Chapter Six
Chapter Six
“There you are!” someone announced so loudly from the other end of the hallway that Kate jumped away from the door like it had spontaneously erupted into flames. Jean-Pierre huffed from his position near the stairs, waving impatiently. “We continue up, yes?”
“Yes, sorry,” Kate whispered, hurrying away before Richie or Steven could catch her snooping. She caught the barest glimpse of the men as they moved toward the door, one in a plain navy blazer and the other in a more festive herringbone affair, but she couldn’t see their faces. Kate wouldn’t be able to identify them unless they kept their jackets on. Not that she planned to do any identifying, but Loretta had taught her that tense conversations about money never ended well. It certainly hadn’t for Blake the bartender when the wealthy woman who willed her fortune to him wound up dead.
“What were you doing?” Jean-Pierre asked, his tone professionally accusatory.
“I got lost,” Kate huffed, glancing back surreptitiously at the door. The men still hadn’t emerged, which was just as well. Even if she wanted one quick peek at their faces.
“Mmm, keep up, please,” Jean-Pierre said, turning and hopping up the stairs toward the third floor. Kate started up the stairs that seemed to go on and wrap around with no signs of stopping. How many floors could one manor have?
The answer, in this case anyway, seemed to be four, as Jean-Pierre and Jake were down at the far end of a hall when Kate finally caught up on the fourth floor. She slowed as she approached, looking at the rickety set of stairs leading to a rectangular hole in the ceiling that he had pulled down with a golden cord.
“This… can’t be right,” Kate said, looking up dubiously. “It looks like an attic.”
“Because it is an attic,” Jean-Pierre said, typing away on a small device in his hands. It must be connected to Bluetooth, Kate figured, because she hadn’t been able to get any signal on her cell phone since they left the dock in Seattle. “ Non, non! Not the heirlooms, the cherry! Why must I be the only competent one? You two go up now. I’m very busy. Abraham is waiting.”
Jake looked as dubious as Kate felt, but he nudged her toward the stairs. “Ladies first.”
“That’s sexist,” Kate said, chewing one corner of her lip as she eyed the stairs. “You should go first. As a male feminist.”
“Ah, but because I am a male feminist, I can allow a woman to face danger without needing to ride to her rescue as a white knight,” Jake countered.
“Okay, but I’m asking you to go first,” Kate said through gritted teeth.
Jake was all wide blue eyes and guile. “Because you’re scared?”
“You are, too,” Kate hissed.
“Yes, but I’m comfortable enough with my masculinity to admit I am.”
Jean-Pierre huffed. “My bruschetta will be a nightmare if I leave it to Henri’s clutches. Up, up you go.”
Kate heaved a sigh, her first step on the rickety staircase warping the whole contraption. The air was positively frigid the higher she climbed, charged with the energy of the storm bearing down outside. She was sure this was just an attic, probably filled with half-gutted animal carcasses missing their eyes or teeth or something else that would haunt her nightmares. Maybe this was a psychological play on Spencer’s part, to rattle a plot for book four out of her by sheer terror. Maybe he thought it would inspire her. Hell, maybe he was the Deer Shredder.
Her gaze came level with the opening, a yellow glow emanating from above. She paused in surprise with a soft “oh,” taking in the attic. The room was absolutely delightful . The space looked like a cozy reading nook filled with bookshelves, the light coming from a Tiffany lamp in the corner beside a stuffed leather chair. The whole place was blissfully unadorned with dead animals, although the furry white rug in front of the leather chair was suspect. Still, it didn’t have a head, so it would have to do.
“This looks fantastic,” Kate said, enthusiastically exploring the space now that the prospect of murder had proven unsubstantiated.
“Not much elbow room, though,” Jake said as he scaled the ladder. “You think they expect you to sleep on that stack of books over there?”
“There’s a bed back here,” Kate said. It looked to be a twin, narrow but comfortable, with fresh white sheets and a soft pink canopy enclosing it, the curtains pulled back on either side with a ribbon. Something about the whimsy of it appealed to Kate. Like she could close the curtains and shut out the rest of the world for the weekend.
“Well, I won’t look if you won’t,” Jake said, already stripping out of his Henley. Kate caught the barest glimpse of his intercostal muscles lengthening and flexing over his rib cage before she whirled around abruptly.
“Yep, nope,” she muttered, crawling behind the half wall of books. “No peeking. Nope.”
