In Other Words, Love Read online

  “How? I don’t think your average investor is reading my latest Instagram story.”

  “There’s the book,” Jeremy said. Beside him, Sarah gave an enthusiastic nod. “For one, it’s a giant advertisement for the authenticity of the brand and the humble roots that formed GOA. For another, those public appearances are a great way to get the message out that GOA is strong and here to stay.”

  A year ago, Trent had worked out a deal with a publisher to write a memoir. Everyone was interested in how the wunderkind had taken an idea he’d had on a mountain trail and turned it into a multi-million-dollar business. He’d started writing, then set it aside as one to-do after another filled his hours.

  He’d kept thinking he had lots of time until the deadline. He searched his memory but couldn’t remember what he’d promised the publisher.

  “The book? But that’s not due until—”

  “First week of April.” Sarah shared a worried glance with Jeremy. “You remembered the deadline, didn’t you?”

  “Honestly, I forgot about it entirely. I’ve been working so much and…” Trent shrugged. “I won’t be turning it in by then.”

  Her eyes widened. “We, uh, thought you were on it, Trent. As it is, the schedule is tight. Like super-tight, because normally a book needs months to go through production before it’s published. The editor promised to turn it around right away, so we can have that public launch at the end of May. It’s a great public relations move right before the IPO, and can get investors excited again.”

  The schedule was tight because Trent had moved the delivery date. Twice. Every time he thought he had time to work on it, his attention was yanked away. Then he’d forgotten about the book, gotten busy, rinse and repeat. “We can reschedule that, can’t we?”

  Sarah shook her head. “There’s a book tour planned. Several venues rented. You promised last time that you would deliver no matter what, and everyone started putting the publicity pieces in place. Rescheduling would…”

  “Look very bad,” Jeremy finished. “And the last thing you need is more bad press. Some of the media have speculated that the drop in sales is because the company has become too big for one man to run, and it’s losing the personal touch that set it apart. This company was built on you being honest and transparent and there, Trent. Your presence and personal touch are important.”

  Trent ran a hand through his hair and let out a frustrated gust. As if he didn’t have enough to do and worry about right now. Why had he thought this was a good idea last year?

  “I don’t have time to finish the book. I can’t make the deadline. We’re going to have to cancel and somehow minimize the bad press.”

  “There is another option,” Sarah said. She paused a second, reluctance in her eyes, and when she spoke again, her voice was almost a whisper. “You can hire a…a ghostwriter.”

  “Hire someone who pretends to be me as the writer? Sarah, our company slogan and the book title is Be True to Your Nature,” he said, remembering the idea he’d worked out in the publisher’s office, something that had seemed easy at the time. “It’s supposed to be an honest, unflinching look at how I got here, written by me. I have built my reputation on being as transparent as these walls.” He waved at the glass that separated him from the workhub of GOA. “A ghostwriter who pretends to be me and writes the book is sort of like lying, isn’t it?”

  “Well, yes, but…” Sarah shifted forward, in her PR element, running with the idea she’d had and molding it to fit what Trent needed. It was why he’d hired her, and why she was so brilliant at her job. “The ghostwriter signs a nondisclosure agreement. They can’t tell anyone ever that they wrote the book. It’s entirely secret.”

  “Forever?”

  Sarah nodded. “For-ev-er.”

  Trent sat back in the chair and considered his options. Well, option, singular. He’d been so busy lately that he’d barely had time to spend five minutes outside, never mind do anything else. A book was a massive, unwieldly project, and just the thought of trying to corral his thoughts and notes into a reasonable manuscript…

  He glanced at the big bright world outside his building. A world he might have time to enjoy, if someone else did the heavy lifting on the book. That way he could meet the deadline, go forward with the launch and build goodwill before the IPO. Win-win-win all around. Trent pivoted back to his team. “How do we find a ghostwriter?”

  Two

  When Kate was a little girl, every Saturday would be a girls-only shopping day with her grandmother. Her parents, who’d worked in a cannery, were either working second shift or putting in overtime, so Kate had spent a lot of time with her grandmother Wanda, who’d become her de facto babysitter.

