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She’d told Sam, though. The confession had come so easily there in the warmth of the blanket fort, with his dark gaze unwaveringly on hers. She’d known instinctively that she didn’t have to protect him from the raw, stripped-down truth. A man of his strength and fortitude could take it. In fact, he’d want to shoulder the weight himself.
Brooke let out her breath slowly. Was that why she’d told him? Because her renewed contact with Michael and opening herself up for his rejection again was starting to weigh heavily on her? Had she wanted—needed—to lighten the load?
Sam shoved the envelope at her with a decisive movement, as if the matter were not up for debate. Brooke put her hand over it.
“I helped you for a few hours, if that,” she reminded him. “And since you’re here rather than at your computer, it seems I didn’t even help you all that much. This is an unjustifiably excessive amount of money to pay me.”
He lifted a box of books onto the counter. “Take the money, Brooke.”
She wanted to, very badly. But she’d leftThe Gazettebecause she couldn’t take Gramps’ handout. There was no way she could accept Sam’s either.
On the other hand, this wasn’t entirely a handout. And even a portion of it would go a long way toward covering her costs for the Freelancer’s Convention.
“I’ll take half,” she finally said. “But please understand this doesn’t mean I’m going to withdraw my ideas fromEmpire.”
“Your call.” He turned away from her.
Brooke let out her breath slowly. “Look, can we not fight about this? I know the cabin was a…mistake, but obviously stuff happened that I’mnotsorry about, and I think that makes us a little more than acquaintances now. I’d hate to think you’re judging me after all that.”
The muscles of his back tensed. “I’m not judging you.”
“You think I’m being stupid.”
“I think you’ve convinced yourself you have no other choice.” Facing her, he planted his hands flat on the counter. “But you know that twenty, thirty…hell, fifty rejections for a writer is nothing on the road to getting what you want.Empireis just one of thousands of opportunities out there.”
Brooke rubbed her hands together. True as that was, she didn’t have an infinite amount of time to start making money and establishing her career. AndEmpirewas no third-rate magazine.
They paid well. They hired well-known writers and authors, so she’d be in excellent company. She’d have a by-line, which would restore some of the credibility she’d lost when she’d leftThe New York Times. Even if she did score a full-time job interview somewhere, she’d have to explain why she’d left such an illustrious journalistic position.
“My point is that you need to trust the fact that you have other chances.” Sam set a stack of romance novels in front of her. “These are promo copies, so take whatever you want.”
If only it were that easy.
She looked over the titles, selected a few, and slipped them into her backpack. “How’s John and Patricia’s romance going?”
“Fine.”
“Are you sure you don’t need my help anymore?”
“I’m sure.” He lifted another stack of books from the box and began inputting them into the computer system.
“Okay.” Brooke stepped away from the counter. “I’ll see you around, then.”
“Yeah.”
She started toward the door. From the instant she’d collided with him in the cabin, she couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’tfelthis attention on her in multiple ways—warm, sharp, penetrating, curious, irritated, attentive. Even when he wasn’t looking at her, she’d sensed his regard, as if he had an internal antenna directed right at her.
But now, as she left the bookstore, a trickle of cold ran down her spine. Sam had retreated back behind his stone wall and intended to stay there. She couldn’t feel anything about him anymore.
