“I understand your concerns about digital security,” she said, the professional mask slipping back into place. “We can work with paper copies. That’s not an issue.”
“There is no ‘we,’ Reed,” he insisted, his voice taking on a sharper edge.
“You promised a week,” she countered, the quirk of her eyebrow a challenge. “At least give me that, let me prove that I can help you not only push this book over the finish line, but make it your best work to date.”
There was something in her tone that caught him off guard. She wasn’t trying to flatter him; it was clear she truly believed every word, and it was… disarming.
Riley’s soft whine drew both of their attention. The dog had raised his head, soulful eyes moving between them as if following the volley of words.
“Even your dog knows you’re just being willful,” Sadie said, the faintest smile touching her lips.
“Only because he sees you as a new source for treats,” Corbyn muttered, shaking his head at the giant dog. Riley’s tail thumped faster in response as if it were a compliment. “Have it your way,” he said, running his fingers through his hair again as he moved back to the desk. He sorted through stacks of paper, feeling his frustration grow as the lack of organization became apparent. Finally, he located what he was looking for and thrust it in her direction as he added, “This is the first act of the book. You can look through it in the living room, but it’s not to leave this house. And that tablet of yours stays in your bag.”
She crossed the short distance with a single nod. When her fingers brushed his as she took the draft, his world seemed to tilt as a long forgotten sensation ran up his arm. He stiffened, his gut twisting. Sadie’s eyes had gone wide as she stared at him, neither speaking nor seeming to breathe. It was another of Riley’s soft whines that broke the spell, tail thumping as he maneuvered between them, looking for attention.
“You have the manuscript. The living room is that way,” he growled, voice low and harsh, gesturing sharply toward the door. He caught her reaction, a flicker of hurt and perhaps fear making her eyes stormy. Her lips parted as she stepped back, papers clutched tight in her hand, and he saw her steady façade cracking just enough to sting him before she turned and walked toward the door.
He followed behind, holding the door open until she passed through and disappeared into the hall. With a satisfying bang, he slammed the door shut, leaning against it momentarily as he caught his breath. Another one of Riley’s plaintive whines broke the silence.
“Don’t start,” Corbyn grumbled at the dog.
He forced himself to move back to his desk, collapsing into his chair with a grunt of pain. The unfinished pages on his desk swam before his eyes, the words blurring into an indecipherable mess.
“Bloody hell,” he hissed, running a trembling hand through his hair. “Get it together, Pearce.”
But try as he might, he couldn’t focus. He’d allowed her to take the manuscript. The walls he’d built around himself suddenly felt a little less solid, a little less impenetrable. And that terrified him more than he cared to admit.
February 6, 2025
-Sadie-
Sadie leaned against the wall at the end of the hallway. Corbyn’s demand that she leave the study had reverberated through Pearce House. Her body melted against the wall as the adrenaline from the confrontation drained away.
Her fingers still felt the ghost of that brief contact with Corbyn’s hand while taking the manuscript. A strange feeling had run through her, something she hadn’t felt in years.
Between that spark and the fright from the moment he slammed his hand on the desk, she felt her heart racing. It had been an automatic response carved into her by years with Nate and his temper tantrums, but Corbyn had immediately stepped back, and something that looked like regret had flickered across his face. Unlike Nate, who would press closer and use her vulnerability as a weapon, Corbyn had given her space.
It was a small thing, but it was unexpected. And in that moment, something fragile and hopeful fluttered beneath her frustration. That hope hadn’t lasted, though.
The back of her head hit the wall, a dull thud that matched her deflating spirits. Perhaps she had really gotten in over her head with this assignment.
“Come on, Reed,” she coached herself, trying to summon an ounce of the determination that had propelled her across an ocean. “You’ve dealt with worse.”
But her pep talk did nothing to steady her as another wave of exhaustion crashed over her. The five-hour jump from New York felt like a leap across worlds, leaving her body confused and her mind foggy. No amount of sleep would cure the fatigue weighing her down.
Nate had often told her she could be a nagging know-it-all when it came to editing. Corbyn seemed like the sort who would bristle the moment she tried to offer any kind of criticism, and she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d made a monumental mistake in coming to Great Missenden. But then she looked down at the stack of papers in her hand. The confrontation hadn’t been a complete failure; he’d given her everything he had completed thus far, which was a step in the right direction.
The smell of rich, savory food hit her, followed by the sound of clanking pots. She followed the scent through the living room toward the back of the house, and her weary eyes landed on the figure standing at the stove in the kitchen. The woman wiped her hands on her apron as she turned at the sound of Sadie’s footsteps. Her silver-streaked hair was gathered in a loose bun, and her warm brown eyes peeked at Sadie through wire-rimmed glasses, framed by the kind of laugh lines that only come from decades of smiling at other people’s chaos.
“Rough go with him already, love?” The woman’s voice carried a no-nonsense lilt that made Sadie wonder how she put up with Corbyn’s mood swings.
“You could say that,” she replied, offering her a tired smile. “But I did manage to secure this before he tossed me out of his office.”
Sadie held up the manuscript pages like a prize and received a knowing look in return. She had a feeling she wouldn’t have to pretend with this woman that things hadn’t been tense with the manor’s resident grump.
“Oh, you poor thing,” the woman clucked, her motherly concern washing over Sadie like a balm. “Come on, let’s get some tea before you melt into the floorboards. I’m Edie, by the way.”
“Sadie,” she said in return.
