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“Tell you what,” Easton starts and empties a dustpan of broken glass into the recycling. “I’ll take a sick day too. We can say we got bad sushi last night and it made us both sick.”
Smiling, I look across the room at him. “You don’t have to do that for me.”
“I want to make sure you’re okay.” His eyes meet mine and my heart swells in my chest. “That’s the most important thing.”
“I’ll be fine. Can you finish breakfast while I shower? If that doesn’t clear my head, I’ll stay home. Promise.”
“Of course. I’ll get the Bento boxes packed too.” He comes over and kisses the top of my head before getting the vacuum from the closet. Rubbing my temples, I go back into the bedroom, stopping as soon as I go through the door. The feeling that something is terribly wrong is starting to fade, and instead I feel like I’m forgetting something. But again, I can’t figure out what.
As if I’m moving on auto pilot, I twist my hair into a bun, turn on the shower, and pick out an outfit for the day. I decide on a black pencil skirt and a matching jacket, with a dark maroon blouse underneath. I quickly shower, dry off, and get dressed. Then I go back into the bathroom and stand in front of my vanity, looking at my hair that I just pulled out of the bun. I plan to curl it, but the tool looks ancient to me. For some reason, I feel like it’s been years since I used a curling iron, but I don’t want to say that to Easton and make him worry.
I burn my fingers twice, and my hair is more wavy than curled, but it doesn’t look bad. I put on a bit of makeup, grab my heels, and go back into the kitchen.
“Whoa,” Easton says, looking at me. He’s standing at the counter, putting together our lunches. “I’m like this dark-Callie.”
“What?” I look down at myself. “Is it too much?”
“Not at all.” He puts a knife down and comes over, taking me in his arms. He’s still wearing only a towel and I feel a weird twist of desire deep inside me. But it’s not for him, yet someone else. Someone I’ve never met. I have got to stop reading so many romance novels. “It’s perfect for presenting a dark paranormal series.”
“That’s exactly what I was going for,” I say, yet feel like I’m lying. Because I am? No, why would I lie? I own this outfit. Certainly, I’ve dressed like this before.
“How are you feeling?”
“Good.” My lips curve into a smile and I hook my arms around his neck. “Ready to tell Sabrina to shove it if she interrupts me again.”
“Dark and fierce. I’m really loving this.”
“Well,” I start, leaning back so I can look into his hazel eyes. “You’re going to have to wait until after work. Then maybe I can read a certain scene out loud for you.”
“Fuck, that’s going to be on my mind all day.” He pulls me closer and the warmth of his body is…odd. I can’t describe it any other way. It’s just not what I’m used to, which makes no sense.
“Same,” I whisper, lifting my eyebrows coyly. When I blink, someone else is standing in front of me. He’s tall, with dark blue eyes and curly, dark hair.
And he has no pulse.
“We, um, we need to get going,” I say and Easton groans in protest but lets me go. I finish prepping our meals for the day while he showers and gets ready, and then we head out together. I take an Uber to The Loop area and Easton goes to another part of the city. It’s like I’m on autopilot, moving through a life that’s familiar yet new at the same time.
“Morning, Callie,” Nelly, the secretary at Black Ink Press says as I walk by. She pushes her dark hair back, and light reflects off her black-rimmed glasses.
“Morning,” I say and come to a stop. “How are the kids?”
She takes a breath and rolls her eyes. “Crazy as ever but I love them.”
“I don’t know how you do it. Princess is enough work for me.”
We both laugh and she shows me pictures of her twin boys from last night’s soccer game. I make small talk with a few other people on my way to my desk, and I freeze when I open my laptop.
“Password,” I whisper, seeing the little white bar on my screen. “Why can’t I remember my password?” Anxiety rises inside of me, and I feel like I’m in one of my nightmares where I’m back in high school and can’t remember the combination to my locker.
Wait.
I never had a locker…because I didn’t attend high school. I went somewhere else.
“Booklover914,” I mouth as it comes to me. I type it in and get my computer fired up. Then it’s back to business as usual, and I start with going through emails from agents, looking for projects I’d like to work on for the first part of the morning. Then it’s a bathroom and coffee break, and then I get to editing a cozy mystery novel until lunch. I eat my packed lunch at my desk, working at the same time, and then it’s time to prepare for the presentation.
I’ve been ready since yesterday, and I’m feeling confident as I walk into the conference room. The head editor as well as two members on the publishing team join me, and I pass out manuscripts and start my PowerPoint presentation and get to work.
“Now,” I say after laying out the groundwork. “I know investing this kind of time and money into a never before punished author can come off as a risk, but I’m positive readers will have the same reaction to the story as I did. The first book is complete, I have the first draft of the second, the author has provided detailed outlines for books three and four as well.”
