“I’ve already had our in-house editor work on these. They’ve gone through, made their notes and given you suggestions. Take this home and make them the best they can be. Give me the same emotion as you had in your latest book, and you’ll be golden, Mrs. James. Once these babies are ready for distribution, your name is going to be highly talked about in the world of contemporary romance.”
This is overwhelming.
I see a ton of red marks as he flips through the pages. Taking a deep breath, I meet his gaze. There’s determination in his eyes, and I wish I had the confidence that he has. “Are you sure about this?” I point to the pages. “There are a lot of marks on these pages.”
“Don’t feel discouraged. You should know, Mrs. James–”
“Whitney, please.”
He nods. “You should know, Whitney, that finishing the book is only the beginning of the process.” He takes a seat. “Caroline is an excellent editor. I still don’t understand why she hasn’t attached herself to a traditional publishing house, but I see the draw when it comes to the indie community. There’s a lot of fire in indie authors. They have the drive and desire to make sure they make it. Some authors, who are continually traditionally published, lose that fire. It turns into a ‘job’ and not a way to share their passion. But I digress. The difference between Caroline and our editors is that Caroline will give suggestions at times, and it’s your decision to change it or leave it.” He shakes his head. “That’s not how it works here. If you don’t or can’t get these books to where the editors want them, then there’s a chance that our deal will be dead in the water.”
“So signing with you is contingent on getting the first two books to the level of the third?” I ask.
“Yes.”
I’m glad he doesn’t beat around the bush. I don’t want or need to be coddled throughout this process. “Okay, well thank you.”
He squints at me. “Am I wrong about this? Did Caroline jump the gun?”
I shake my head. “No, of course not. If I didn’t want to do this, then I wouldn’t have made the trip, Mr. Slater. But this is a big jump, and it seems like I’m setting myself up to fail.”
“Believe me, Whitney, there will be no failure here. I trust my gut, and my gut says that this is going to be huge for you. You’ll be in constant contact with your editor. You need to establish that relationship for this to work. In fact, while you’re here, I’ll arrange for you to meet her so you can get a feel for each other. That may help the process.”
“Yes, sure, I’d like that.”
“Great.” He claps his hands then stands, making his way over to his desk. “I’ll set everything up. What works best for you? Tonight or tomorrow?”
“Tonight, please. I fly out tomorrow.”
When I left New York, I had more anxiety than when I arrived.
The ideas my editor had and the ways she thought would work to get my book where she wanted it was overwhelming. They were perfect, but I’m not going to lie and say that I feel confident in myself. She was spot on with everything I’ve been wanting but was unsure how to bring it there. With her suggestions, I know I can bring these stories to life in a way I had only dreamed.
Now, to find the time.
It took me months to write each of these books, and now they want both of my books redone in the next two months.
I park my car near Heath’s office. Jenna is here with her father helping him out, and the closer I get to the office, I hear raised voices. My first instinct is to barge in and be the peacemaker, but I know I shouldn’t because whatever is going on between them is something that I should stay out of.
“It’s called growing up, Jenna. It’s called responsibility.”
“I’m thirteen.”
“Really? Because most of the time you want to be treated like you’re older. You can’t have it one way and then the other. Pick a side.”
“I don’t know why I have to help you file all this stuff. Why are you paying Alice if she isn’t doing her job?”
Wow, the mouth on her.
“Alice does plenty, and you need to learn that you can’t expect to get whatever you want. Your mother and I work hard to give you all the things you ask for.”
“Mom works hard for it.”
My back stiffens at her words.
“What?”
“I said Mom works hard for it because she’s the one who always buys me everything, not you.”
“That so?”
“Yeah, don’t act so surprised, Dad. When was the last time I asked you for anything, especially now that you and Mom are divorced?”
“We’re not divorced, Jenna Marie.” I hear what I assume is a pile of papers slam against the desk.
“Close enough,” she snaps back.
“What’s going on between your mother and me is between us. I don’t need your attitude.”
“It’s not just you and her, Dad. You have three kids that this is affecting.”
“Is the separation the cause of your witchy attitude? Because I have to say, Jenna, it’s not very becoming.”
Deciding that it’s time to break-up whatever is going on between those two, I pull open the door. Both their heads snap up as I enter the office, and I can’t help but notice the relief that washes over Heath’s face.
“Hey there,” I say, giving them a tight smile.
“Whit,” Heath addresses me as he approaches, gently tugging my body to his.
I close my eyes, taking in the warmth of his touch. Heath’s contact is something I’ve always craved in our marriage. In the beginning, his hands were always on me in some way. The light touch at the small of my back, the light stroking of his thumb on my arm as we watched television. As the years went on, his touches became less and less. Humans need those touches. My kids have always been affectionate towards me, but no matter how many times I tried to convince myself, those embraces never took the place of my husband’s arms.
“Mom?” Jenna’s voice snaps me back to the present, and I step away from Heath.
“Hey, honey,” I say. “Are you ready to get home?”
With her brows furrowed, she nods. “Yeah, my bags are in Dad’s truck. I’ll go get them.”
