KATHERINE
I awoke with a start, hand outstretched, only to feel the warmth of fingers brush my shoulder.
"Everything all right, Kat?" Matthew looked down at me, brow furrowed. "You sounded like you were crying."
I sat up quickly and swiped a hand across my wet cheeks. However strange my dream, I couldn't shake the last image in my mind. If possible, I went even redder, and I could feel the heat radiating off my face.
"Do you feel sick? Do you have a fever?" He reached to press his hand against my forehead but I ducked, pretending to reach for my phone, which had fallen to the floor last night.
"No," I said quickly, standing and creating more space between us. "Just getting used to the heat."
Erland gave me a strange look from the barstool in the kitchen. He wore a jean jacket—and now that I was out from under my woolen blanket, I could feel the jets of AC blasting through the house. I crossed my arms to hide the shiver that threatened my body.
Matthew checked his watch. "Erland said you need to be in Wayward at 8am. You have enough time to get ready and have a cup of coffee."
I nodded, still groggy on my feet, and mumbled my thanks. Grasping my suitcase that I left by the door, I let Matthew lead me to the second guest bedroom, and then I got ready to take a shower. By the time I was out, hair wrapped in a towel, I found Matthew in the kitchen with coffee and a chocolate chip muffin.
"Erland says chocolate chip's your favorite," he told me, passing me the coffee. While I prepared my cup at the counter, he slipped into a stool. "How are you feeling?"
"Better," I said, grinning. "I'm not drowning in sweat anymore."
My phone pinged and I fished it out of my pocket. Betsy. Matthew caught my attention before I could open it.
"Kat, I know it's a lot to take in at once." He took a breath, then captured me with a solemn gaze. "Erland told me about Camille. I'm sorry that you both have to go through that. I lost my dad to a car accident in college." He motioned with his head over to the door to the basement, where the music of a video game made its way up the stairs. "He's taking it pretty hard from what I can see. He disappeared to play right after you went to get ready."
"He'll probably be there all day if you let him," I said. "He starts at North High in a few days. He's missing his friends. He's worried about Mom."
Matthew nodded. "Is your grandfather keeping you updated about her condition?"
My phone pinged again and I glanced at it.
He made as if to move out of the kitchen, but I stopped him. "No, it's my friend Betsy," I explained. "I met her when I went back up to live with Mom after... well, you know." I cleared my throat with a draught from my coffee. "She's keeping track of Mom for me. Gramps has made it his life mission to ruin my life before he goes," I added, even though he didn't ask.
His brow knit together. "I'm sorry, Katherine."
I was tempted to say Me, too. God knows I have in the past, when my life went to hell. I deserve it whispered to me with every glass I poured. Why my grandfather hated me was a great mystery of the world, right up there with the platypus and God. At least here, in Alabama, I was free of him.
I waved a hand. "I'm not." I slid into the stool beside him and began unwrapping the muffins. "Now, tell me," I said, "what should I do today? Join Nick and Victoria with the Committee or stick around on the sixth floor as an editor?"
Yesterday, Leya had assigned me to read manuscripts and report on the first chapters, which ones are immediately sellable, potential with work, or complete rejects. I had until Friday to get them to her. I explained this to Matthew, then scarfed down bites of my muffin as he mulled it over.
At last, he spoke. "Stick with Leya and Grey. Grey seemed to want to help you yesterday, and you could learn more about the company from him than if there are Committee members that want to get rid of you...." he paused, brow furrowing. "The question is, how much of the company knows who you really are?"
* * *
Matthew's question echoed in my mind as I tiptoed into Wayward Publishing, peering at everyone to gauge any spark of recognition. The receptionist greeted me with a smile and went on to answer the phone, and the few workers I passed didn't bat an eye at me. At least, it seemed, my role as half-owner of the company wasn't known to many. Even so, I didn't let the breath out of my lungs until I stood alone on the elevator.
The doors opened on the sixth floor, and I was greeted immediately by Grey, who stood and invited me to get a cup of coffee. In the break room, one intern was struggling to make copies. When she finally did, and the machine started screeching as it spat out paper, Grey's fake smile cracked.
He frowned. "What gives, Katherine? You disappeared yesterday and Leya was mad. She's probably still miffed today—and so am I."
