“You know she went in there, thinking you weren’t going to follow her.”
Trevor shrugs and takes an immediate right, following close behind his sister. “I’m right here,” he tells her. “Still here,” he says again after a few minutes. He continues, making Jenna throw daggers at him with her eyes. “If you need anything, sis…”
“Oh my God!” Jenna stomps off in another direction.
I can’t help but laugh as he wanders off after his sister. “Mom,” he says as he looks up from his phone before he pockets it, “is she supposed to be going over there?” He points in the direction where the college-age undergarments are replaced by thong underwear with sheer bras. A large screened wall is directly in front of us showing the latest trends in intimate wear.
“Don’t look so surprised, Trev. Your sister’s a young woman, and there’s going to be a point–”
“Going to be a point for what?” Heath’s voice startles me.
Spinning around, I see him standing there with a knowing look on his face. “Heath!” I smack his shoulder. “You know I can’t stand it when you scare me.”
“I know,” he counters back.
“What are you doing here?” I haven’t talked to Heath since the birthday blowup. That was last week. I’m sure he wants to forget, and so do I. We were both wrong in the way we acted. Not being forthright with Heath about Liam was shady on my end, and if Heath wants to act like nothing happened, then I’m all right with that.
“Trev texted me that he was done shopping with you guys.”
When I give Trevor the stink eye, he throws his hands up in defense. “I’m sorry, Mom, but you know I can’t stand how long she takes. I thought it’d be best for my own well being that I depart from this adventure.”
“You’re supposed to be my ride or die, Trevor. How can you jump ship?”
“What were you talking about when I walked up?”
“Hey,” I point to Heath, “don’t try to change the subject.”
“Mom says that Jenna is going to start wearing stuff like that.” And the subject is officially changed. Trevor points to the screen as a tall, gorgeous woman struts down the catwalk in nothing but a studded leather ensemble.
“Over my dead body.”
“Oh really?” I counter.
“I agree with Dad.”
We make our way back to the side where sports bras and lounge pants are stocked. “You guys are in for the shock of your life if you think she’s not going to upgrade from this stuff to that stuff.” I point to the direction we came from. When I turn back around, Heath has a pair of pink lace panties in his hands.
“Do you like those?”
He pins me with his eyes. “Hell, yes.”
“Your daughter has a pair.”
The look of lust is replaced by instant mortification. I can’t help but throw my head back and laugh. The look on his face is one of the best things I’ve seen in such a long time. He immediately drops the cotton fabric. “Let’s get the hell out of here,” he tells Trevor before exiting the store.
Christmas was small and quiet this year. Both sets of grandparents decided to stay down south, spending time with their friends. I know they didn’t want everything to be awkward during Christmas, and I’m truly thankful for that. I didn’t put much effort into anything this year, and that’s unusual for me, but I haven’t been feeling it, and the kids understand. They got a few things and money from their dad and me. Heath came over for an early dinner and we FaceTimed Charlie. That was the only part of the holiday that felt normal.
Now it’s back to business as usual.
“Seriously, Jenna, you need to finish getting your stuff together. I have an Uber to catch, or I’m going to miss my flight.”
I’m running around my room and bathroom, trying to gather everything I need last minute before I fly out to New York to meet with the publisher. Caroline has ensured me that this is a great opportunity. Having your work traditionally published when you’re a struggling indie author is like hitting the author lottery. Not every book you write is guaranteed to be published traditionally, but it’s a start in the right direction.
“Mom!” Trevor calls from the living room. “Dad’s here.”
“Hey.” Moments later Heath is pushing his way through my bedroom door. Without hesitation he strides over to me, wrapping his hand around the nape of my neck and placing his lips on the side of my head.
Jenna flops her head so she’s facing Heath. “Hey, Dad.” Her voice is muffled behind my comforter.
He drops his hand from my body and turns towards her. “Hey, buttercup, what’s up?”
