‘The sex tape,’ Hermione said. ‘Yes, that, but more.’
‘More?’
‘People seem to only remember me as the actress who got filmed doing the deed,’ Hermione said. ‘Well, is that so shameful? There are people out there who will want to know what I did after that. What happened when everyone dropped me. Yes, I want to get it all out. From beginning to end. To now.’
‘When do you want to start?’
Quinn sipped his hot chocolate, thinking maybe she would start in the New Year.
‘Now?’
‘Oh,’ Quinn said. ‘Well, I can…’
‘Yes, you’re busy, I suppose,’ Hermione said. ‘But we have to get this written fast. If you don’t have the time…’
‘No, no, I have the time.’ He didn’t, but he would not lose this writing opportunity. Besides, how could he when he’d found out that Hermione loved his father so much that she visited his grave almost every week? ‘But the shop. There’s a lot of press attention at the minute. I’m going to fight until?—’
‘You won’t lose it.’
‘It looks likely that I will.’
‘No, you won’t.’ Hermione got to her feet and walked to the end of the kitchen, where she took something out of a drawer. ‘I’ll write you a cheque.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Think of it as an advance.’
‘Shouldn’t the publisher pay you that? Then deal with me later?’
‘I don’t have a publisher yet.’
‘You don’t have … oh.’
He tried to hide his deflated look, but he knew he had failed. He hoped Hermione would at least have some contract, some definite lead that she would have this published. Otherwise, would he just be wasting time? After all, Hermione Sage wasn’t a desirable name anymore, through no fault of her own. It would be a risk to write a story that people may not be interested in hearing.
‘That’s okay. We’ll get one. I’m sure of it. But let me pay you an advance. Something to get the developers off your back.’
‘Um… look, we can sort out payment at a later stage. I appreciate what you’re offering, but they won’t be paid off. He’s my stepdad, and he’s adamant that he will get the shop. He already owns the place.’
‘Then buy him out.’
Quinn forced a smile. ‘It’s not that simple.’
Hermione returned to her seat, the cheque book in front of her. ‘I have money, you know.’
‘I know.’
‘And I can help.’
‘I’m here to write your story. I’m here to help you.’
‘Then let me help you.’
He reached out a hand, not sure why. It kept going. Oh, god, stop it. But he couldn’t. His hand was getting closer to Hermione’s, oh so close, and then he was holding her hand, like she was a dying patient in a hospital bed. Only this was Hermione Sage, Noah’smother,and he didnothave her consent to be holding her hand.
‘I appreciate it. But I’m going to fight this.’
Hermione didn’t break away. Instead, she placed a rather warm hand over his and gave it a little squeeze.
