“Scott. I’ve known you for fifteen years. I’ve seen you negotiate billion-dollar deals without breaking a sweat. But mention The Fiction Nook, and you look like you’re being asked to choose between your first-born and your retirement fund.”
I don’t answer.
“This is about Jessica Wells, isn’t it?”
My silence is answer enough.
“You’ve got to be kidding.” Grayson runs a hand through his hair. “How long?”
“How long what?”
"How long have you been in love with her?"
I don't answer.
"That long, huh?"
"I didn't say?—"
"You didn't have to." Grayson shakes his head. "Your face just did. Does she know?”
“No.”
“Are you going to tell her?”
"I'm trying to figure out how to tell her without also revealing that I'm—" I catch myself. Can't tell him about V. Langley. Can't reveal that secret, even now. "That I've been blocking the board from selling her building out from under her. That I've been protecting her business while she thinks I'm the enemy."
“That’s actually kind of romantic,” Grayson says. “In a deeply twisted way.”
“It’s not romantic. It’s a disaster.”
“Most romances are.” He grins. “Look at Michelle and me. We almost destroyed each other before we figured it out.”
“You’re not helping.”
“I absolutely am. I’m telling you what you already know: you have to tell her. All of it. Before the board forces your hand and she finds out the worst possible way.”
“What if she hates me?”
“What if she doesn’t?”
Before I can answer, my phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number.
Mr. Avery, this is Caroline Sanders. Jessica asked me to give you a message. Can you stop by the shop after 6? She says it’s important. Also, Austen knocked over an entire display ofromance novels this morning and is being very dramatic about his innocence. Thought you should know.
My heart is racing. Jessica wants to see me. After this morning’s beach encounter. After everything.
“I have to go,” I tell Grayson.
“To Jessica’s?”
“She wants to talk.”
“Good. Tell her. Be honest. Channel whoever you are when you write those letters you won’t tell me about.”
I freeze. “What letters?”
“Scott. You disappear every day to check your PO box. You get mail from someone and immediately hide in your car to read it. You’re either corresponding with a secret lover or you’re involved in espionage.” He pauses. “Given your complete emotional disaster over Jessica, I’m guessing secret lover.”