“She’s refusing to listen to me. That’s what’s up.” I sit on the bed, bending over to fasten the strap around my ankle.
He stands in a wide stance, arms crossed over his chest. “Jenna? Why aren’t you listening to your mother?”
“Ugh.” She dramatically rolls herself over so she’s now on her back. “You don’t understand,” she groans. “I don’t want to move.”
“Jesus.” I stand and head to the bathroom to grab my makeup. I know the reason why she’s acting like this. Her hormones are driving me up the wall.
“I’m flowing like Niagara Falls. I’m gushing like the Hudson River, and I don’t plan on moving for the next five days.”
“You’re what?” Heath’s eyes widen.
“Geez, Jenna,” I hear Trevor say. “You act like you’re the only one to ever have their period. It’s getting old.”
“You try dealing with it, Trevor,” she bites back. “You wouldn’t be able to handle it month in and month out.”
He laughs. “You’re acting like you’ve been dealing with it for eternity. You don’t see Mom acting like that, and we both know she’s been dealing with all that for decades.”
“Hey!” I shout as I finish loading everything up into my suitcase.
“We’re not talking about your mother or Jenna’s menstrual cycle. What is wrong with you two?” Heath states.
“It’s a natural occurrence, Dad,” Jenna argues.
“All right,” I say as I re-enter the room. “Everyone get out of my room. I need to leave, and you guys need to get out!”
Jenna pulls herself from the bed and begrudgingly stalks from my room. Trevor follows, making faces behind her back the entire way. I pull the handle of my carry on and start to leave the room, when Heath’s hand comes up, stopping me in my tracks.
“Hey, Whit, can you wait a second?” He looks over his shoulder then grabs the door, closing it almost completely.
I swallow. “Yeah, what’s up?”
His forehead creases and his hand hesitates before he reaches into his pocket. “Well, first of all, I wanted to apologize for how I treated you on your birthday.”
“You don’t need to apologize, Heath. I shouldn’t have kept the Liam information from you. I should have been more open when I talked about my neighbor.”
“I trust you, Whitney, and I’m sorry if I implied otherwise. I know you love me because if you didn’t, then we would be walking down a different path right now, but I seem to keep messing up when it comes to us.” He pauses for a second, then pulls his hand from his pocket. “Here.” He pulls out a small box and hands it to me. “I wanted you to have this.”
I let go of my bags, taking the box from his hand. Heath shoves his hands into his pockets, biting the inside of his cheek. I’ve never seen him so vulnerable. In all the years I’ve known him, he’s always had this way about him. Heath has always been certain in his life. Always stood by his convictions, even in the times when I didn’t agree with him, and he’s never wavered in the things that he’s believed in. I’ve always seen him as larger than life. However, over these past few months, I’ve seen a side of him that I wish had been more visible throughout our marriage. He’s more apologetic, maybe more exposed in his insecurities, and right now Heath looks like a small boy waiting for some sort of acceptance.
I open the box with shaky, uncertain
hands. Pulling the lid, it opens stiffly. In the white, leather cushion sits two, deep-red studded earrings. “They’re garnets,” he says.
“They’re beautiful,” I whisper as my finger runs over the hard gemstone.
“They’re supposed to be for luck. Um, I wanted you to have something. Not that I think you need it, but because I wanted you to have something from me while you’re in New York.”
“Why?” I take my eyes from the earrings to look at Heath.
“Because I’m damn proud of you. Because you deserve everything your heart desires, Whitney. I will always love the hell out of you.”
Before I can say anything, his hand wraps around the nape of my neck, and gives me a chaste kiss. The warmth of his lips mine brings a sense of calm to wash over my semi-frazzled state. He pulls away, grabbing the door and exits my room.
“Let’s go, you two,” he yells for the kids while I stand frozen in the spot, completely caught off guard by the warm and thoughtful gift.
New York in December is no joke.