“Okay, great. My car is unlocked. I’ll be right out.”
She pushes herself from the chair, grabbing her coat and purse from the desk in front of her, and leaving the office without so much as a ‘bye’ to her father.
“So how was everything?” Heath asks.
Turning around to face him, I avoid his question because I want to know what I walked in on. “What was that?” I point my finger towards the door.
“That’s nothing. She has a chip on her shoulder. She thinks the world is out to get her, and then in the next step she thinks it owes her something.”
“I wonder where she gets that from,” I say as I cross my arms.
“You can’t think she gets that crap from me? I’ve never thought the world has owed me anything. I know I need to earn my keep in this life, and I’ve worked my ass off to earn the things that we have.”
I hang my head because I know he’s right. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I’m not sure what’s going on with her. She is a complete one-eighty from the boys at that age.”
“Tell me about it. We need to stop giving into her and all the things she thinks she needs or deserves. Not until she gets her head out of her ass and sees that, she needs to earn some of that. I don’t want my kids going through life thinking they don’t need to work for something. They aren’t going to survive if that’s how they think. You and I both know that.”
“You’re right. I’ll talk to her.”
He takes a step towards me. “Tell me, how was New York?”
“It was good. There’s a lot of information to process. A lot that I need to do and think about.” The sound of my horn blares, signaling that I need to get going. “I’ll talk to Jenna tonight.” Turning on my heel, I almost make it out of his office before his voice stops me in
my tracks.
“Have dinner with me.”
“Excuse me?” I say as I turn around.
“Tomorrow night. Have dinner with me. I’d like to hear about your trip.”
My heart races as I look at my husband. This is the second time in as many days when he’s looked so vulnerable, and my chest squeezes at the fact that he’s putting himself out there.
“Sure,” I tell him. “Tell me where and I’ll meet you.”
A smile spreads across his face. “I thought I’d cook for you. At home.”
Home.
I heart clenches at the thought of him referring to the house I once shared with him as home.
“Please–”
“Heath,” I stop him, “I don’t know if that’s a great idea.”
“I do. I think it’s the best idea. Let me do this for you.” The bob of his Adam’s apple tells me he’s nervous, and I can see the pleading in his eyes as he looks at me.
“Okay. I’ll come by the house.”
I hear a knock on my bedroom door. “Mom?” Jenna’s voice comes from the other side before she sticks her head in the room.
“Yeah, sweetie.” I look up from my Kindle, watch her close the door behind her, and then crawl on my bed. She snuggles up next to me, resting her head on my chest.
“Can I ask you a question?” Her voice sounds shaky.
“Sure,” I say as I run my hand down her silky hair.
“Do you still love Dad?”
“Absolutely.”
“Why isn’t that enough then?”
“Most of the time love is enough, but it’s not everything. I think people make that mistake often. People stay in relationships because they love the other person and that should be enough.”
“And it’s not?”
“I don’t think so. Healthy relationships are built on more than love.”
She lifts her head and scrunches her nose. “So your marriage to Dad isn’t healthy?”
“Your father and I have been together for most of our lives, and I know I love him. I know that although we aren’t living together, it’s hard for me to see myself without him in my life in some capacity. My leaving isn’t about me not loving him. It’s hard to explain because love is complicated. Your father and I have been a part of each other’s lives for as long as I can remember, and I think I’ve loved him just as long. There was nothing like being loved by your father, and I know there still isn’t. But sometimes couples grow apart. Sometimes they continue to grow apart until the distance is so great, it’s unfixable. Other times couples make it through the rough patches. Love is the foundation of any good marriage, but there are more levels to make it great. Communication and respect are just a few.”
“So just because you love someone doesn’t mean you should stay with them?”
“Exactly. Loving someone and staying compared to loving someone and walking away are two of the toughest decisions people make. It takes a strong person to make that move to leave, and it also takes a strong person to admit there are problems. Not everyone is willing to work on the problems because it’s always easier to walk away. That’s a lot less work.”
“And you’re still not walking away?”
My heart sinks at the thought she would feel the need to ask that. “No, sweetie.”
“I know I haven’t told you this yet, but I want you to be happy. I want both of you to be happy, and I do think it’s with each other and not anyone else.”
“That’s good because there isn’t anyone else.”
She looks up at me, her chin resting on my chest. Her eyes search mine, but I’m not sure what she’s looking for. “Can I do your makeup?”
I chuckle. “Yeah, why not.”
“Sweet!” She jumps up and scoots off my bed. “Then you can do mine,” she says as she leaves my room.
“You’re supposed to blot, Mom, not rub,” Jenna says as I apply the foundation on her face.
“You know, when I was your age, we didn’t use sponges, or beauty blenders. We just applied the foundation,” I say as I, without much patience, continue to rub the makeup all over her face.
“The rubbing and smearing of the foundation causes premature wrinkles and lines. Haven’t you read any beauty magazines?”
“I don’t have the time, Jenna. And when I was your age, I had better things to do that watch makeup videos.”
