He clicks a pen and puts it in his back pocket. “A good editor always has a pen,” he says, then indicates the napkin. “I hope you call me.”

Pursing my lips against the smile forming is futile, but I try anyway. “I will,” I promise. Then, I make my way outside to rejoin my friends.

Chapter 9

Ryan

After leaving Scarlett’s apartment, I go straight home with every intention of working remotely for the rest of the day. I wasn’t getting anything done at the office; I couldn’t stop thinking about her. And while I knew randomly showing up at her apartment could majorly backfire, I was willing to take the risk.

But when I get back to my Hyde Park condo and open my laptop on top of my desk, it doesn’t take very long for my thoughts to drift. I have other projects besides Scarlett’s that I’m working on, but after finding out who S.J. Falmouth really is, the directive from the higher-ups has been clear: All my other projects are secondary to this one. They know what a find they have on their hands, and they’re going to put a lot of resources behind it.

I’m glad everyone at Anastasios seems to be on board. I would never tell Scarlett this, but after her dramatic exit five years ago, I was worried she’d be blacklisted in the industry if she ever tried to come back. But it seems, with enough time and turnover and a good enough book, they’ve been willing to overlook it.

Her book is good enough, that’s for sure. It has stuck with me since that first reading when it latched onto something in my soul. I haven’t been able to get it to let go.

That’s not what’s overtaking my thoughts now, though. Every time my mind drifts, whatever I had tried to focus on is replaced with the image of her in those purple satin pajamas, the fabric pooling at her bare feet, the chipped navy polish on her toenails peeking out under the hem. The way her blue eyes looked at me almost as eagerly as I left my handwritten notes on her table haunts me, and I’m not ashamed to admit that I wish she was more excited to see me than my editorial commentary.

I’m still thinking about it the next day as I wander into the office, hoping at least being there will keep me from looking at my bed, my couch, my kitchen counter, the makeshift desk she used to work at in my bedroom…everywhere she lingers even after all these years.