There’s a fresh coat of snow on the ground, and I’m lucky the weather cooperated the entire flight from one end of the country to the other.
“Here.” The cab driver twists in his seat, handing me a card. “Call that number anytime you need a ride while you’re in town, and I, or a buddy of mine, will try to help you out.” He winks as I take the card.
“Thank you.”
I push open the door, getting out and then slamming it behind me. The gust of chilled air nearly takes my breath away as I get my bearings and peer up towards the forty-story building I’m about to enter. The home of Slater Publishing. They’re the hottest publishing house in the market right now. With romance being such a trending genre because of a franchise of popular movies, they’re representing some of the biggest names.
I start my way towards the building when I feel my phone vibrate in my coat pocket. “Hello?”
“Hey, Whitney,” Liam’s voice comes through the line. “Did your flight go all right?”
“Yeah, everything went great.”
“Good. Glad to hear it–”
“Hey, sorry to cut you off, but I’m here at the building, and my meeting’s in fifteen minutes. I still need to head up, and I don’t want to be late.”
“Yeah, sure, no problem. I just wanted to wish you good luck in there. I know you’ll do great.”
“Thanks, Liam. I’ll let you know how it goes.”
Pocketing my phone, I rush into an open elevator. The elevator is rather large, but being packed with bodies, it feels a bit suffocating. The ride up is one of silence, with a few coughs and throat clearings to break the awkwardness. I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket, but I reach in, clicking the button on the side to ignore it. I’m already on edge about my meeting, and the calls aren’t helping the situation. When the elevator dings for the fifth time, it’s the floor that I need, so I make my way towards the door and follow a few people out.
Glass doors act as a backdrop to the front receptionist desk, and I’m greeted by a young woman in a slick, chestnut bob and bright smile. “You must be Whitney,” the receptionist says.
“Yes, that’s me.” I give her a small smile.
“Please take a seat. Harold Slater is scheduled to see you this afternoon. He’s en route from our press house so he should be here in a moment.
Nodding, I take a seat in a leather chair. The walls are stark white decorated with abstract works of art. After studying them, I notice that they’re more than abstract pieces. They’re popular covers of books made to look artsy. Standing, I pad over to one of the pieces. It’s the cover of the most recent New York Times Best Sellers. The cover of the book is normally a simple black with a shattered red heart, but this piece is simply magnificent. Not only does the artist use the cover, but it portrays the emotion and heart break that embodies this novel. I remember reading this book, and it gutting me. The emotion this author could draw out was overwhelming, and I’m feeling the same passion now.
“It’s pretty awesome, isn’t it?” the receptionist says as she comes up behind me.
“Yes, it’s incredible. This book is so amazing, and by looking at this piece, I feel like I’m suffering the same heartbreak all over again.”
“Lange, the artist, not only reads the books, but he also spends time with the author to get a feel for who they are as a person. It’s an incredible process, and we’re honored that he chose us to paint for. We have him exclusively.”
“He’s simply amazing.”
I take a step back and gaze upon the other pieces that align the walls of this expansive area. A buzzer breaks the silence.
“That would be Harold. Please,” she says as she sweeps her hand out, “let me show you to his office. He’ll be in shortly.”
I grab my things from the nearby chair and follow her down the hall. “I’m Britney, by the way.” She pushes open the door to Harold’s office. “Take a seat in the lounge area. It shouldn’t be long now.”
“Nice to meet you, Britney, thank you.” She smiles before she closes the door behind her.
Taking a seat, I look around the room. This office is stark contrast from the waiting area. The deep wood accents match the deep coloring of the doors and desk. The far wall is covered in books, displayed as they would be in a home, but the welcoming feeling of the room doesn’t do anything for the nerves that have taken up residence in my stomach. When I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket, I pull it out, seeing Heath’s name on the screen. He’s sent me two text messages, both full of words of encouragement. The thumbs up emoji makes me smile.
