A Blink of Time (The Sutton Book Club #3)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

I t wasn’t a typical evening in San Francisco—a muggy ninety degrees with none of that so-called romantic California breeze. The American Literary Association Gala guests tried not to complain; they tried not to give in to their impulses and ruin the night. They sipped cocktails and glistened with sweat, adjusting their couture gowns and tuxedo jackets and praying not to faint. The Pacific Ocean was spread out before them like an icy blue dream, and they gazed longingly at it like children who’d been told they couldn’t go swimming. Valerie herself wanted to plunge in headfirst.

“Unseasonably warm, isn’t it?” Valerie overheard an older woman muttering to her husband, clutching his arm as her legs shook beneath her. She looked on the brink of collapse.

Valerie knew to act quickly. There couldn’t be panic. Everything had to go smoothly. And it was best to handle this herself.

Valerie returned to the bar to fetch a glass of water with extra ice. Behind the counter, a bartender named Mikey shook a cocktail and gave her a sly smile. “Tough night?”

“I’m getting through.” Under Mikey's scrutinizing eyes, Valerie’s throat was tight. They’d only gone on two dates three years ago, but nothing had been the same between them since. That’s what she got for mixing her personal life with her professional one. She should have known better. After all, her father, Victor Sutton, had cheated on her mother with his secretary and left Nantucket to escape the past. Mikey wasn’t her secretary, of course. And Valerie had no children at home to ruin the lives of. But professional lives and personal ones required a crater between them. She fully remembered that now.

“You’re looking good,” Mikey said as he poured a margarita into a crystal glass.

Valerie cast him a look that meant don’t.

“Need anything, Mike?” she asked instead.

“I’m all stocked up,” Mikey said. His tone shifted and became more formal. “Thanks again for the gig.”

Valerie stepped away from the bar with easy elegance and found the older woman again. I can handle anything. I am Valerie Sutton.

“Can I interest you in a glass of water?” Valerie smiled.

A faint blush bloomed on the woman’s cheeks. She was embarrassed that somebody else had noticed her difficulties. But Valerie was trying to be as discreet as possible.

“That’s just wonderful,” her husband said, taking the glass for his wife. “Thank you.”

“I hope you’re enjoying the party?” Valerie asked.

“It’s lovely, dear,” the woman said after a pause. “We don’t get out very much these days.”

“She’s a party animal,” the man teased. “Don’t let her fool you.”

The couple was in their mid-seventies, maybe. If Valerie had to guess, she’d say they’d been married for over fifty years. They had four children who called them on the phone every week and bright-faced grandchildren who made them birthday cards and begged them for cookies and stories. One of them was clearly involved with the American Literary Association, which was why they were here. Perhaps the woman was a well-known romance writer. Maybe the man was on the publishing board.

Valerie’s chest shivered with a mix of resentment and jealousy. Did these people know how good they had it? Did they appreciate how rare it was to be and stay in love for fifty years?

Valerie excused herself and whisked around a crowd of revelers, her small heels clacking to the beat of the five-piece string band. Violins and cellos swelled to craft a song of longing and heartache. Valerie wasn’t sure it suited the mood. If everyone started crying, they would think badly of the event, and Valerie herself would take the blame. She hurried to tap on the shoulder of the director and whisper, “Something lighter, huh?” He flinched into a nod and whirled his hands to direct the players into a new song that seemed more Irish jig than sentimental sob story.

Valerie wore a simple yet elegant black dress that allowed her to whisk from one end of the gala to the other as she muttered into her earpiece. Despite everything that had gone wrong this year, she was the head planner and carried the event on her shoulders. But it had already been a night of both metaphorical and literal fires (the catering company’s outdoor grill had thrown flames skyward and singed off the eyebrows of one of their employees), so Valerie couldn’t afford to take a break, drink water, use the bathroom, or breathe. This was the event she’d been planning for months, meant to prove that she was worthy of the company that had rehired her after she’d disappeared to Nantucket. “Valerie is volatile,” she’d overheard her boss saying, “but she’s also an event-planning genius. We have to give her another shot.”

I had to explain to them what happened. I had to tell them bits and pieces of my life in Nantucket—about my father’s return and my mother’s husband’s death. And it was mortifying to open myself up like that. But it got me here.

The powers that be had always called her an event-planning genius. Valerie pursed her lips to keep from smiling. She’d indeed planned some sensational events throughout her tenure on the West Coast. Adele’s best friend’s birthday party. Madonna’s niece’s baby shower. There were several Oscar parties for C- and D-list celebrities who wanted to have fun, even if they weren’t invited to the real thing. The events had whisked Valerie from one end of the West Coast to the other, from the shores of the Northwest to the Mexican border. In her twenties, she’d been listed as “one to watch” in the under-thirty professional crowd. She’d won numerous awards during her thirties, and now that she was forty-one, she’d earned her status as one of the best. But it was also true that things had gone wrong along the way. She’d made enemies. Events had fallen through her fingers. Bosses had screamed at her, demanding, “I thought I was dealing with Valerie Sutton, the greatest event planner out West!”

It was because she was moody. Difficult. Valerie herself couldn’t anticipate how she was going to feel about something from one moment to the next.

It was nearly eight thirty, which meant it was time for speeches. One of Valerie’s employees gathered the speakers near the microphone and instructed them on where to stand and where to walk after they were finished. Non-speaking guests were led to circular tables with rose-colored tablecloths. Cake was to be served afterward, followed by another three hours of nonstop literary networking. It seemed improbable that Valerie would ever find her way back to her bed. Her legs throbbed.

