Ohio? The lake is the only thing worth seeing here.”

  Biting the inside of her cheek, Andi stopped herself from defending her hometown and hustled down the hallway of the enormous vacation home, pausing in front of the large French doors. She smoothed her dark, shoulder length hair and glanced down at her khaki skirt and white blouse. The outfit was terribly ordinary. Not dressy enough for an interview of this magnitude. An image of the 1950s, Chanel pencil skirt she had lusted over just last week flashed in her head. The one that cost more than a semester’s worth of textbooks. Damn her college budget. If only…

  She shook her head, clearing it. What mattered most was that she got this job.

  A bubble of excitement rose inside her chest, threatening to split her in two. An interview with the Ford Delaney. Renowned author. International bestseller. Nothing major. Just the best possible opportunity for a wannabe novelist.

  Yeah, no pressure.

  Andi swallowed hard and willed herself to open her eyes and move forward, but her feet wouldn’t budge. Come on, come on, come on… She needed this job.

  Her phone dinged, jolting her from her stupor. She shoved a hand in her purse to silence it, praying the assistant wasn’t nearby. Sweat beaded along her hairline as she glanced at the screen and saw a new text: Call me later when you get in.

  “I’m already in,” Andi mumbled, as she typed, Got in late last night. Something HUGE came up. Call you in a bit.

  She shoved the phone back in her purse and took a deep breath. “Okay, Andi Callaway, you can do this.” she whispered to herself.

  “Are you going in? Or do you plan to spend all day muttering to yourself and miss the interview? Either’s fine with me.”

  Andi spun around to face the assistant, who stared at her as if she were a bug under her shoe and she’d love nothing more than to squash her.

  Her face flamed. “Um…er…I’m going in. Thanks.” Great! His assistant already hated her.

  Inhaling, Andi swung open the door, stepped inside, then stopped dead in her tracks. The assistant ran into her back, nearly causing them both to fall. With a disgusted grunt, the woman stepped around an immobile Andi toward the desk at the end of the room.

  Andi blinked. The person in front of her couldn’t possibly be there. “Rachel, what are you doing here?”

  Rachel straightened in her seat, her eyes wide. “Me? Didn’t you just text—”

  Before she could finish, the door to the office opened, and Andi’s head snapped in that direction. “Carma?”

  Carma pushed her strawberry blond hair off her shoulders. “Rachel? Andi? What’re you guys doing here?”

  Rachel crossed her arms. “I was just about to ask you two the same question.”

  Andi’s gaze drifted from one woman to the other. Was this really happening? She had a shot at her dream job and had to compete with her two best friends?

  Andi tried for a smile, but the muscles in her face stiffened. “Looks like we’re all here for the same job.”

  “Well, thank you, Mrs. Obvious.” Rachel patted her perfectly coiffed blond hair. “I thought you weren’t getting in until this afternoon?” She scowled, then turned her glare on Carma and lowered her voice. “And what do you want this job for?”

  “Wait a minute.” Andi stepped forward, her arms out. She leaned toward Rachel, and whispered, “You knew about this opportunity and didn’t tell me? For how long?”

  Both women glanced away. Rachel examined her nails, picking at a cuticle. “A few days. What’s it matter, anyway?”

  “Uh, maybe because I’ve read every single Ford Delaney book five times over. Or because he’s my idol,” she hissed. “Or maybe the fact that I’m a creative writing major, hoping to be an author someday. Or because I dream to have even a margin of his success, and his connections could very well be the thing to launch my career? Or simply because you’re supposed to be my best friend. How about that?”

  Rachel shifted in her seat. “Well, maybe I need this job, too. Just because my reasons aren’t the same as yours doesn’t mean they aren’t important.”

  “Why in the world would you need this job?” Forgetting herself, Andi raised her voice. “You don’t even want to work, you want—”

  “I have a guess or two.” Carma plopped herself in a leather chair across from Rachel.

  “Shhhh,” Rachel hissed. Glancing behind her at the assistant, she added, “Do you want Kathy Bates to come back?”

  Andi turned when the large door in front of them opened. The only thing visible inside was the expansive view of Lake Erie. “Miss Rachel Beaumont,” a gravelly voice called out.

