“Are you serious?” It was a clever but cruel play on the haughty first wife in that book, who, if I remembered correctly, died before the hero and heroine found their happy ending. Talk about life imitating art.
“It’s sad, really.” Her voice drifted. “She usually avoided the media to begin with, but now…well, it’s everywhere.”
“Ah, shit.” I gritted my teeth. No woman deserved that. My father taught me a man was only as good as his word, and that’s what vows were, the ultimate word. There was a reason I’d never married. I didn’t make promises I couldn’t keep, and I’d never been with a woman I was ready to forsake all others for. “Okay. Thanks, Adrienne.” I crossed to the drawing room doors.
“Good luck. Wait—Noah?”
“Yeah?” I paused with my fingers on the brass handle.
“Agree with her.”
“I’m sorry?”
“This isn’t about you; it’s about her great-grandmother. Check your massive ego at the door.”
“I don’t have a—”
“Yeah, you do.”
I scoffed. There was no shame in knowing you were the best at what you did, but romance wasn’t what I usually wrote. “Anything else?” I asked sarcastically. Leave it to my sister to shine a light on every flaw.
“Hmmm. You should tell her about Mom.”
“No.” That wasn’t happening.
“Noah, I’m telling you, girls are a sucker for a guy who loves his mom enough to read to her. It will win her over. Trust me, but don’t try to flirt your way through, either.”
“I’m not flirting—”
She laughed. “I know you way too well, and I love you, but I’ve seen pictures of Georgia Stanton, and she is way out of your league.”
I couldn’t disagree with her there. “Nice. Thanks, and I love you, too. See you next weekend.”
“Nothing extravagant!”
“What I buy my niece for her birthday is between her and me. See you then.” I hung up with my sister and walked into the living room. Every face but Georgia’s swung my way, each of them more hopeful than the last.
I took my time as I made my way back to my seat, pausing to examine the photograph that had captured Georgia’s attention.
It was Scarlett Stanton, sitting at a massive desk, her glasses perched on her nose as she typed on the same old-school typewriter she’d written all of her books on, and sitting with her back against the side of the desk, reading on the floor, was Georgia. She looked to be about ten.
She had the rights to her great-grandmother’s book…not her mother, who was Scarlett’s granddaughter, which meant there were family dynamics here far beyond my understanding.
Instead of sitting, I stood behind my assigned chair, gripping the sides lightly with my back to the fireplace as I studied Georgia like I would a cliff I was determined to climb, searching for the right route, the best path. “Here’s the thing,” I said directly to Georgia, ignoring everyone else in the room. “You don’t like my books.”
She lifted an eyebrow, her head tilting slightly.
“That’s okay, because I happen to love Scarlett Stanton’s books. All of them. Every single one. I’m not the romance hater you think I am. I’ve read them all twice, some of them more than that. She had a unique voice, incredible, visceral writing, and a way of evoking emotion that blows me out of the water when it comes to romance.” I shrugged.
“In that, we agree,” Georgia said, but there was no bite in her tone.
“There is no one who compares to your great-grandmother in this genre, but I wouldn’t trust anyone else with her book, and I know more than a few other writers. I am the one you need. I am the one who will do this book justice. Everyone else at the level this book demands will want to twist it their way, or put their own mark on it. I don’t,” I promised.
“You don’t?” She shifted in her chair.
“If you let me finish this book, it will be her book. I will work tirelessly to make sure it reads as if she wrote the last half herself. You won’t be able to tell where she stops writing and I start.”
“Last third,” Ava corrected.
“Whatever it needs.” My eyes didn’t stray from Georgia’s steadfast gaze. What the hell had Ellsworth been thinking? She was achingly, traffic-stopping beautiful, with curves for miles and a mind sharp enough to match her tongue. No man in his right mind would cheat on a woman like her. “I know you have doubts, but I’ll work until I win you over.”
Keep your mind on the business.
“Because you’re that good,” she said with a heavy note of sarcasm.
I bit back a smile. “Because I’m just that damn good.”
She studied me carefully as the grandfather clock ticked by the seconds beside us, then shook her head. “No.”
“No?” My eyes flared and my jaw locked.
“No. This book is incredibly personal to this family—”
“It’s personal to me, too.” Shit. I might actually lose this one.
I let go of the chair and rubbed the back of my neck. “Look, my mom was in a bad car accident when I was sixteen, and…I spent that summer by her bedside, reading your great-grandmother’s books to her.” I left out that it had been part of the penance my father had demanded. “Even the satisfying parts.” My lips quirked upward with her eyebrows. “It’s personal.”
Her gaze shifted, softening for a moment before she lifted her chin. “Would you be willing to take your name off the book?”
My stomach lurched. Damn, she went straight for the kill, didn’t she?
Check your ego. Adrienne had always been the more rational of our duo, but heeding her advice in this instant was about as painless as raking my soul over a cheese grater.
Was it