“Me watching YouTube isn’t any different from you sitting in front of your television playing the latest version of Zelda, or whatever video game that you loved.”
She has me there.
“Be still,” I tell her as I continue to dab on her makeup. “Why is makeup so important to you?”
She opens her eyes and looks right at me. “Because I want to be beautiful.”
The fact that she doesn’t believe that she’s beautiful guts me. I try to think back to when I was thirteen. I hadn’t been too caught up in the latest fads. I had the designer brands because my sister worked at a clothing store, so I got a discount, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as it is today. I distinctly remember wearing a Little Mermaid puffy paint shirt in school in the seventh grade, and that was just a year ago for Jenna. This obsession with clothes, hair, and makeup has been going on two years now, and I’m afraid it’s only going to get worse.
“You are one of the most beautiful girls around, Jenna. You have to know that,” I say as I put down the sponge.
She opens her eyes. “Then why do all my friends have boyfriends and not one boy has ever asked me out?”
I’m very familiar with what she’s feeling. I still remember how it felt in school to be the only one without a boyfriend. Heath was my first serious relationship, the first and only boy who looked at me as if I meant something. Was I with Heath for so long because he was the only one who had ever really noticed me?
“Does it matter if they haven’t? You have your entire life ahead of you.”
She drops her head. “I want to hold a boy’s hand.”
Her confession breaks my heart, and I want to smack every boy that has never given her the time of day because my girl is beautiful, inside and out. “You can hold Trev’s hand,” I say as I wiggle my eyebrows.
She throws her head back, groaning, “That’s so gross, Mom.” Nevertheless, she’s laughing, and I know that I did my job.
Score one for me.
The doorbell rings when I’m in my bathroom finishing up before I head over to the house to meet Heath. Both Jenna and Trevor are staying over at a friend’s house, so that leaves me to answer the door.
“I’m coming!” I call as I rush down the hall, making it to the front door and swinging it open. “Hey,” I say with a smile when I see Liam standing there. Stepping back, I usher him in before closing the door.
“Wow,” he says as he takes a few steps into the condo. “You look great.”
I look down at my dress and smooth out the front of my skirt. “Thanks.” I glance at the clock. It’s six, and I told Heath I’d be there by seven. That’s plenty of time to offer Liam a glass of wine. “Do you want a drink?” I ask as I pass him and head into the kitchen.
“Yeah, sure.” He pulls a stool out from the bar and takes a seat. “I wanted to ask you about New York. I didn’t want to bombard you when you got back yesterday.”
I pull out the chilled bottle of white from the fridge before grabbing a couple of glasses from the rack. “Yeah, sorry I didn’t call you back.” Uncorking the bottle, I fill each glass halfway, handing one to Liam and taking the second for myself. “Between you and the texts from Heath and then the actual meeting, I was all discombobulated.”
He raised his brow. “Heath texted you?”
“Yeah.” I take a sip. “He wished me good luck. I’m actually headed over there in a bit. He wanted to ask me about my trip and stuff.”
“And stuff?”
“I don’t know what else.” I shrug. “He asked me over so he could cook me dinner and talk about New York.” He has no reaction to my news. �
��What?”
“Nothing, Whitney.” He shakes his head. “That’s great that he’s taking an interest in your trip. Isn’t this what you wanted?”
“It is.”
“Just don’t get ahead of yourself.”
“I’m not. I’m not going into this with any expectations. But this is no different from us going to coffee or out to lunch.”
“It is because it’s the first time you’ve spent any real time alone together since the split–”
“That’s not true. We’ve spent plenty of time together.”
“Yes, but like you just said, in public. This is entirely different. You’ll be at the house. A home you’ve built together for years.” He raises his hands. “I’m only trying to give you the guy’s perspective. Let me end this by saying that the last thing that would be on my mind is delightful conversation.”
Damn him.
“We’re not there yet, Liam.”
He drops his hands and gives me a dead stare. “Please Whitney, you’ve been there since you were seventeen years old. You have three kids with him. Sex is always on the table.”
“I don’t want to discuss this with you,” I mumble into the rim of my glass.
“All I’m saying is that you may be thinking with your heart through dinner, but I’m one hundred percent sure he’ll be thinking with his dick most of the night.”
“That was really great.”
I put my napkin on the table and lean back in my seat. Harper, who has been at my feet the entire time, whimpers at my movements. Heath made fajitas, one of my favorite dishes. He also blended fresh strawberry daiquiris, another favorite of mine.
“I appreciate all the effort you’ve put into this evening. It means a lot.”
He regards me for a moment before speaking. “I’ve been going to therapy,” he confesses, and I’m a bit shocked.
“Really?”
“Yeah, really.”
He stands and walks towards the slider that leads out to the backyard. Once he shoves the door open, he reaches his hand around and flips the switch that ignites the gas fire pit that’s located on the back deck. He closes the sliding door and heads back to the kitchen. Through the glass of the sliding door, I see the flames dance, illuminating the immediate patio area.
Take 2 on Love Page 15