The first speaker was the head of the American Literary Association. Garth’s terrible suit was baggy around his shoulders. His spectacles made him look like the target of a bully in a film from the 1980s. Valerie’s heart warmed to him. It was clear he held on to the concept of “literary nerd” like his life depended on it. We still need men like him. Readers, Valerie thought. Of course she’d hardly dated a reader in her life. Valerie liked bad boys. She liked men who wrapped her around and around their finger and then threw her away.

Valerie blamed her father for that.

This thought was like a signal to Nantucket. Immediately, Valerie’s phone buzzed. Thinking it work-related, Valerie glanced at it. It was from Bethany, her sister.

BETHANY: Hey, sis! Haven’t heard from you in a while. We miss you here.

BETHANY: Do you have time to talk on the phone soon? Rebecca and I have a proposition for you.

Valerie groaned and shoved her phone back in her pocket. She could feel the Sutton family’s worry for her, the youngest Sutton, on the opposite end of the continent. She wanted to shake it off. More than that, she wanted to demand why they were still playing “happy family” after everything Victor Sutton had done. It was true that he’d helped a little bit when she’d been back. He’d donated antique books to generate cash flow for Ben and Doug, the veterans, and the Sutton Book Club. But Valerie knew better than to trust Victor Sutton. She’d grown up loving him with a big, bleeding heart. And when he’d betrayed her and the rest of her family, she’d learned never to trust anyone again.

Well, she’d slipped up briefly. She’d allowed herself to trust again in her thirties. But the fallout of that trust had darkened her heart forever. It was the reason she’d lost jobs. It was the reason she broke up with people before the third or fourth date. It was the reason she hadn’t given Mikey a chance.

I just don’t have it in me to love.

On stage now, Garth adjusted his spectacles and quoted an old Russian book Valerie had never read. The energy was evaporating from the crowd. She was sure the old woman she’d brought a glass of water to earlier was fast asleep with her head on the table. That, or she just didn’t care about appearing rude. Maybe that was what happened when you reached a certain age.

Suddenly, a man’s dark and domineering voice was in her ear. “Aren’t you in charge here? Tell him to get off the stage before everyone falls asleep.”

A shiver ran down Valerie’s spine. She tried to put a face to the voice but couldn’t recall him. Slowly, she turned her head to peer into the jet-black eyes of a man in his midforties with a sly smile. He was tan and athletic and wore a tuxedo as though he’d worn one every night of his life. It was impossible to imagine him in anything else. He looked down at Valerie with an expression that meant he wanted her. Valerie knew in her heart that this man was unkind and was the sort to use her and throw her away. Her heartbeat blasted in her ears. I’m at work. I can’t get carried away.

“I don’t have authority over the president of the American Literary Association,” she said.

“Somebody has to put him in his place,” the man said. “Should I do it? Storm up there and remind him we’re all a few cocktails deep and don’t care a lick about Dostoyevsky?”

Valerie had never read Dostoyevsky. The only person she knew who had was her father. She felt a smile play out across her lips. Who is this man?

The man smelled of patchouli and smoke. He smelled of San Francisco wealth. His eyes refused to look away from hers.

Garth was finishing up his speech with a final quote from James Joyce. Fear swirled in Valerie’s stomach. It was as though she knew something bad was about to happen. Suddenly, the man beside her winked and strode through the crowd. Valerie lurched forward, ready to grab and draw him back, but he was too quick, and she didn’t want to make a scene. He was on the stage just as Garth bumbled away from the microphone. Valerie’s heart nearly exploded. Was he trying to kill the event?

“Thank you for those inspiring words, Garth,” the man bellowed through the microphone. “And thank you again for your undying service to the American Literary Association.”

The crowd clapped happily, feeling more energized with this handsome and deep-voiced man before them. He was the kind of man who could fly a plane, man a vessel, or march soldiers into battle. You just trusted him to take the lead.

“Most of you know me as the man behind the scenes,” he continued. “The man with the cash. The man you come to when things feel a little too tight.” His eyes flashed. “And why do I do it? Why do any of us do it? Because we love literature. We can’t get enough of it. We want to champion new talent. We want to welcome a fresh generation of readers to the fold.”

Oh. He’s somebody. Tension spilled out of Valerie’s shoulders. She couldn’t help but feel misty-eyed. It was rare to meet a handsome man who’d given himself over to the pursuit of something beautiful. Most of the arrogant men she’d dated had given themselves over to thousand-dollar bottles of scotch and flying business class at a moment’s notice. Their books were usually a collection of “How To” manuals meant to help them become even richer.

“I’d like to thank Garth for allowing me on the editorial staff this year,” the man continued. “It was always my dream to get in on the ground floor of a novel and make it sing. No longer am I just a rich man with nothing to do. Now I’m the rich man with eighty-plus hours of work to do next week and a bad back from sitting in front of my computer for too long.”

The crowd laughed happily. They adored him.

“But more than anything, I want to thank the woman in charge of this event. Miss Valerie Sutton, thank you.” The man extended his arm to gesture toward Valerie, whose cheeks burned with confusion. “It’s impossible to imagine a more beautiful evening together, celebrating what we love the most. I won’t finish with an inspiring quote from any of the literary greats, as Garth handled that with flying colors. But I will say that without literature, humankind is doomed.”

Valerie swayed from foot to foot and watched him walk off stage, handing the microphone to a woman with hair like straw. Again, he winked at Valerie, and Valerie thrummed with confusion. The guy had never been in any of their pre-gala planning meetings. She couldn’t recall hearing about him. Had he been cc’d on the emails? Had he been bcc’d?

Whoever he was, he was footing the bill for this event. He was paying her way.

Suddenly, there was another voice in her ear—Marcia from catering. A situation in the back room needed Valerie’s attention pronto.

Valerie swooped out of her reverie and back into high-intensity planning mode. Don’t get sidetracked. This is important.