Love, Redefined: A Contemporary Romance Novel (Love Lessons Book 1)

by Brynn North

  I jerked my head up in surprise. Her next words surprised me even more.

  “Kat, I’d like you to take the lead on this series.”

  No. My worst nightmares were coming true all at once. I didn’t know how to write an article like this. Hell, I didn’t even know how to live like that. Not to mention I just could not have my name splashed on a byline for the entire metro area and anyone with the internet to read what a sad case I was.

  “No! I can’t!” I said, two octaves too loudly.

  Kiara mistook my panic for something else. “I know you aren’t an experienced writer, so we’ll get you to work with an editor that can polish your pieces. Let’s meet on it later today.”

  “But, but,” I spluttered. Kiara, however, had already moved onto the next person. I was just going to have to wait until my meeting later with her to sort this out and tell her there was no way I could write this series. None at all.

  9

  My day dragged on excruciatingly slow, especially when Starr popped by after lunch.

  “Impressive job on getting such a significant piece on your first day,” she said. “Can’t believe they gave it to a temp! Good job, you!”

  I wasn’t sure if I was imagining it, but I heard the faintest glimmer of snark in her voice. Frankly, I wouldn’t blame her if there was. I mean, I was a temp, filling in for Kiara’s assistant. What business did I have writing such an important feature for the magazine? None, that’s for damn sure. My resolve not to do this ‘piece’ as Starr called it, only grew. The absolute last thing I wanted to be known around my new office was an assignment stealer.

  Finally, Kiara appeared in front of my desk. Despite it being late afternoon, not a hair was out of place, and her makeup looked as fresh as it had this morning. I looked down at my outfit, noticing I had spilled some salad dressing on my new dress, which was also wrinkled. Wonderful.

  “Do you have a minute to talk about your new assignment? Meet me in my office?” Without waiting for an answer, she turned and walked off.

  I jumped up, grabbing the paper I had used to jot down my excuses on why I could not do this assignment. I scurried after her.

  “So, Kat,” Kiara started, already at her computer. She was typing an email instead of looking at me. “I have to say, it surprised me you came up with such a fascinating Lifestyle piece on your first day.”

  “Oh,” I said hurriedly. “Well, it was a total mistake. I wanted to explain that to you. I think it’d be a terrible idea after all.”

  Her fingers stopped typing, and she turned to look at me with a stern expression on her face. I immediately knew I gave the wrong answer.

  “You don’t think I know what sells a magazine?”

  My face grew red. “No! That’s not what I meant at all. I just meant…” I trailed off. This conversation was not going in the direction I thought it would, and I lost all my mental talking points.

  She put her hands down flat on her desk now, giving me an even stare that unnerved me. “People need to connect in this day and age, with all the social media stuff out there, with people displaying all that ‘living my best life’ bullshit. People need to feel understood. They want to know others are going through hard situations too, not hiding behind a screen, pretending everything in their world is fine.”

  By now, Kiara was so passionate about her speech that she had stood up and started pacing. She pointed at me. “Your idea has the capacity to connect people who are going through hard times themselves and not feel so alone in the world.”

  “Great, but do I have to do the article? It’s my first day,” I argued back, my list of excuses totally forgotten about. “I don’t know how to write something like this.”

  “You don’t?” Kiara’s perfectly polished fingernails started tapping on her desk. I noticed they were a great shade of dusty pink, and under usual circumstances, would be interested in asking the color. But these were not usual circumstances. “I looked at some of your freelance work this weekend. I admit it’s not the writing style we usually look for, but I think it’s something we can work with.”

  My mouth dropped open. She had looked at my work? The only way she could have seen it was by Googling my name and checking out my little freelancing website, where I posted examples of my work for potential clients to review. It was definitely not the most exciting stuff on the internet.

  I decided being firm and professional was the only way to get out of this. “I would rather someone else write the article. I don’t feel comfortable doing it myself,” I said in a very formal tone. Ha. Take that, Kiara.

