Written on Her Heart (10 page)

“Sorry.” Peter turned to her. “Maybe I’m a little territorial, but I hate thinking you won’t be back at school in the fall. The plan was always for you to get a place in Columbus after graduation and write. Now, everything’s changed with this job, and you might be going clear to New York.”

Andi placed her hands over Peter’s. “I know and I’m sorry, but this won’t be forever. I just need to learn the ropes, get as much information and help from him as I can. Once I have my own work out there, I can move wherever I want. Hopefully, it’ll only be a year. Maybe two. I don’t know but I know that I have to do this. I still want us. That will never change.”

“Promise,” he whispered.

Andi swallowed and the green of his eyes intensified. She reached a hand up to his face and stroked the golden stubble over his jaw. “Promise.”

Swooping down, he kissed her, sealing the oath. Fifteen minutes later, he walked Andi to her car. He shut the door behind her as she got in her beater. Rain came down in sprinkles, dotting her windshield and finding a way inside when she cracked the window.

He placed his palm on the glass next to her. “Have a good day. Love you.”

Andi tried to smile, but her face stiffened as something twisted in her gut. “I will. Love you, too,” she said and turned the ignition.

After the second try, the engine roared to life and she pulled out of the parking lot of the bed and breakfast, her stomach a tangle of nerves, wondering what about their encounter that morning had bothered her so much.

She arrived to work early. Her stomach fluttered as she opened the front door and stepped into the huge vacation home. She not only wanted today to go well, she needed it to. After her disastrous first day, she had to prove herself. Nothing could go wrong. She needed to do whatever Ford wanted her to. Maybe over the course of working for him, Ford would open up, as he already had begun to, and get to know Andi, and, in time, would refer her to an agent or help her get published. At least she hoped. Her writing was worthy. She knew that much. All it required was the right resources.

She stepped into the office. Ms. Perry buzzed around the room like an angry wasp. Keeping her head down, Andi went straight to her desk, hoping to avoid the sting. Plunking down in her chair, she put her purse in the desk drawer, wondering if she should wait for Ford to come out and give her direction or if she should let him know she was there.

“Shit!” Ford’s voice boomed. He flew out of his office and went to Ms. Perry’s desk. He wore a faded t-shirt and a ratty pair of jeans. “Did you see the latest?”

Ms. Perry met his gaze but said nothing.

“She’s hiring a fucking private investigator to find me. As if the press isn’t enough. She probably wants to get to me first so she can extort a nice fat check out of me.” He paused and ran a hand over his face. “I’d love to know where they found her. I wonder what dealer’s bed or back alley they had to drag her from. How the hell does she have money to pay for a PI, anyway? Oh, wait. I know.” He threw his hands up in the air. “She’s selling stories to the media. She’s selling them some sob-story bullshit about how great a mother she was and how I abandoned her when I became famous. She left out the part where she dragged me from whore house to drug lord from the time I was three. But that’s okay. Who needs details?” He exhaled and his whole body shuddered with the movement.

Ms. Perry focused her beady gaze on him through her thick frames. “I’ve been fielding calls on my cell from the media. I’m telling them you just heard the news and nothing more. How would you like me to handle it?”

“I know how we’re going to handle it. Find the best damn detective and have them dig up every dirty thing she’s done. All the details. Have him take pictures of the track marks on her arms. I don’t give a shit. Obtain copies of the police report when they first turned her in for abandoning me. Let’s show her for the trash she is, tell the world she’s lying and then I’ll make a statement. We’re not saying anything until then.”

Ms. Perry blinked. “But—”

“No buts. We’re doing this my way.”

Andi watched, her head down, as Ford began to pace in front of Ms. Perry’s desk. He still hadn’t glanced over at her, sitting in the corner, and Andi wondered if he even knew she had arrived. Keeping quiet, she vacillated between wanting to flee and speak up.

“I don’t care if I have to liquidate all my assets and practically disappear. I’ll write under a fucking pen name if I have to—”

Ms. Perry cleared her throat. “Uh, sir…”

“What?” Ford barked.

“Miss Callaway’s here.”

Ford’s head whipped in her direction.

Crap
. Andi averted her eyes, busying herself with the notebook on her desk.

“Well, you might as well hear all this, anyway. Welcome to your second day.” He threw his hands in the air, raising his voice. “You may as well see what kind of selfish prick you work for.” Storming off into his office, he slammed the door.

Ms. Perry glared at her. “In case you didn’t catch on, the press found his mother, who he hasn’t seen or spoken to in over fifteen years. She sold them a bunch of lies about him. I’d tread lightly today.” She stuck her chin in the air, then turned her attention back to her computer.

What the hell? Andi glanced around the room, wondering if every day would leave her feeling out of place and uncertain.
Tread lightly?
What was she supposed to do now? Ford was clearly upset. More than upset.

She bit her lip and stared at the clock on the wall. There was something sad in Ford’s eyes. Something lonely. The way Ms. Perry approached him was so cold and professional. All business. Maybe Ford liked that, but Andi had a feeling he needed someone now. He needed an ear and not just an assistant. He needed a friend, and despite that voice in the back of her head telling her she couldn’t be it, she got up from her desk and walked over to his door.

She knocked and waited until she heard the rumble of his voice.

