“I’ve got some interns that might be interested. They’re here now but come fall, I’d rather snag one than have to start interviewing.”
“Good to know I’m irreplaceable.” Why did she say that to him? She didn’t want him to think she was hung up by a one-night mistake with him. “I’ll let you know by the end of the week or sooner.”
* * *
“Here.” Claire held out a neat stack of paper. “I want you to read this. Right now.”
Fran gazed up from the floor. “More legal documents from Bob?”
“No. This is a sample of what I write.”
“You don’t need to feel like we’re in some competition.” Fran gestured to her box of trophies and awards.
“Stop. This has nothing to do with us. This is my personal writing, and it’s about to be published. A book. This is an excerpt. I just received the contract. There’s fresh coffee downstairs. This isn’t the whole manuscript.”
“Am I going to need to Google terms and references? Your writing has always been a little out there.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Those essays in high school and college?”
“You read those?”
Fran shrugged. “Some. Most I didn’t understand. I majored in finance and business not obscure literature. Don’t look shocked. I can’t imagine you’d do well with the reports I deal in.”
“I’m not shocked that we operate in different worlds.” She was taken back that her sister would admit she didn’t understand. Or was she just making an excuse for not trying to understand? She rolled her eyes and then noticed her sister was reading the first page.
Fran’s eyes were rapidly moving from one side of the paper before returning again and again. The theme wasn’t a mystery to either of them. Hot vibrant sex. Gorgeous hero, sexy heroine. If Fran was confused about her writing, she’d not be after tonight.
“This is your writing or you’re editing this?” Her sister’s cheeks were bright pink.
“I wrote every word.”
“And this is going to be published?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t believe you. Have you thought this through? I mean, my God. You’ve always acted so holier than thou and then to think this is what rolls around your head. Do you do things like this in Seattle?”
“Do you think a horror fiction writer goes around killing people? It’s called an imagination.”
“Well, I just don’t know.” Fran pulled the neck of her shirt upward. She wrapped her arms around her stomach and sat up. All of a sudden, her sister looked very much as though she were holier than thou even with her tattoo peeking over her shoulder.
Fran finished reading, and this time her face was crimson. “Who do you base the woman on? Is it me?”
Claire’s hands shot to her forehead without thinking. She pressed her eyebrows, smoothing the skin. She laughed one short exhalation. “No. Of course not.”
“I think the story reminds me of Dustin as well. The build of the man, the things he says…especially the things he does.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Nothing. It doesn’t matter. I hope you’re happy. I don’t know if anyone reads things like this. I thought you were interested in a literary career. Highbrow literary salons sipping espresso. You and your nerdy friends at Pike Place Market. Are you doing this because of Mom and Dad?”
“I’m doing this because it’s my dream. I love to write romance that’s hot and steamy and passionate. This type of writing is popular and is expanding. I’m proud of these stories. This is who I am. I’m making changes, moving back. We can keep living the same way we have, separated, but it won’t be by geographic miles, it’ll be because you can’t accept me for who I am.”
“You throw this at me and expect me to understand why you’ve suddenly decided to change your whole life. It’s only normal that I’ve got questions.”
“I get that. I don’t get your attitude. All you need to know is that I’m not asking for your blessing. I don’t need your approval.”
“Well, you just might, if you want your part of the inheritance. I can contest the will, you know.”
Claire stared at her sister, speechless. She stood over Fran, shaking and struggling for composure. “Are you threatening me?”
“I’m not going to let you throw your life away on some silly whim. I’m not going to do anything about the will if you promise me to think this through. What do you imagine you’ll do? Stop working and just write? You’re too young to fall off the grid.”