  “That’s too bad because I was prepared to pay you your freelance rates, seeing how you aren’t a formal employee. If you do your writing off the clock, that is. If you do well, then I’d be happy to pass on your name to other contacts in the industry I know.”

  Damn. My resolve hit the floor as I did a quick calculation. If she paid me my freelance rate, in addition to the money I was being paid to be her assistant for the next few months, I would have more than enough to cover my bills. Maybe even add a little to my savings too. Which I desperately needed, if I ever wanted to move out of Vi’s guest room. And the promise of a good reference? Well, that was too much to pass up.

  Kiara sensed me weakening. “And, naturally, I’ll have one of my best editors work with you to polish up your work.” She typed a quick message on her screen. “I’ve invited him in to meet you now, as he wasn’t in this morning.”

  “You talking about me?”

  Kiara and I both turned to look at the man who filled the doorway, a cocky grin on his face. For a second, I froze and gawked. This man, to put in a single word, was stunning. His dark brown hair, almost black, gleaned in the light above him, which was really saying something considering it was standard fluorescent office lighting. His jawline was so cut that David Beckham would glare at him with envy. And his smile. Oh, his smile. I was pretty sure he didn’t use it around the office too often. He couldn’t. Women would never get any work done around here if he did. He’d have to chase off groupies around his desk with a stick. Hell, I had only laid eyes on him five seconds ago, and I was already in danger of joining those groupies.

  Wildly, I wondered if this was another of Vi’s tricks. Surely she couldn’t get some male model to pose as a magazine employee to get me out of my rut, could she?

  I wouldn’t put it past her.

  Dread grew in my stomach as he stepped into the office and took a seat next to me. This was no trick Vi set up. I was going to have to work with this hunk of a man, spilling all my intimate secrets and innermost feelings about being dumped. Pure humiliation rolled through me as he flashed me a conspiratorial smile from the chair just a mere eighteen inches from me. I could feel the heat radiating off me from just being in the presence of a man like this, enough to wonder if he could feel it. Flushing, I immediately turned to stare at the papers in front of me. At least if I started drooling, they’d catch some of the slobber.

  Still though…in that three seconds, I sensed something familiar about him. I gave my head a tiny shake. How would I recognize anyone in Minneapolis? I haven’t lived here in years. Must just look like some leading man in the movies.

  “This is Kat, the one I told you about just now,” Kiara said, addressing him.

  “Kat, huh? You’re going by that now?” His voice was deep and held an amused tone.

  I gave him a quizzical glance, avoiding eye contact as much as possible. What did this male model of a journalist mean by that?

  I kept sneaking looks at him while Kiara filled him in on the assignment, only speaking when she asked if I had any questions.

  “Nope!” I said brightly, not listing the only one that was really in my mind - who in the hell was this familiar stranger?

  As soon as Kiara shooed us out of her office, the handsome stranger turned to me. “You don’t recognize me, do you?”

  “Should I?” I tried to give him a sly examination as we wove through the gray cubicles
even though I could only see his backside, which was not a bad problem to have. His shoulders were broad, and by the looks of it, he never missed a day at the gym…Nope. If I met this guy in the past, I’d definitely remember him.

  I snuck yet another glance as we rounded a corner to a conference room he was steering us toward. As much as I couldn’t place him, there was something about the shape of his chin, and the glint in his eye that reminded me of someone. Someone from way back…someone that reminded me of my best friend, Vi…

  “No!” I yelped in horror, probably for the third time that day. Out loud, anyway. I probably yelled it many more times in my head.

  He grinned at me, those gorgeous brown eyes crinkling at me as he held open the door. I couldn’t help but notice his teeth were white and even, creating quite a nice contrast against his tan skin. “You remember now?”

  To my utmost horror, he laughed. A familiar laugh. A laugh I had heard a hundred times growing up, as Vi and I spent hours at her house, in passionate discussions over whether Justin Timberlake or Nick Lachey was better looking. We’d inevitably be interrupted by her annoying older brother teasing us, mimicking our favorite boy bands in a high falsetto, holding a spoon as a mic. I despised it at the time. And looking back, still did.