  Saturdays had been Kate’s favorite day. The two of them would put on pretty dresses and silly hats, wander through downtown, then go back to Grandma’s house with their newfound treasures. Sometimes, they’d stop in the library for a stack of books or linger at a café for a very grown-up-feeling cup of hot cocoa. On the way home, there was always a visit to the bright and busy farmer’s market. Her grandmother would take her hand and they’d weave their way through the crowded stalls, past glistening jars of local honey and squat containers of sweet strawberries. If she closed her eyes, Kate could still hear the vendors hawking rhubarb jam and freshly picked tomatoes.

  One year, when Kate was five, Grandma had bought her a plant from a wizened and hunched man in a stall at the back of the market. A trio of tiny garnet flowers had peeked up at Kate from a small pot of rich, dark soil. The earthy scent of the dirt had mingled with a whisper of vanilla, all coming from this tiny, delicate life in her hands.

  Her grandmother had bent in front of her, her blue eyes crinkled at the corners. She’d tapped a petal, and the crimson flower had quivered a bit. “These are Wandas.”

  “Like you, Grandma?”

  She’d laughed. “Just like me. These are primroses. It’s a perennial, which means it comes back every year. They’re not named after me, but because they have the same name, they’re my favorite flowers. I want to teach you how to grow them, and lots of other things, because when you learn how to tend a plant, you learn how to tend yourself.”

  At the time, Kate hadn’t understood what her grandmother had meant, but in the countless Saturday afternoons of her life that she’d spent at her grandmother’s house, seeding, potting, and nurturing everything from tomatoes to marigolds, the lesson had stuck with her. Even now, as Grandma Wanda eased into her nineties, she sprinkled bits of wisdom into every conversation.

  Kate loved her something fierce and sometimes hovered over her like a worried hen. In the last year, Grandma had slowed down some, and her older house was beginning to need some expensive repairs, like a new heating system and a plumbing fix for the kitchen. Grandma lived on a limited income, and every time Kate came over and saw the house, she vowed to pay for those things with her next contract. It would have to be a good contract, though, with a hefty advance.

  “You are such a good granddaughter,” Grandma said when Kate stopped by on Tuesday afternoon, bearing a container of homemade butternut squash soup. A short, spry woman with bright blue eyes and a fondness for turquoise reading glasses, Grandma Wanda’s effusive spirit belied her nine decades. Kate stopped by several times a week to check on her and bring homemade food. “You must have read my mind. I was just thinking about your soups today.”

  Kate laughed. “You’re always thinking about my soups.”

  “That’s because you are such a good cook.” Grandma patted her cheek. “You need a man who appreciates that.”

  Over the years, Grandma Wanda had tried fixing Kate up with the cashier at the supermarket, the owner of the gas station on the corner, and her friend Edna’s nephew. Most days, Kate was buried under a deadline and didn’t even have time to date. She’d fallen in love once—and had learned the hard way that it wasn’t a mistake she wa
nted to repeat. Maybe someday she would again, but that day was not today.

  “I don’t need a man. I need another book contract.” Kate glanced at the darkening sky before she ducked inside the house. She’d forgotten her raincoat again. The predicted thunderstorms and snow showers hadn’t come yet. Maybe if she could get in and out of Grandma’s house quickly, she could get home before the skies opened up. The early part of spring in Seattle could be anything from cold and slushy to wet and rainy, but Kate still more often than not forgot her jacket.

  “Come, come,” Grandma said, waving Kate down the hall toward the kitchen. The heating system kicked on, clanking and growling its way to warm air coming out of the vents. “We’ll heat up the soup and talk. I want to show you what I’m planting this week, and we’ll transplant your seedlings. You should see the tomatoes!”

  “That heater is still giving you fits?”

  Grandma laughed. “I think that thing is older than me. When your Grandpa Jack was alive, he had it running like a well-oiled machine. But now, it’s getting worn out and ready for replacement. I’m hoping to get one more winter out of it. But don’t you worry about me. Nothing makes me feel better than some hours in the dirt.”