When I hear someone clear his throat, my head snaps up. A gentleman around my age is standing in the doorway with a smile on his face. He’s wearing a charcoal suit with a baby blue shirt underneath. His hair is styled with a slight wave on top and shorter on the side, and his complexion is tanned. I wonder if he was in a tropical location recently?
“Hi.” I stand, making my purse fall from my lap and hit the floor. “Shoot.” I bend down, grabbing it and stand back up. By this time, the man is already standing in front of me.
“Sorry, about that,” he says. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I thought you heard me come in and close the door behind me.”
“No, I didn’t, sorry.” I put my hand out. “I’m Whitney James.”
He puts his hand in mine, giving it a firm shake. “Hello, Mrs. James, I’m Harold Slater. It’s nice to meet you. Please,” he says as he unbuttons his jacket, “take a seat and let’s talk.”
I give him a smile and sit back down on the same leather seat.
“May I ask what caused so much emotion in your eyes just now?”
“Excuse me?”
“When I came in,” he sits back in his chair that’s directly across from me, “you were looking at your phone. There was so much sadness and delight on your face at the same time.”
“Oh.” I look back down at my phone that’s still in my hand. “My, um, husband sent me a text.”
“I see. That explains the delight, but the sadness?” He tilts his head to the side, pushing the question.
“Yes, well, the text is bittersweet. We’re separated, and it’s nice that he gave me words of encouragement, but it would have been better if he’d said them throughout our marriage.”
He nods as he absorbs the information. “I take it this separation took place while you wrote this last book?”
“Yes.”
“It’s amazing how much emotion one can express through the written word, Mrs. James, and this book shows such emotion. You were pouring your soul into your book, like a form of therapy, and the quality showed. When Caroline reached out to me, I had no intention of taking her bait.” He laughs. “She’s a tenacious one, that editor of yours. She’s been that way since we met over a decade ago. She’s like a dog with a bone, but I guess that might be her finest quality, at least for her clients it is.”
“I take it her stubbornness isn’t as beneficial for y
ou?”
His lips fall away to a quirk. “No certainly not. But in your case, I’m glad she wouldn’t let up because I want to represent your latest book. Since it’s only one in an established series, I would need to sign them all as a whole, but the first few books lack what this book embodies and that’s your heart. Creating a story, a town, a character, is one thing, but in order for the reader to want to be in that story, visit that town, and fall in love with that character, they must feel the heart of the author. I need you to go back, rewrite, re-use and experience these stories again, and I need you to do it with as much emotion as this last one.”
My stomach drops. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with changing these stories. I have readers who love these characters–”
“Yes, but do you love these characters? That’s the question that you need to answer.”
I sit back, as Harold did a few moments ago, and absorb the words that he said. I try to think back to the two books that came before this latest one, and I can’t remember the details of each one separately. Sure, I know the storyline, I wrote it, but I can’t remember each character as their own person. When I look up and regard Harold, I can see that he knows I understand what he’s saying.
“I wouldn’t need to re-write the entire storyline, would I?”
“No, but I want you to go back, read your words and then write them with passion—heart. I want to feel your emotions. I want the characters to reveal their emotions vicariously through you. I don’t want you to tell the story I want to feel it. Just as I felt this last book.”
“Okay, I can do that. I can add to the stories. I can make them come alive.”
A smile spreads across his face. “Excellent. That’s what I want to hear.” He sits up. “I want to sign this series, Mrs. James. I want these three books as well as three more. I want to expand on these characters, allowing the reader to experience more heartbreak and healing. I want them to feel these stories so deeply that when they talk your stories, it will be like they’re retelling their own families’ tragedies.”
“I think I can do that.”
“Well, I know you can do that.” He gives me a wink before he gets up and walks over to his desk. He comes back, holding my manuscripts. Setting them on the table in front of me, he uses his fingers to thumb through the pages.
Take 2 on Love Page 14