  Boston Grey. I hadn’t seen him since I was fifteen years old, when he mercifully left for college in California, thankfully bringing an end to my youthful crush on him, and years of embarrassments for me and Vi. Had Kiara used his name, I would have immediately thought of him. I mean, it’s rare for people to name their kids after the places they were conceived. Vienna shortened hers to Vi, but Boston? Well, not much you can do to shorten that name.

  “I thought you worked in the IT department or something.” I accused him. “I didn’t think we’d actually, you know, work together.” I just prayed my years of acting like a lovesick teenager were not as obvious to him as they seemed in my mind, or, failing that, hopefully long forgotten. It was fifteen years ago, right? I thought to myself as I cringed remembering the time when I was thirteen and he was sixteen, and I wore a full face of makeup to dinner at their house, including false eyelashes and red lipstick. Kinda awkward when it was a casual Taco Tuesday night.

  “Huh.” He smirked as he took a seat. “Guess you were wrong. Vi didn’t tell you which area I worked in?”

  Oh, I definitely remembered him now. He just grew another four inches, gained about thirty much-needed pounds, mostly muscle by the looks of it, and got a better haircut to boot. To put it bluntly, he went from Not to Hot in the years since I’d seen him. How I didn’t recognize him was beyond me. I mean, we were even Facebook friends. He just never posted updates, and his avatar was a picture of him on a boat, wearing a floppy hat and sunglasses. It hadn’t been changed in several years. Even Vi never posted pictures of him, preferring to use her social media accounts for her business. I made an immediate mental note to see if he had an Instagram account as soon as I got back to my desk. A lot of people posted there more often these days.

  Ugh. I thought I could do this article anonymously, get my money, and avoid embarrassment as much as humanly possible. Working with my old high school frenemy-slash-crush-turned-hottie was not supposed to be part of the equation. My dread intensified.

  “I guess not,” I said tersely, vowing to do something horrific to Vi once I got home for not warning me. Deleting her queue of true crime shows ought to do the trick.

  “Hmmm. I must talk to her about that,” he said in a teasing voice, one I also recognized from my childhood. “So, tell me, how are we going to do this article?”

  “We’re not,” I said firmly, still standing by the door. Despite how much I needed the money, I needed to be humiliated a lot less.

  He put on a wounded expression. “Why not? It’s not because of little ol’ me, is it?”

  “Yes,” I snapped, with more force than I meant. Good. Maybe it was pent up years of anguish, having my childhood crushes mocked, along with my interests and, well, everything else.

  “Whoa.” He held up his hands. “You’re living on memories from half a lifetime ago. Yeah, I was annoying as hell, but name a teen boy that isn’t.”

  He had a point, but I wasn’t about to admit it to him.

  “I just don’t want to,” I said stubbornly.

  “All right then,” he said, packing up his laptop. “Guess I’ll tell Kiara you won’t do it. She won’t be happy, but I’ll just tell her I did my best. I’ll cast a little net, see what other freelancers are looking to pick up a gig to make some extra cash.”

  I froze. Damn. Why did I revert back to our old high school banter, instead of talking like a grownup? I mean, on one hand, I did not want to do the article, but on the other hand, my bank account very much did want me to do it.

  I could see Boston pretending not to eye me as he slipped his laptop back into his blue leather messenger bag. It appeared subtleness still wasn’t a strong suit of his.

  “Fine. I’ll do it,” I snapped, crossing through the room to take a seat at the table. Across from him, not next to him. It would horrify my mother to hear my tone, but I couldn’t control it, at least not at that moment. Life just seemed to be piling up the lemons for me faster than I could make lemonade. I did feel ashamed of my tone, though, and eked out a smile in an attempt to soften it.

  “Whoa, don’t sound so pleased to be working with me,” he said, hands up again. “Nobody’s forcing you.”