  On any other day, Kate would have hurried through lunch to get to the greenhouse at the back of Grandma Wanda’s house, but after the run-in with Loretta and two weeks of bugging her agent about needing a new contract, the dark day outside matched Kate’s mood. “I’m not really up for all that, Grandma. I was just dropping off the soup.”

  “Nonsense. Gardening will take your mind off your troubles.” Grandma put the soup into a pot, set it to simmer, then ducked out to the greenhouse and returned with a tray of seedlings. “Just look at these lovely little guys.”

  Kate bent down and marveled at the infant plants, only a couple of straight leaves right now, still too young to form the serrated edges of a mature tomato plant. She and Grandma had sowed the seeds a couple weekends ago, part of Grandma’s early start for her garden. “The seedlings need to be thinned.”

  “That they do.” Grandma smiled, as if she knew all along that Kate would say that. She turned off the stove, and a minute later, the two of them were up to their elbows in potting soil in the greenhouse. The small glass building attached to the house was warm, the panes dotted with condensation. Built by Grandpa Jack when Kate was a baby, the greenhouse was a testament to his love for his wife and her love of plants. Pots of delicate orchids lined one shelf, while an army of Wanda primroses in bright blues, yellows, and deep reds marched along the wooden table. The vegetable garden seedlings occupied the space beneath the pitched panels of the greenhouse roof, soaking up all the sun they could.

  For an hour, Kate and her grandmother thinned the tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers, and other seedlings they had started in tiny pots a couple of weeks earlier. Soon, it would be time to move them into large pots that would sit on Kate’s deck, and the rest into Grandma’s half-acre garden. The work was simple and satisfying, with the earthy scent of life hanging in the air.

  “I’m glad I stayed to do this,” Kate said as she scrubbed her hands in the corner sink. The two hours of gardening had eased the stress between her shoulders.

  “I’ve always said there’s nothing a little dirt under your fingernails can’t fix.” Grandma leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Is something troubling you? You’ve been awfully quiet.”

  “Just worrying about my next contract.” Kate didn’t mention how hearing the groan of the heating system and the steady plip-plop of the leaky faucet only quadrupled that anxiety. “The ghostwriting jobs aren’t paying as well as they used to, and it’s been a long time since I was hired to do one. I’ve been thinking of applying to work at a marketing agency or something and put this English degree to another use.”

  Grandma’s pinched face told Kate what she thought about that idea. She picked up the last seedling container, the only one they hadn’t separated yet, and held it level with Kate’s gaze. “Look at these two and tell me what you see.”

  “Uh, one big seedling and one smaller one.” The twin tomato plants-to-be were spindly stalks with flat leaves and buds of new growth peeking out of the stems. One arched over the other, taller and longer.

  “Exactly. And do you know why that is?” Grandma went on, not waiting for an answer. “Because the bigger one is striving toward the sun. See how he’s leaning so far to the right, as if he’s going to pop right out of the soil and park himself under a ray?”

  Kate chuckled. Grandma had a tendency to give her plants personalities and genders. Kate had to admit that every once in a while, she did the same. It was hard not to see something that worked so hard to grow as having a good deal of character. “Well, maybe he was simply angled the right way when you set out the tray of seeds.”

  Her grandmother tsk-tsked that. “You know I turn the pots so there’s an even amount of sunlight for all. This guy—” she tapped the taller of the two seedlings, “—he’s ambitious and brave.”

  “Brave?”

  As Grandma talked, she separated the two plants into their own pots, nestling the tinier one into a plastic pot filled with rich, dark earth. “He has no idea what’s waiting for him out there, but he keeps on growing, because that’s what he does best. He could end up having a nice, sunny life in a rich, earthy garden, or become an early lunch for a hungry rabbit.” She shrugged. “Hey, rabbits happen. So do weeds. But you don’t see that plant being afraid of all that, do you?”

  Here was the life lesson, Kate thought. “It’s a tomato plant, Grandma, not Captain America.”