“Come in.”

Andi entered, her eyes falling over the room. Paper, pens and office supplies littered every square inch of the floor and his desk, as if a tornado had struck only the inside of his office.

Ford leaned on his desk, his head in his hands, never glancing up. “What is it now, Trisha?”

“Um, it’s Andi.”

He lifted his head, his eyes brightening. “Oh. Sorry about today.” He waved toward the window behind him. “Bad day for sailing. I’m afraid I wouldn’t have been good company, anyway.”

“It’s okay. I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry … about everything. And I’m here if you need to talk.”

Ford nodded. The muscles in his jaw worked. “I’m seriously ready to just throw in the towel.”

“You could really do that? Stop writing?”

Ford shrugged. “Maybe.” Then after a moment, he shook his head. “No. But I could start fresh. No books based on real life. Pure fiction.”

It seemed like a lot to lose. Andi would kill for his success. “What if your books don’t sell?”

“I don’t know. What if they don’t? Would I care? I’m not so sure. I’d be doing what I love, and I’m sure over time, I’d grow a fan base. But it’s not a possibility, anyway. No publisher would protect my identity. It would eventually come out. They’d have too much to gain by leaking it.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Did you know that four of my books are total fiction? There’s nothing about my life in them.”

Andi scooted forward and took a seat in the chair across from his desk. Every part of her wanted to know more. About his books. About him. “Which ones?”

“The Last Night, Truce, Caraway Lane, and Sawyer’s Promise. The press has made it sound like every single book I ever wrote has been one giant memoir. That’s not the case. The truth is so tangled in with the lies now that no one will ever really know fact from fiction unless I talk.”

“So why don’t you?”

Ford leaned back and tapped his pen against his leg. He gazed at her with his rich, golden-brown eyes until she felt her cheeks catch fire. She had to glance away.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I shouldn’t have to. I don’t need to clarify my life or my past with anyone. My mother was scum. She had no right having a kid. I would’ve been better off with almost anyone else. The foster homes never stuck. I was either pulled out by her or transferred because of my behavior. I’m not proud of some of the things in my past. I sold drugs. Lots of them. To kids. To junkies. Some of those people probably ended up in a gutter somewhere. Some are probably still hooked. There may be a few, like me, who ended up okay, but mostly, I helped destroy lives. I drank, had sex, and stole. About the only things I didn’t do were the drugs I sold. I couldn’t. Not after having to watch what they did to my mother. Hypocritical, wasn’t it? Selling was okay but not using.”

Andi leaned forward. Something invisible pulled her to him like a puppet on a string. He had been through so much, yet look at who he had become. “You’ve been through a lot. Why not just tell everyone? They know anyway. At least you’d get your side of it out there and help stop the lies.”

“Will it really stop all this, though?”

He shook his head and Andi watched the way his mouth moved when he spoke. She watched the way the muscles in his jaw tightened and emotion flashed in his eyes. Everything about him demanded her attention.

“I’m not so sure.” He placed his elbows on his desk and scrubbed his hands over his face, his voice thick. “God, I just want to forget. I want this all to evaporate, and I know that can’t happen, but I’d give anything for it to. I don’t want to relive those years.”

And with those last words, Andi got it. The media attention, the people coming forward with their stories—it was bringing everything back. Dredging up his past made it all real again. Whatever old wounds he had still wept.

He lifted his gaze, the pain in his eyes a living, breathing thing. “Anyway, I don’t really have anything for you to do right now. This morning’s news and the weather kind of put a wrench in things. You can just go home if you want. Or stay here and get some of your own stuff done. Whatever you want.” He tried to smile but failed.

Andi nodded. She got the message. This conversation was over, but there was no way she would leave, not with him like this. She knew she was nothing but an employee to him, but leaving after he’d shared his feelings with her felt wrong.

“I’ll hang around. I’ll be here if you need me,” she said.

He tapped the pen on his desk, answering without even glancing up. “Okay.”

Andi turned to leave and opened the door. She paused with her hand on the knob. “You know, they say a lot of authors and artists do their best work in times of stress and grief. Maybe this next book will be the best thing you’ve ever written.”

Ford’s gaze lifted to hers, his eyes brimming with some emotion she didn’t recognize. Saying nothing, Andi smiled and shut the door behind her.

She made her way back to her desk and took a seat, replaying their conversation in her head. Most of the things Ford had told her, she already knew from the tabloids and the news. Still, the fact that he’d opened up to her only confirmed that her instincts had been right. He did need someone to talk to. To listen to him and lean on. She couldn’t imagine how it must feel to have everything you’re ashamed of splashed into your face. He needed someone to show him they cared, that he was more than just some big name author. He needed someone to lighten his load, if even for a moment. And for some inexplicable reason, Andi wanted to be that person.

#

Andi glanced at the clock. It was just after eleven. Ford had yet to mention their missed sailing trip yesterday, and Andi wondered if they’d ever take it or if the notion had been forgotten.

Setting the thought aside, she put down her pen and cracked her knuckles, staring at the notebook spread out before her. The smile on her face had less to do with the kick-ass scene she’d just written and more to do with the fact that she had only two more before she completed her manuscript and typed
The End
. She tapped her feet under her desk in a mini happy dance.