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I get to have fun swanning around pretending to be Mr. Marshall’s spoiled fiancée for a while.
I get to meet smart people in children’s publishing, and if I’m lucky, I’ll even get a shot at building a strong network of referrals.
I get nice new clothes. Nicer than my standard interview pantsuit and my small collection of eclectic business casual wear.
I might even get to find out what’s under his grouchy exterior, assuming Mr. Marshall just has to defrost enough to talk to me like a normal human being. Pretty much required, if anyone’s going to believe I know him well enough to call him August.
And best of all?
I get to work with the Clara Marshall.
I can’t stop grinning as I watch Seattle slide by from the back seat of that slick car—which was waiting for us outside with the driver, Rick.
I’m still trying not to hyperventilate.
Inky the Penguin practically shaped my childhood.
The whole series of illustrated children’s books follows an adorable emperor penguin like no other. Instead of being black with a white belly, Inky was born white with a special black belly that doubles as a magic inkwell for writing letters.
If it sounds weird, don’t worry. Inky only uses his powers for good.
He travels all over the world, finding new places, new cultures, new friends, always carrying pen pal letters. His backpack bulges with envelopes overflowing with cheerful messages from folks who would’ve never met without his help.
I remember it like yesterday.
Even though we only lived a few houses apart, Lena and I would write letters and leave them in each other’s mailboxes, pretending that Inky himself had delivered them. When we played together, we’d tromp through the woods, imagining we were Inky’s little companions on his long hikes around the globe.
If we had to cross Puget Sound on the ferries with Gran or Lena’s parents, then we were Inky on a great steamship crossing the oceans.
“Do you ever stop smiling, Miss Lark?” August mutters without looking at me.
“Do you ever start?” I throw back, tossing a grin over my shoulder. “And I mean a real smile. Not that creepy Mr. Burns thing you did when you found out I was a children’s illustrator.”
“Burns? As in Lincoln?” He’s on his laptop. Again. I don’t think the man knows how to take a break.
“No! Not the fashion CEO. The Simpsons?” When that gets me a blank look, I laugh. “Wow. We are so different. How are people ever supposed to believe we’re engaged?”
“‘Opposites attract’ is still a thing, isn’t it?” He frowns. “Of course, it’s bound to end in divorce as soon as the novelty wears off, but since we’re breaking up anyway, we don’t have to worry about that.”
How romantic.
“Ugh, you’re such a pessimist.” I shift in the back seat to face him, drawing one leg up and hugging it to my chest. “People should believe we’re engaged because ... because we met and something too powerful to ignore swept us up in this crazy attraction. You, this dashing, handsome man. Ice cold on the outside, but when you met me, you melted. And I saw a touch of heart in you that thrilled me and made me want to know more. While you ...” I toss my hair playfully. “You were confused and annoyed because you found me irresistible. You couldn’t stop thinking about me for a single second.”
I hold up my hand with a sliver of space pinched between my fingers.
August is not amused.
His stern blue eyes drill through me with his dead stare.
“While you’re clearly a very lovely young woman, Miss Lark, you’re also cursed with an overactive imagination.”
The gruffness in his voice makes me smile.
“Sad you think that, but okay. The more you ice me out, the cuter I think you are.”
“Fuck that.” Both of his starkly defined eyebrows rise sharply. “There’s nothing cute about me.”
“That’s a lie! There’s plenty.” I wiggle more comfortably into the almost sinfully plush seats, settling to sit cross-legged as I face him. “Now why don’t you close the laptop and tell me what’s wrong at Little Key?”