  Andi sucked in a sharp breath, the conflict with her friends lost momentarily in the swirling thoughts of the face behind that voice. The one that stared back at her from the back cover of all her favorite books. Oh my God. That’s him.

  Rachel brushed by her. “See you kids later. Wish me luck.” She winked and wiggled her fingers in a wave, then disappeared inside.

 
Beside her, Carma sighed. “She’s so irritating sometimes.”

  Remembering herself, Andi dropped into the chair next to her.

  “I need you to either flop this interview or leave,” Carma said, grabbing Andi’s arm. “Whatever you need to do.”

  “What? Why?” Andi narrowed her eyes. “First of all, I’m not the only one interviewing. Obviously.” She nodded toward where Rachel just disappeared.

  Carma’s eyes darkened. “That’s true, but you’re perfect for this job. You’re going to school to be a writer. You have the ambition. We both know there’s this thing about you. Ask Rachel—she’ll tell you. You’ll get it. I know it. You always get everything you set your sights on. Plus, I heard they only let in a dozen to interview. Apparently, the warden over there really narrowed us down,” she said, eyeing the assistant who sat at her desk across the room, squinting into a compact mirror and picking her teeth.

  Andi grimaced and turned her attention back to Carma. “So you want me to bail out?” She shook her head, trying to understand. “You know I can’t do that. I understand how badly you want to get out of Callaway Cove. And I know how hard you’ve tried the last couple years, but I just can’t pass up this opportunity. You want a ticket out of town to get away from your stepfather. This is my dream.”

  Tears formed in Carma’s eyes. Andi couldn’t believe she was getting this emotional over a job. It made no sense.

  “It’s more than that. It’s…” Carma sniffed. “Forget it.” She broke off and went silent.

  They sat across from each other for the next fifteen minutes, looking at everything but each other, until the sound of the door closing and the click of Rachel’s heels signaled her approach.

  “Miss Andi Callaway?” the same gruff voice inside the office called out.

  Andi stood and glanced back at Carma, taking in her pleading eyes, still moist from unshed tears. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

  Then, with all the courage she could muster, nerves dancing, she stepped into Ford Delaney’s office.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Ford Delaney. In the flesh.

  Andi tore her gaze away from him momentarily to close the door behind her.

  He sat at a huge mahogany desk on the other side of the room and motioned for her to sit in the empty seat across from him. Andi swallowed hard, took a seat and tried to keep her breakfast from reappearing.

  His messy brown hair curled above his ears and the collar of his dress shirt. He looked younger than his pictures. Younger, even, than his thirty years, with a golden tan and kind eyes. His book flap picture didn’t do him justice.

  She bit her lip and sat with her back stiff, hands clasped, while she watched him swivel in his seat and stare out the window at the peaceful blue lake.

  Should she say something? Introduce herself? No, that would be dumb. He’d just called her into his office; clearly he knew her name. Still, silence never felt so suffocating, and the niggling urge to fill it gnawed at her.

  “That’s some view, huh?” Gah! She sounded like she was on a bad date. She closed her eyes briefly, and when she opened them, she started in her seat.

  His eyes—rich hazel with flecks of golden honey—were on her. If she wasn’t already paralyzed by his mere presence, his gaze alone would’ve done it. Those eyes were enough to stop a girl’s heart.

  His full lips parted and the rasp of his voice broke the silence. “Surely you’ve heard of my situation in the press. What would your price be to sell me out?”

  “What?” Andi frowned, wondering if she misheard.

  He put his hands together, forming a steeple with his fingers and pressed them to his mouth. “The media has no idea where I am right now. Eventually, they’ll catch wind, but for now, they can only speculate. Thanks to your small town’s allegiance to all its residents, temporary or permanent, it may stay that way for a while. But if you had an opportunity, how much would it cost for the media to get information from you?” He waved his hand in front of him as he spoke. “Say you had news about something new I was working on or some personal discovery crossed your desk. What would be your price?”

  “I, uh, I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t tell anyone anything.” Andi had expected a lot of questions from him but not this.

  She rubbed her damp palms on her skirt. He shifted his gaze, catching the movement, and smiled. “Yes, you would. Everyone has a price, Miss Callaway.”

  “It’s Andi. And I don’t.”