  “Wrong,” I retorted, but in a nicer tone this time. I wrote for my college newspaper and spent my senior year as an editor. A feeling in me started to grow. I could do this, I knew it. And maybe this was a step in the right direction. A step toward my future.

  “My bank account is holding me hostage. I’ll do the articles, and you can polish them, but it’ll be my way.”

  10

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I bellowed the second Vi walked through the door that night. “You tricked me!”

  She eyed me, and the mostly empty bottle of wine on the coffee table next to me. “Whoa, how many have you had tonight?”

  I pushed myself up from the couch and caught a glance at myself in the mirror. Sure, my hair could use a quick comb, and my eyeliner was smudged under my eyes, but I wasn’t that bad. Was I?

  “Two,” I said, a little defensively. So what if I was drinking from a juice glass, not a wine glass? Two was two.

  Vi sighed, and with a pointed look at me, got herself an actual wine glass and poured the remains of the bottle in it. I thought I heard her say two my ass but I decided not to ask about it. If there was one thing Vi hated, it was people not living up to their full potential, and by the sounds of it, I fell into that category right about now.

  “Tell you about what?” She settled in next to me, but not before removing a pair of my dirty socks from the couch cushion. She made a little face as she dropped them on the floor.

  I glared at her. “About Boston. You knew damn well I wouldn’t want to see him.”

  Vi had the decency to look embarrassed. Probably remembering the time in eighth grade where I had written him an anonymous love poem, which he promptly taped to the bathroom mirror he shared with Vi, using her lipstick to write ‘Ooo la la’ next to it with hearts. Guess I wasn’t so slick after all.

  “Oh. Yeah. That. I didn’t think you’d run into him.”

  “Run into him! I’ve been instructed to work closely with him for the next couple of months!”

  “Really! He needs an assistant? I thought he was usually out and about town, getting news scoops from places.”

  I gave her a stern look. “Apparently the fresh stories came into town this time. The editor at TC Media, Kiara the Scary, decided she loved my background so much she asked me to write a column about how to move on in your thirties after getting dumped by the love of your life when you’re old and dried up.”

  Vi’s mouth hung open. “She did not.”

  I sighed and took another sip of my wine. “Fine, she didn’t exac
tly frame it like that. She wanted me to write a human interest story about life changes and other bullshit like that. But since I’m not an experienced journalist, she needed someone to help guide me on it, and do some editing. And that someone’s name is Boston.”

  Vi covered her mouth with her free hand, though I could see the grin peeking out from behind her perfectly manicured nails.

  “Not funny,” I said sharply.

  Vi’s grin grew wider behind her hand, and she gave a cough that sounded suspiciously fake, like it was hiding something. “I’m sorry,” she managed. “It sounds terrible. Why not just say no?”

  “Because I need the money. She’s willing to pay my freelance rates in addition to my temp salary. I just need to sell my soul to do it.”

  With that, she started howling with laughter. Absolute hysterical laughter, complete with pounding her fist on her thigh. Her dark curls shook as I gave her my best death stare.

  “I’m sorry,” she gasped between breaths for air, holding onto her sides. “But from an outsider’s view, it sounds so fucking funny the way you put it.”

  “Whatever.” I rolled my eyes, despite a tiny bit of pleasure for making someone laugh for the first time in what seemed like weeks. Now I thought about it, it had been weeks since I acted anything more than a sad sack of tears.

  “So, really, what is this article about? It can’t be ‘Tales of a Desperately Sad Woman’ for real?”

  “No....” I traced my finger around the empty wine bottle. Sparkling Riesling from Trader Joe’s. My favorite. Shane always hated it, said it was nasty, but I loved how it was six bucks and tasted good, at least to my unrefined palate.

  Vi eyed me. “I hope it’s not about…”

  I sat in silence for a minute until I finally said, “You don’t know what it’s like. I’m losing my partner, the love of my life, the person who has been by my side for the last ten years. Hell, even more, I’m losing my future. I would do anything to get it all back. You just don’t understand.”