“Easier said than done.” I let myself out of the office.
As I rode the elevator down to the first floor, I flipped through the notebook. Page after page of emptiness and pale blue lines provoked me. It has always been that way.
I drove back to the condo and went directly to my desk. Last Light, my work in progress, lay open before me. I frowned as I considered it, remembering Mike’s words.
Think about your actions during those times, the books you wrote—your career.
Since I’d met Hannah, I wrote only about Hannah. That beautiful woman … my sweet little bird. Love is hysteria, and summer makes it worse. Heat spreads the fever. Madness.
I pushed aside Last Light and opened my new notebook from Mike.
At the top of the page, in cramped, slanting caps, I wrote:
EXHIBITIONISM
Chapter 3
HANNAH
Pam wanted to see me after lunch.
I worried a nail as I carried my salad out of the Mediterranean deli.
If Pam wanted to see me, I’d probably done something wrong. Shit. What could it be?
I sat at the last empty table outside and started stuffing forkfuls of lettuce into my mouth. I ate mindlessly, concentrating instead on how I might have pissed off my boss. Hm. No contract negotiations were under way. We had no new authors. Was I reading too slowly? Did I discard a promising manuscript?
A shadow fell across my table.
I looked up at a pretty, petite woman with fawn brown hair.
“Oh!” she said. “You’re Hannah Catalano.”
I nodded. Since our TV appearance, Matt and I were pseudo-celebs in Denver. Now everyone who recognized Matt also recognized me. He was “that crazy author who faked his death” and I was “the adorable girl he loves.” It could be worse, we joked.
“Do you mind?” The woman glanced at the chair across from mine.
“Go for it,” I said, and she set down her tray. “It’s so busy today.”
“Must be the nice weather.” As the stranger sipped her drink, I noticed a delicate gold band around her ring finger, encrusted with three diamonds. My chest tightened.
The woman caught me staring and she blushed.
“I just got engaged. And so did you, right? You and that author?”
“Uh … yeah.” I pushed an olive around my plate.
“This is the craziest coincidence.” The woman squinted and glanced over her shoulder, then leaned toward me. “My friend used to date him. Can you believe that?”
“Huh?” A gust of wind rocked the umbrella above our table. It shifted and a shaft of sunlight pierced my eyes. Friend … dated Matt?
“I know, right?” The woman laughed. Her earrings flashed like fishing lures. “The stories I have heard. You are so brave to be marrying him. Is he really into all that weird stuff?”
“I—” I shielded my eyes. Jesus, I needed to see this woman. Was her friend Bethany Meres, Matt’s evil ex? And what did she mean by “weird stuff”?
“God, I probably shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.” She lifted her tray. “A table just freed up over there, so I’ll give you some peace. Nice meeting you.”
The woman hurried off and I sat there staring after her.
I wanted to march over to her table and demand more information, but my lunch break was up. I pictured Pam waiting in her office with an executioner’s ax. Fuck …
I got one last good look at the woman—straight, fine hair to her shoulders, a small, fit body, and a brightly printed Coach purse—and carried my tray back into the deli.
*
Pamela Wing and her partner, Laura Granite, awaited me in the office. I rarely saw Laura around the agency and the sight of her stopped me in the doorway.
These women looked severe.
Laura beckoned, her perfect eyebrows arching. Pam nodded at me.
Okay … I knew this scene. They would feed me some lines about a gap in my skill set, or disappointment with my progress, their hope for more growth. This isn’t working out, Hannah.
“Great to see you, Hannah,” said Laura. Laura was a leggy brunette, in her fifties at least and alarmingly attractive.