  She may have been a lot of things, but she wasn’t a snitch and she couldn’t be bought. Just the insinuation sent a wave of irritation crashing through her. She stared back at him, but he said nothing, twirling a pen in his hands and holding her gaze until, eventually, he turned away to resume staring out the window.

  Had she done something to give him a bad impression, already? As successful and talented as he was, he certainly was tipping the scale of unusual.

  Sighing, Andi dropped her perfect posture and leaned onto the desk, placing her palms on the smooth surface. “Listen, I want this job but not for money. And I certainly don’t need to sell some story to the press—your location or anything else.”

  He turned back to her, his brows arched.

  Now that she had his attention, she continued. “Growing up, my father always said life isn’t worth living unless you’re doing something you love. He did what he loved for a living—still does. That’s why I’m here.”

  Ford leaned into his desk and folded his hands. His expression gave little away. “So, you’re saying you’re here because your dream is to do research and coffee runs for a bestselling author?”

  Andi smiled. “No. I’ll be honest. I want to be you someday. Professionally, that is. I want to get published, be a novelist, and I want millions to read my work. The opportunity you’re providing would be a big stepping stone.”

  “I thought you didn’t care about money?”

  “I don’t. I just want my books read and for people to love them. For my words to be the last thing people read before they go to bed and the first thing they reach for on a rainy day. I want my books to be a reprieve, an escape. As long as I have a roof over my head, my laptop and food, I’ll be happy.”

  The corners of his mouth curled and spread into a smile, revealing perfect teeth. Holy cow—Ford Delaney just smiled at something she said.

  “Well said, Miss—” He paused and glanced down at her resume. “Andi.”

  When he glanced back at her, his smile vanished. “Tell me what you know about me. About everything that’s going on.”

  Andi shifted in her seat. Was he serious? She knew everything, but somehow that didn’t seem like the thing to say. Was knowing more or less better? She wasn’t sure, so she decided on the truth.

  “I know everything in your novels is true. Or at least, that’s what they’re saying. That the Cedar Creek series is based on your life, as well as some of your others. I know a couple people have come forward to sue. It’s come out or been speculated that you are the main character, Jake McDonald.”

  She kept going, unsure of whether she should stop, unable to read him. “The media has gone crazy over the stories because you’re huge. All your books have been made into movies, and I’m sure your dating celebrities and models over the past two years hasn’t helped any.”

  The truth was that Ford Delaney’s name had been in the media prior to this scandal—ever since he’d met super-celeb Talia Ridge on the set of the movie of his book, Black Beach Bay. Since then, he’d acquired the reputation as a Hollywood playboy, which spurred Andi’s next statement.

  “It’s rumored your latest conquest dumped you when the scandal about your books broke.”

  He raised his hand for her to stop, squinting, so his eyes crinkled around the corners, as if something she’d said had hurt him. Andi snapped her mouth shut, and after a moment of silence, he asked, “So you go to Ohio State with a major in creative writing?”

  “Yes. I just finished my junior year.” Good. Solid ground.
These kinds of questions she could answer.

  “If this position works out, I may keep the new employee on to work for me, which means moving to my home base in New York. Are you willing to leave school for that? Or is this only to be a summer job for you?”

  “I would leave school.”

  When he raised his brows, she elaborated. “I’m not going to say I’m not hoping you might one day read my work, refer me to your agent or help in some other way. I’d be foolish not to want that and an even bigger fool to try and convince you that isn’t my hope. But even if you don’t do any of that, this job will allow me to see how you work and teach me about the ins and outs of the publishing world. No Free Verse or Humor in Writing class will do that.”

  Ford rubbed his jaw. Andi couldn’t be sure but she thought he might be hiding a smile. “This job is for a local, only because I need someone to show me around. I’m—”

  “No one knows Callaway Cove like me.” She stilled after the words left her mouth. Had she really just interrupted him?

  “And,” he said, dragging out the word, “I’ll need someone to do research, type things and run for coffee or lunch, especially if the press finds me. There may be times I need you to drop off my dry cleaning. My other assistant used to do all this for me, but with the extra media attention, she is busier on the public relations side of things, and she recently took a second PR job with another writer, so she’s not always here and will occasionally need to travel for business. Needless to say, making sure I have clean laundry isn’t on the top of her priority list. I need to know those menial things aren’t beyond you.” His eyes bore into hers while he played with the pen on his desk.