My breath caught in my throat. "You? Why?" I knew Leya would be furious, but Grey?
He rolled his eyes. "Because you were out, she gave me three more manuscripts. Now that you're back, you'll be finishing them."
He thrust a cup of coffee at me as if he were throwing a bag of dog poop. Anger sparked, a fire in my belly as hot words flashed through my mind. I could cut him down to pieces, What's your problem? Or Shove your work down someone else's throat. But then I remembered how I tore into Betsy at the hospital, the bitterness that lodged in my throat as I wallowed, alone, in my mother's hospital room. Now I was here, without a friend under the roof of Wayward Publishing, and I was going to tear apart the one person on the floor nice enough to help me out on my first day?
I took a deep breath, and accepted the coffee with a smile. "Sure," I said. "I'm sorry about the work."
Grey paused. "You're serious?" When I didn't say anything, he relaxed. "Wow, that's new. There's a lot of people here who wouldn't care. You're pretty cool, Katherine."
I felt my shoulders relax. "You scared me, Grey. I thought it was something big." Like me being half-owner of the company he worked at.
He grinned at me now. "It is when I've already got so much work to do. Do you want cream or sugar?"
"Both," I said, laughing as I accepted the creamer carton. "I'll help you out as much as I can. I want to get to know more about Wayward."
Grey brightened at that. "Ask me anything. I've been around since Wayward had two floors and half of it was a bookstore." Before I could open my mouth, he went on. "I know, it sounds crazy, but it's the truth."
The intern finished her copies and threw us a bored glance before going back to the main office. Grey and I sat at the small table. I don't care how much work I have to help him with later, my curiosity was too much to silence.
"You've got to explain that one, Grey," I said jokingly, laughing to hide the tremble of excitement in my voice. "How did a bookstore become a publishing house?"
Grey leaned in, lowering his voice. "I heard they were going bankrupt when Masiello came in with big money. Something about his brother sending him a check, on the contingency that they switched to a publishing house. When I started, they still sold books from their contracted authors, but that switched once the Committee formed." He looked around as if to see if anyone was coming, then spoke so softly I had to read his lips. "They say half the shares belong to the brother, not Masiello, and—"
Just then, a shadow crossed the entrance to the break room. Leya. She fixed a watery-eyed glare on Grey. "Get back to work, Falen," she snapped. He met my gaze briefly before stepping out. "And you," she said, fixing her attention on me. "I should fire you." Though she stood less than five feet, she could have been the Empire State Building for as little as I felt right now.
"Oh, no, don't—"
"I don't care how you know Masiello. I will not tolerate nepotism in my office. I have a stack of résumés sitting on my desk of people ready to fill your place the next time you decide to take an unannounced vacation." With that, Leya left the break room.
My heart pounded in my ears, echoing her words as they bounced around my skull. More than anything, I felt relief—she didn't know the truth. At least, not yet. She was more preoccupied with the fact that Nick knew me at all; hopefully, she wouldn't make it her mission to figure it out.
Back at my cubicle, three new manuscripts sat on top of the four I was assigned yesterday. I sank into my chair, pulled my hair back from my face, and got to reading the manuscript on top of the pile: Fly By Midnight.
The name jolted me back to an old-forgotten memory. A few weeks ago, Betsy had asked me if I was sleeping with her husband. He was publishing a novel, an echo of a novel I had finished—and lost—right before my wedding: Starlight Crows.
I wonder.... Stealing a glance to make sure Leya's office door was closed and the dozen other employees in the office were busy, I scrubbed on a post-it and dropped it over the division to Grey's desk. Paper rustled. Then Grey's head popped over the divider and his blue eyes met mine.
"Yeah," he said. "I've seen this book. I was the one that wrote the report for Leya. It should be going through a round of editing right now." He shrugged. "Maybe even cover design, depending on how many sales we might get with a winter or spring release."
My breath caught. "Do you have a copy?"
Grey scoffed. He fumbled around his desk for a minute, before plopping a three-inch manuscript on my desk. "I've got the whole manuscript, Katherine. Take a look."
I couldn't help the gasp that escaped me. There, at the bottom of the first page, was the author's name: Richard Chase.