Written on Her Heart (2 page)

Ford Delaney. In the flesh.

Andi tore her gaze away from him momentarily to close the door behind her.

He sat at a huge mahogany desk on the other side of the room and motioned for her to sit in the empty seat across from him. Andi swallowed hard, took a seat and tried to keep her breakfast from reappearing.

His messy brown hair curled above his ears and the collar of his dress shirt. He looked younger than his pictures. Younger, even, than his thirty years, with a golden tan and kind eyes. His book flap picture didn’t do him justice.

She bit her lip and sat with her back stiff, hands clasped, while she watched him swivel in his seat and stare out the window at the peaceful blue lake.

Should she say something? Introduce herself? No, that would be dumb. He’d just called her into his office; clearly he knew her name. Still, silence never felt so suffocating, and the niggling urge to fill it gnawed at her.

“That’s some view, huh?”
Gah!
She sounded like she was on a bad date. She closed her eyes briefly, and when she opened them, she started in her seat.

His eyes—rich hazel with flecks of golden honey—were on her. If she wasn’t already paralyzed by his mere presence, his gaze alone would’ve done it. Those eyes were enough to stop a girl’s heart.

His full lips parted and the rasp of his voice broke the silence. “Surely you’ve heard of my situation in the press. What would your price be to sell me out?”

“What?” Andi frowned, wondering if she misheard.

He put his hands together, forming a steeple with his fingers and pressed them to his mouth. “The media has no idea where I am right now. Eventually, they’ll catch wind, but for now, they can only speculate. Thanks to your small town’s allegiance to all its residents, temporary or permanent, it may stay that way for a while. But if you had an opportunity, how much would it cost for the media to get information from you?” He waved his hand in front of him as he spoke. “Say you had news about something new I was working on or some personal discovery crossed your desk. What would be your price?”

“I, uh, I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t tell anyone anything.” Andi had expected a lot of questions from him but not this.

She rubbed her damp palms on her skirt. He shifted his gaze, catching the movement, and smiled. “Yes, you would. Everyone has a price, Miss Callaway.”

“It’s Andi. And
I
don’t.”

She may have been a lot of things, but she wasn’t a snitch and she couldn’t be bought. Just the insinuation sent a wave of irritation crashing through her. She stared back at him, but he said nothing, twirling a pen in his hands and holding her gaze until, eventually, he turned away to resume staring out the window.

Had she done something to give him a bad impression, already? As successful and talented as he was, he certainly was tipping the scale of unusual.

Sighing, Andi dropped her perfect posture and leaned onto the desk, placing her palms on the smooth surface. “Listen, I want this job but not for money. And I certainly don’t need to sell some story to the press—your location or anything else.”

He turned back to her, his brows arched.

Now that she had his attention, she continued. “Growing up, my father always said life isn’t worth living unless you’re doing something you love. He did what he loved for a living—still does. That’s why I’m here.”

Ford leaned into his desk and folded his hands. His expression gave little away. “So, you’re saying you’re here because your dream is to do research and coffee runs for a bestselling author?”

Andi smiled. “No. I’ll be honest. I want to
be
you someday. Professionally, that is. I want to get published, be a novelist, and I want millions to read my work. The opportunity you’re providing would be a big stepping stone.”

“I thought you didn’t care about money?”

“I don’t. I just want my books read and for people to love them. For my words to be the last thing people read before they go to bed and the first thing they reach for on a rainy day. I want my books to be a reprieve, an escape. As long as I have a roof over my head, my laptop and food, I’ll be happy.”

The corners of his mouth curled and spread into a smile, revealing perfect teeth. Holy cow—Ford Delaney just smiled at something she said.

“Well said, Miss—” He paused and glanced down at her resume. “Andi.”

When he glanced back at her, his smile vanished. “Tell me what you know about me. About everything that’s going on.”

Andi shifted in her seat. Was he serious? She knew everything, but somehow that didn’t seem like the thing to say. Was knowing more or less better? She wasn’t sure, so she decided on the truth.

“I know everything in your novels is true. Or at least, that’s what they’re saying. That the Cedar Creek series is based on your life, as well as some of your others. I know a couple people have come forward to sue. It’s come out or been speculated that you are the main character, Jake McDonald.”

She kept going, unsure of whether she should stop, unable to read him. “The media has gone crazy over the stories because you’re huge. All your books have been made into movies, and I’m sure your dating celebrities and models over the past two years hasn’t helped any.”

The truth was that Ford Delaney’s name had been in the media prior to this scandal—ever since he’d met super-celeb Talia Ridge on the set of the movie of his book, Black Beach Bay. Since then, he’d acquired the reputation as a Hollywood playboy, which spurred Andi’s next statement.

“It’s rumored your latest conquest dumped you when the scandal about your books broke.”

He raised his hand for her to stop, squinting, so his eyes crinkled around the corners, as if something she’d said had hurt him. Andi snapped her mouth shut, and after a moment of silence, he asked, “So you go to Ohio State with a major in creative writing?”