  Grandma laughed. “And you’re a young woman, and not a superhero. Doesn’t mean you can’t reach for the sun yourself. Don’t worry about the weeds and the rabbits. Just keep doing what you do best, and it will all work out.”

  Outside, the skies began to rumble, dark clouds blocking the sun and hanging heavy and low. “I have to go,” Kate said. She pressed a quick kiss to her grandmother’s cheek. “I love you, Grandma. See you Thursday.”

  “With minestrone soup?”

  Kate laughed and made a mental note to stop by the corner market on her way home. “With minestrone.”

  “You are a good granddaughter.”

  “You said that already.” How she loved her grandmother and these quiet afternoons. Kate would make a thousand soups, if only to say thank you for the memories, the advice, and the warmth. Her own parents had retired to Arizona several years ago, which had only doubled the bond between Kate and Grandma.

  “Because it’s still true.” Grandma pressed the small plastic pot holding the newly transplanted tomato plant into Kate’s hands. “Now, take him home, and let him remind you of what you can do.”

  Kate did as her grandmother asked, knowing she’d bring the seedling back on Thursday to have him join the rest of his budding friends. She started walking back to her apartment, and just as she ducked into the corner market, the skies opened up, releasing a hard, fast storm. Kate hurried through the shopping and lingered after she checked out, hoping the storm would abate. It didn’t.

  Kate hurried down the sidewalk, clutching the plant to her chest and holding her cloth grocery sack against her side. The rain pelted her hair and clothes, drenching her from head to toe in a matter of two blocks. She yanked the mail out of her mailbox, trudged up the stairs of her building—the elevator was still out of order, according to the sign that had been there for a week—and stumbled into her apartment. She dropped the groceries and mail onto the counter, set the plant in the kitchen window, then swiped the worst of the rain off her face with a kitchen towel.

  Charlie meandered over, the tiger cat’s long, lean body brushing against every chair leg as he walked. Kate had found him huddled against a dumpster two years ago, starving and skeletal. She didn’t know his story, but she did know Charlie was a sweet, loving cat that deserved a better life than the one he�
�d had before, and so she’d taken him in and spoiled him ever since. Hence the expensive cat food he loved, because Charlie wasn’t something she skimped on.

  “Hey, buddy. I’m drenched. Can you wait a second to eat?”

  Charlie looked up at her with an are you kidding glare, then let out a long, plaintive meow. His tail twitched, left, right, swishing against the tile floor.

  “I guess not.” Kate scratched behind his right ear, his very favorite place for a head rub, then filled his bowl and checked the water dish. With Charlie situated, she could take a second to breathe.

  Behind her, she heard a steady plop, plop, plop. She glanced up and saw a spreading water stain on the ceiling that was dripping onto the center of her kitchen table. Great. Just great. Kate grabbed a bowl, set it under the leak, then dropped into a chair. “What else can go wrong, Charlie?”

  The cat’s only answer was a quick flick of his tail. He kept on nibbling at the salmon dinner in his bowl.

  “You know if I call the landlord, it’ll take a year to get that fixed.” Kate sighed. Given the state of the elevator, she wasn’t optimistic about the roof above her apartment. Outside, the storm rumbled and roared, picking up speed and strength. Awesome.

  The mail lay in a scattered mess where she’d dropped it on the counter. Kate sifted through it, ignoring the overdue credit card bill and the Late Payment warning on the electric bill before she saw a familiar envelope. A royalty check. Maybe this would be a good one, and she could pay for the roof repair herself. Take a vacation day and drive down the coast. Pay for Grandma’s repairs—

  She slid the check out of the envelope, hoping for a lot of zeroes.

  Instead, five digits stared back at her, none of them with a hefty comma in between. $137.11. That was all she’d earned in the last quarter. It wasn’t even enough to pay for Charlie’s food until the next check arrived.

  The weight of her responsibilities and the defeat she’d been feeling ever since that day in the bookstore hit Kate hard. A chill raced through her, but she was suddenly too tired to change out of her wet clothes. Charlie finished eating and sauntered out of the kitchen, oblivious to his owner’s need for a hug. Or even better, a hug and ten thousand dollars.