She did her best to wrestle out of her sweater and leggings while also hiding behind the meager privacy screen made of what looked like a bunch of old paperback westerns. She dug out the dress she’d bought a month ago that felt like a good idea then, but now felt too short and tight and way too low cut. There was a brief moment, just after she’d slipped out of her leggings and unhooked her old bra, when she was topless and only a few feet away from Jake. The air was cool, the storm picking up momentum above them, whistling and humming through the eaves, and her skin prickled in response to the electric energy.
“So,” she called out, hoping to mask the unevenness in her voice with volume. “Weird that they had you as my plus-one, huh? Must have been some kind of error or something.”
“Must have been,” Jake said vaguely. She swore she didn’t mean to, that it happened by accident, but she caught a glimpse of his backside through a crack in two Louis L’Amour books. Fortunately—or unfortunately—for her, he’d already slipped into his dress pants. “Probably a mix-up because my invite was so last minute. I wasn’t even supposed to be here. I only got back from Borneo two days ago. My business partner took ill. We had to medically evacuate him back to the States.”
“Oh,” Kate said. “I’m surprised you’re here, then. With all of that going on.”
“Yeah, well.” Jake didn’t answer right away, which wasn’t like him. The only subject she’d ever known him to be cagey about was his dad, who treated him like a failure for chasing surfing and getting himself nearly killed because of it. “I, uh, I went into the Simon Says office. Had some business to clear up. I ran into Kennedy, she invited me, and… here I am.”
“Here you are.” Kate twisted her way into a pair of lacy pantyhose. Another uncomfortable mistake, but she was committed now. Still, she could tell by the tension running through Jake’s shoulders that he was lying. She didn’t know why he was here this weekend, but it wasn’t because of an impromptu invitation from Kennedy Hempstead.
“This wasn’t the Spencer wedding I thought I’d be reluctantly invited to,” Jake said before Kate could ask any more questions about his reasons for being there that weekend, glancing back at her and catching her eye over the stack of books as she wrangled her boobs into her new strapless bra. He turned his back too quickly for Kate to read his expression. “The two of you got together and engaged so quickly I figured it would be a done deal before I made it back stateside. But I get back from Borneo and hear from my aunt you two called it off, and he’s marrying the peppy marketing girl.”
Kate sighed, slipping into her dress and fiddling with the tiny buttons on the sleeve. “Yeah, well, you know the old story. Boy meets girl, boy asks girl to marry him, boy hooks up with cute new marketing hire and ends up leaving girl to marry the marketing girl six months later. Tale as old as time.”
“And girl comes to their wedding weekend because she can’t resist the temptation of rich people cake?” Jake gently prodded.
Kate sighed. “It’s… complicated.”
Jake snorted. “With you, that’s always an understatement.”
First there was the invitation with the ostentatious, hand-calligraphed name and address that Kate threw in the trash unopened. Then there was the series of automated text messages reminding her of the deadline to RSVP, which she kept trying to block, but somehow they always popped up again. And then there was the bridal shower invitation, with the personal note from the marketing manager at Simon Says, Juliette Winters, making it clear the invitation was only a courtesy insisted on by Kennedy and threatening bodily harm if Kate dared to actually show up. Not that Kate would dare, especially when she was two missed deadlines deep at that point.
But then there had been the final invitation in an unassuming envelope, her name and address neatly printed as if it had been done up on an old typewriter. And inside, tucked between the luscious cardstock and thin vellum, a personal letter from Rebecca Hempstead herself. Please do me the favor of attending. I’ll make it worth your while.
How Rebecca Hempstead had heard of her, much less wanted to meet her enough to personally invite her for the weekend, Kate couldn’t imagine. Maybe the woman wanted to pull an Evelyn Hugo and publish a tell-all. Or maybe she was a closet Loretta fan; she wouldn’t be the first surprise super-reader. Whatever the reason, it was the one mystery Kate couldn’t resist. Why did Rebecca Hempstead want her there this weekend?
“Let’s just get this over with,” Kate said, straightening up and windmilling her arms to keep steady on her towering heels. “Okay, ready.”
“I thought you’d be at least anoth—” Jake began as he looked up from his place in the leather chair. The words died in his throat as his gaze traveled down to her heels and back up, taking in the dress she’d pinned so many of her hopes for the weekend on.
It was nothing like her usual style—in that it had a style—a black silk dress with a high waistline and a gathered skirt that fell in soft waves to mid-thigh, the bodice a sweetheart neckline that plunged so low she’d had to buy a new bra just to wear it. It had a floral lace overlay with a high neckline that left her cleavage in deep shadow and ended at her wrists in a small frill. The salesgirl at the boutique told her she wanted to cry when she saw Kate in the dress, and Kate had wanted to cry when the total hit her credit card bill. But the way Jake was looking at her now, like he’d literally forgotten to breathe—she’d pay double, triple, just to have him look at her like that again.
