Page 12 of She Doesn't Have a Clue
Kate sighed. “It’s… complicated.”
Jake snorted. “With you, that’s always an understatement.”
First there was the invitation with the ostentatious, hand-calligraphed name and address that Kate threw in the trash unopened. Then there was the series of automated text messages reminding her of the deadline to RSVP, which she kept trying to block, but somehow they always popped up again. And then there was the bridal shower invitation, with the personal note from the marketing manager at Simon Says, Juliette Winters, making it clear the invitation was only a courtesy insisted on by Kennedy and threatening bodily harm if Kate dared to actually show up. Not that Kate would dare, especially when she was two missed deadlines deep at that point.
But then there had been the final invitation in an unassuming envelope, her name and address neatly printed as if it had been done up on an old typewriter. And inside, tucked between the luscious cardstock and thin vellum, a personal letter from Rebecca Hempstead herself.Please do me the favor of attending. I’ll make it worth your while.
How Rebecca Hempstead had heard of her, much less wanted to meet her enough to personally invite her for the weekend, Kate couldn’t imagine. Maybe the woman wanted to pull an Evelyn Hugo and publish a tell-all. Or maybe she was a closet Loretta fan; she wouldn’t be the first surprise super-reader. Whatever the reason, it was the one mystery Kate couldn’t resist. Why did Rebecca Hempstead want her there this weekend?
“Let’s just get this over with,” Kate said, straightening up and windmilling her arms to keep steady on her towering heels. “Okay, ready.”
“I thought you’d be at least anoth—” Jake began as he looked up from his place in the leather chair. The words died in his throat as his gaze traveled down to her heels and back up, taking in the dress she’d pinned so many of her hopes for the weekend on.
It was nothing like her usual style—in that ithada style—a black silk dress with a high waistline and a gathered skirt that fell in soft waves to mid-thigh, the bodice a sweetheart neckline that plunged so low she’d had to buy a new bra just to wear it. It had a floral lace overlay with a high neckline that left her cleavage in deep shadow and ended at her wrists in a small frill. The salesgirl at the boutique told her she wanted to cry when she saw Kate in the dress, and Kate had wanted to cry when the total hit her credit card bill. But the way Jake was looking at her now, like he’d literally forgotten to breathe—she’d pay double, triple, just to have him look at her like that again.
“Too much?” she asked, giving the skirt a little swish.
“No, it’s—” His voice was hoarse, and he cleared his throat sharply. He pressed his hands to the arms of the chair like he might try to stand, but he stayed there, fingers digging into the leather. He cleared his throat again, giving his head a little shake. “No, it’s… You look… Kate. It’s stunning.You’restunning.”
Stunning. She’d never been called “stunning” in her life, not even close. Cute, clever, even adorable (until the age of six). But never stunning. And never by Jake Hawkins. Kate could feel that one little word working its magic, making her spine curve and the soft underpart of her feet arch and her hips tilt at an angle. Jake was still staring, his gaze caressing the lines of her calves, the exposed expanse of her thighs, that deep dip of the sweetheart neckline. It had been chilly before, but now the attic was sweltering like they’d turned on dueling heaters.
“Thank you,” Kate said, heart hammering. “And you look…” What should she say, incredible? Too eager. Stunning? No, he’d already said that. Like a tall glass of icy cold water on a blisteringly hot day that shecould slurp down in one thirsty gulp? Highly inappropriate, if accurate. “You look great, too. Should we… go?”
Jake cleared his throat for the third time and stood up. “Right. Let’s… go, then.”
The cocktail hour had come and gone by the time they found their way to the ground floor, rain lashing the windows as thunder rattled the panes, and more than once the electric lights dimmed and dropped out before buzzing back to life. Jake seemed to have recovered his sense of self, his smile pleasantly mild and his eyes fixed anywhere but on her. She’d felt so powerful when he’d first looked at her, but now she felt awkward and unbalanced in her heels, a cool breeze gusting up her backside anytime she leaned over. She considered scurrying back upstairs for her flats when Simon Hsu, president and publisher of Simon Says, approached them with a wide smile.
“Jake Hawkins and Kate Valentine!” he said, clapping them on the shoulders. “Two of my most beloved local authors!”
It was Simon’s favorite joke, since all of his authors were local. It had been his mission when he’d started Simon Says in 1994, to highlight the talents of writers in the Pacific Northwest.
Simon Says had grown along with their title list, boasting fifteen employees across all departments. Simon liked to think of them as a family, hosting annual summer barbeques and holiday parties, Thanksgiving potlucks at the office and spring break trips up to Vancouver. Kate had tagged along for several of those parties in the beginning, when she’d been a contract ghostwriter for some of their business titles.
“Simon, my man, what’s good?” Jake said, grinning and shaking Simon’s hand enthusiastically. Kate had never seen Jake so glad-handy with Simon, but she supposed it was the law of bros. Get two men together with potential bro tendencies and watch the “brahs” and “dudes” start flying.
“Life, my brother, life is good! Just riding that wave.” Simon put out his hands expansively. “But don’t tell me you don’t already know. Are we back in business?”
“Ah, yeah, maybe,” Jake said, glancing apprehensively at Kate and rubbing the back of his neck. “I stopped in earlier this week but you were out. I figured we could talk.”
“Later, later! It’s a party tonight, isn’t it?” Simon said, pretending to punch Jake in the ribs. “And who better to party with than the party man himself?”
“Ah, yeah,” Jake said with a forced laugh. “Maybe over breakfast—”
“And Kate!” said Simon, turning and holding out his arms. “My best-selling-est bestseller! Keeping the lights on for three years running. And you’ve got another coming this weekend I hear. No getting mono this time around, huh? Though I guess we all know who you got it from now.”
Simon looked expectantly between the two of them, grinning, and it took Kate longer than necessary to catch on.
“What?” she said. “No, that’s not—”
“Ah, don’t play coy with me. The little French guy already spilled the beans that the two of you came together.” Simon patted Jake on the shoulders again like he was trying to dislodge a cocktail olive. “Though try keeping this guy pinned down for long, huh?”
“How about some drinks?” Jake asked with a wince. “I’ll get us a round.”
“Simon, really—”Kate said, desperate to clear up this pesky dating rumor before it got out of hand. Jake was no help, having already booked it for the bar. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding—”
“Hey, Gerry, you made it!” said Simon to a passing gentleman, ignoring the increasing strain in her voice. “Kate, great to see you. Gerry, let’s talk stocks, my man!”
“Simon, no, wait!” Kate said, stumbling after him as he slipped through the crowd in pursuit of Gerry. But her heel stepped on something uneven, turning her ankle with a sick crunch. She tilted sideways, staggering to the left to try to catch her balance, but instead crashing right into Kennedy Hempstead.