Chapter 35
Mitch stared in awe at the woman on his back deck. They’d been talking for nearly an hour about his series, brainstorming ideas and coming up with new ones that had never occurred to him. It felt like a light had been turned on in his brain. He was excited about writing again. Heading back into his office no longer felt like a chore.
What impressed him the most was Harper’s knowledge of his books. The ogre king had only been the start of it. She remembered details he’d long ago forgotten. And she had clear ideas about what was coming next. Or at least, what she thought was going to come next.
Fifteen minutes into their discussion, he’d gotten his legal pad and started taking notes. The ideas had come almost faster than he’d been able to write them down. He’d filled at least four pages. Maybe five. He’d lost count.
Joyce had refilled their coffees again, and brought out a plate of scones along with jam and butter.
“I don’t know how you keep all that information in your head,” he said to Harper.
She laughed. “It came out of your head to begin with.”
“True, but I guess I concentrate so much on the book at hand, that I sometimes lose sight of previous works.”
“I can see how that would happen.”
“This has been invaluable.” He drank the last of his coffee and thought about another cup, but he’d get one when he went back to his office. “Would you be willing to do this again? This kind of brainstorming session?”
“Sure.”
Her answer had a hint of reluctance to it. He reminded himself that she hadn’t come over here to be his sounding board. Not for free anyway. “I’d like to pay you for your time. Arlington mentioned you were some kind of personal assistant?” That wasn’t saying too much, was it? He didn’t want to betray Arlington’s trust. “You must have an hourly rate. Whatever that is, I’ll pay it.”
She smiled coyly. “I’m not exactly a personal assistant. I’m a professional confidante.”
He narrowed his eyes. Arlington had mentioned that, but Mitch wanted to hear her take on it. “What is that exactly?”
“It’s whatever my client needs me to be. It means I’m a great listener, but I can also offer advice if wanted, help make decisions, counsel against bad ones. It’s really up to the individual.”
That jived with what Arlington had said. “So you’re like a therapist and a life coach all wrapped up in a one.”
“I don’t call myself those things, exactly, but I try to assist in whatever way is needed, yes.”
A knot formed in his stomach as remembered Arlington’s request. Mitch knew it hadn’t been so that he and Harper could talk about his books. “I imagine you consider yourself a grief therapist, too, hmm?”
Surprisingly, she shook her head. “Not really. I’ve worked with several clients who’ve had tremendous issues with grief, but it’s such a personal thing that I tread lightly in that area. I’d never presume to offer help unless it was requested and I felt I could actually help.”
He nodded. A lot of people found grief uncomfortable. He got it. Platitudes and sympathetic looks were the best some could do. “But if help was requested, it would be what? Time heals all wounds and that sort of thing, right?”
She frowned. “In my experience, time doesn’t heal the loss of a loved one. It changes the way we feel to some extent, teaches us how to compartmentalize the pain to a certain degree, but all it takes is a familiar scent or sound or memory to bring that pain right back as fresh and piercing as it was the first time.”
The truth of her words startled him. But it was a welcome response. He was weary of being told that time was all he needed. Time was never going to bring Jeanie back and that’s what he actually needed. The impossible. Being wholly happy again would require Jeanie at his side. “People don’t usually talk about grief so realistically.”
“Because it’s hard. And uncomfortable. And a lot of people would rather push those kinds of emotions down than deal with them. But doing that just makes things worse. In my experience. Most people don’t really know what else to say to someone who’s grieving. They trot out the standard lines because they mean well, and they want to help, but they just don’t know how.”
He nodded. That was very true. He sat back and said nothing for a few minutes, thinking about Jeanie and how much he missed her and how much it hurt. How nothing anyone had done had helped. Not really. Being able to write again, that was a good thing, though. That allowed him to escape his own life for small stretches of time.
Finally, he took a deep breath and did something he hadn’t been expecting.
“I’d like to hire you.”
She said nothing. Just blinked at him. Then she moved backwards slightly and frowned. “You want to hire me? For what purpose?”
“Not to help with my grief, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’d like you to come over at the end of the day and talk with me about the book. Let me tell you what I’ve written, where the story’s going and get your feedback. Maybe even, at some point, do some beta reading for me. What do you think?” Maybe not what Arlington had wanted, but close.
“So you’d want me here every day?”
“Wouldn’t have to be every day.” He’d like it to be. That sort of feedback would be phenomenal for crafting the kind of story readers knew him for. But he didn’t want to scare her off, either. “Although when I’m in the throes of a book, I do write every day. Maybe just Monday through Friday? Does that not work with your schedule?”
“I don’t really have a schedule right now. And how long would these discussions be?”
He pondered that. “I think an hour would be sufficient, but maybe some days it would run longer. Some days shorter.”
She seemed to be considering it. “My time isn’t cheap. I charge a reasonable but not inexpensive hourly rate.”
“One platitude that is true is that you get what you pay for. I’m a best-selling author with a Netflix series and two previous movie deals. I can afford your time, I assure you. One thing I must insist on is your silence. Nothing I tell you about the story can be shared. Not even discarded ideas.”
She nodded. “Of course. Discretion is the cornerstone of what I do. In fact, I require it from my clients in return. You can’t tell anyone we’re working together. I have NDAs for both of us to sign, if we proceed.”
He was fine with not telling anyone about hiring her. “I’m good with that. I prefer it, actually.”
“Then I’ll email the forms to you for your review. Along with my rates.”
“Can we start tomorrow?”
“We can start whenever you’re ready. Tomorrow would be fine.” She smiled at him. “I look forward to it. Now, I should probably be getting home so you can do some of that writing.”
“Agreed. I need to get to work.” He was looking forward to it, which wasn’t something that had happened in a while. “I’ll get the NDA signed and I’ll see you around six tomorrow. Good?”
She got to her feet. “Great. See you then. I can let myself out.”
He walked with her into the kitchen. Joyce wasn’t visible but Mitch had a sense that she wasn’t too far away. “Bye.”
“Bye,” Harper called out as she descended the stairs. A moment later, the front door opened and closed.
Joyce came out of the master bedroom with an empty laundry basket perched on her hip. “Did she go?”
“She did. And now I’m going back to my office to get some work done.”
Joyce balanced the basket against her hip. “Did you really hire her?”
“Were you eavesdropping?”
She looked indignant. “Your voice carries.”
He almost smiled. “I did hire her. You have a problem with that?”
“No, I think it’s brilliant. Now, if you’ll excuse me, you’re not the only one with work to do.”
Mitch headed for his office, snorting softly with amusement. Of course Joyce was pleased. This was probably the exact outcome she’d been hoping for.
He closed his door and sat at his desk, bringing the computer screen to life by touching the keypad. He reached for his coffee cup and realized he’d left it on the deck.
With a sigh, he put his hands on the arm of the chair to get up.
Knocking stopped him. “Come in.”
Joyce walked through the door, his cup in her hand. Steam rose from it. “Fresh cup of coffee. Unless you don’t want it.”
“I do. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She left without another word.
Mitch swore she was smiling.