“Yes. I just finished my junior year.”
Good
. Solid ground. These kinds of questions she could answer.

“If this position works out, I may keep the new employee on to work for me, which means moving to my home base in New York. Are you willing to leave school for that? Or is this only to be a summer job for you?”

“I would leave school.”

When he raised his brows, she elaborated. “I’m not going to say I’m not hoping you might one day read my work, refer me to your agent or help in some other way. I’d be foolish not to want that and an even bigger fool to try and convince you that isn’t my hope. But even if you don’t do any of that, this job will allow me to see how you work and teach me about the ins and outs of the publishing world. No Free Verse or Humor in Writing class will do that.”

Ford rubbed his jaw. Andi couldn’t be sure but she thought he might be hiding a smile. “This job is for a local, only because I need someone to show me around. I’m—”

“No one knows Callaway Cove like me.” She stilled after the words left her mouth. Had she really just interrupted him?

“
And
,” he said, dragging out the word, “I’ll need someone to do research, type things and run for coffee or lunch, especially if the press finds me. There may be times I need you to drop off my dry cleaning. My other assistant used to do all this for me, but with the extra media attention, she is busier on the public relations side of things, and she recently took a second PR job with another writer, so she’s not always here and will occasionally need to travel for business. Needless to say, making sure I have clean laundry isn’t on the top of her priority list. I need to know those menial things aren’t beyond you.” His eyes bore into hers while he played with the pen on his desk.

Does he have to look at her like that? Andi gripped the sides of the chair to keep from squirming under his unrelenting gaze.  “They’re not.”

“Okay. Back to the press. In case my line of questioning didn’t make me clear earlier, if you work for me, you can’t speak to anyone in the media about this job. Ever. I don’t care if it’s the Callaway Cove Tribune or another equally small publication. And when it comes to me and whatever is going on, you have no opinion. If they ask you about the situation or for an interview—” he waved his hand “—unless I say otherwise, you have nothing to say.”

Andi’s face flamed, and she knew the shade of red would rival that of a vine-ripened tomato. She hated the way her emotions showed so easily, but she also didn’t like feeling that she was being reprimanded, especially when she hadn’t done anything. And by someone who had yet to even give her a job.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to keep the irritation from her voice. “I’ll do whatever is asked in that regard. If I have the job.”

 “I sense hostility. Is there some part of what I said that offends you? Because if there is, please do tell. Now would be the time to share your feelings on the matter, instead of after I’ve hired you.”

She clenched her fists, willing herself to keep her mouth shut. But she couldn’t. Part of her wondered if he’d goaded her on purpose. “There’s no problem with anything you said, per se. But the way I see it, you’re a public figure. If you’re going to be a writer and you want to achieve the level of success you’ve had, you need to put yourself out there. You can’t expect people to just go away. You’re lucky people care so much.”

 Whether she was talking about the media and his massive fan base or herself, she wasn’t sure.

“
Lucky?”
Ford’s mouth pressed into a thin line.

 “Yes. They’re interested because they love your work. You’ve sold billions of copies of your books, made billions of dollars from their movies. People aren’t going to just bug off now because you tell them to. They want to know you. They want to know the man behind the pen and paper. And how can you expect them not to? I just think it’s a bit hypocritical to want your fans to buy all your books, to be invested in you as a writer, but then expect them to back off when you feel it’s gotten too personal. This is the social media era. Everything’s personal.”

“I suppose you would know. Yes, I should listen to you.” His eyes flamed, burning embers of gold and brown. “She, the college student, who knows nothing about what it’s like to be successful, what it’s like to put yourself out there and have your entire life, everything you’ve worked so hard to put away, thrown in your face.”

Andi’s eyes widened. Warning bells flashed in her head at the direction the interview had taken. Were they arguing? What happened to normal interviews with,
“Where do you see yourself in five years?”
That question she knew the answer to, had been prepared for.

“Okay,” she said, taking her time. “I get it, but you can’t expect the public only to follow what you carefully filter and put out there. It doesn’t work that way, at least not for long.”

Ford smacked the palm of his hand over his desk, making Andi jump. “I’m not an actor. I’m not some damned celebrity putting myself behind the camera. I write
words. I hide behind a computer, a notebook. That’s what authors do. We create worlds and lives with a pen and paper. We’re not meant to be in the spotlight. Our books, our stories are.”

“Yes, maybe so, but look at James Frey. When everyone discovered over half his memoir was fabricated, the media was all over it. The world was pissed because they felt duped. The same is going to happen here, except you’re even bigger than he ever was, and it’s the opposite, which means people are going to love you even more, not hate you. I’m sorry, but people are going to want answers. They’re going to want to know more about this character they now know isn’t fictional, after all.”

He laughed through tight lips, a bitter sound. “The media is like a pack of wolves and everyone just wants something to gossip about. It’s all about a juicy story, not the love of fans.”

The way he said it, the bitterness edged with an unreachable sadness in his voice, stopped her short. She couldn’t argue with him, not only because he was partially right, but because, now, when she looked into his eyes, she saw just how affected he really was.