“Too much?” she asked, giving the skirt a little swish.
“No, it’s—” His voice was hoarse, and he cleared his throat sharply. He pressed his hands to the arms of the chair like he might try to stand, but he stayed there, fingers digging into the leather. He cleared his throat again, giving his head a little shake. “No, it’s… You look… Kate. It’s stunning. You’re stunning.”
Stunning . She’d never been called “stunning” in her life, not even close. Cute, clever, even adorable (until the age of six). But never stunning. And never by Jake Hawkins. Kate could feel that one little word working its magic, making her spine curve and the soft underpart of her feet arch and her hips tilt at an angle. Jake was still staring, his gaze caressing the lines of her calves, the exposed expanse of her thighs, that deep dip of the sweetheart neckline. It had been chilly before, but now the attic was sweltering like they’d turned on dueling heaters.
“Thank you,” Kate said, heart hammering. “And you look…” What should she say, incredible? Too eager. Stunning? No, he’d already said that. Like a tall glass of icy cold water on a blisteringly hot day that she could slurp down in one thirsty gulp? Highly inappropriate, if accurate. “You look great, too. Should we… go?”
Jake cleared his throat for the third time and stood up. “Right. Let’s… go, then.”
The cocktail hour had come and gone by the time they found their way to the ground floor, rain lashing the windows as thunder rattled the panes, and more than once the electric lights dimmed and dropped out before buzzing back to life. Jake seemed to have recovered his sense of self, his smile pleasantly mild and his eyes fixed anywhere but on her. She’d felt so powerful when he’d first looked at her, but now she felt awkward and unbalanced in her heels, a cool breeze gusting up her backside anytime she leaned over. She considered scurrying back upstairs for her flats when Simon Hsu, president and publisher of Simon Says, approached them with a wide smile.
“Jake Hawkins and Kate Valentine!” he said, clapping them on the shoulders. “Two of my most beloved local authors!”
It was Simon’s favorite joke, since all of his authors were local. It had been his mission when he’d started Simon Says in 1994, to highlight the talents of writers in the Pacific Northwest.
Simon Says had grown along with their title list, boasting fifteen employees across all departments. Simon liked to think of them as a family, hosting annual summer barbeques and holiday parties, Thanksgiving potlucks at the office and spring break trips up to Vancouver. Kate had tagged along for several of those parties in the beginning, when she’d been a contract ghostwriter for some of their business titles.
“Simon, my man, what’s good?” Jake said, grinning and shaking Simon’s hand enthusiastically. Kate had never seen Jake so glad-handy with Simon, but she supposed it was the law of bros. Get two men together with potential bro tendencies and watch the “brahs” and “dudes” start flying.
“Life, my brother, life is good! Just riding that wave.” Simon put out his hands expansively. “But don’t tell me you don’t already know. Are we back in business?”
“Ah, yeah, maybe,” Jake said, glancing apprehensively at Kate and rubbing the back of his neck. “I stopped in earlier this week but you were out. I figured we could talk.”
“Later, later! It’s a party tonight, isn’t it?” Simon said, pretending to punch Jake in the ribs. “And who better to party with than the party man himself?”
“Ah, yeah,” Jake said with a forced laugh. “Maybe over breakfast—”
“And Kate!” said Simon, turning and holding out his arms. “My best-selling-est bestseller! Keeping the lights on for three years running. And you’ve got another coming this weekend I hear. No getting mono this time around, huh? Though I guess we all know who you got it from now.”
Simon looked expectantly between the two of them, grinning, and it took Kate longer than necessary to catch on.
“What?” she said. “No, that’s not—”
“Ah, don’t play coy with me. The little French guy already spilled the beans that the two of you came together.” Simon patted Jake on the shoulders again like he was trying to dislodge a cocktail olive. “Though try keeping this guy pinned down for long, huh?”
“How about some drinks?” Jake asked with a wince. “I’ll get us a round.”
“Simon, really—”Kate said, desperate to clear up this pesky dating rumor before it got out of hand. Jake was no help, having already booked it for the bar. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding—”
“Hey, Gerry, you made it!” said Simon to a passing gentleman, ignoring the increasing strain in her voice. “Kate, great to see you. Gerry, let’s talk stocks, my man!”
“Simon, no, wait!” Kate said, stumbling after him as he slipped through the crowd in pursuit of Gerry. But her heel stepped on something uneven, turning her ankle with a sick crunch. She tilted sideways, staggering to the left to try to catch her balance, but instead crashing right into Kennedy Hempstead.