3. Chapter Three
Chapter Three
“What? No!” Paige yelped into the phone. “He said what?!” She grabbed the edge of the table and stood from her chair. Half of the rooftop bar looked at her, as though she might spill juicy gossip, but Paige only cared about what Kaylor had just told her.
“Ethan said you’ll write the book together,” Kaylor repeated, in a tone that screamed What is your problem? “You’re acting like this is the worst thing that’s ever happened to you, but it’s actually brilliant. You should be thanking me.”
Paige sat back down with a thud, her chair scraping against the floor. She barely noticed. Her brain was too busy short-circuiting. “Thanking you? For what? For letting Ethan hijack my book?”
“Paige, come on,” Kaylor said, like she was placating a child.
“You wanted a book deal and media buzz. This is it. Ethan’s last book was a bestseller.
His fans will eat this up, and so will yours.
Do you have any idea what the sales numbers will look like if the two of you team up? This will be a major win for us both.”
“I never agreed to this,” Paige said through an exhale.
Not sure what Ethan was up to, she gripped the edge of the table so hard her knuckles turned white.
“I don’t care how many copies it might sell.
I’m not letting Ethan Cole—Mr. I Got a Book Deal Because I Was a Reality Show Star—turn my book into some ego-fueled circus and dictate the next step in my career. ”
“Well, it’s too late for that now,” Kaylor said flatly.
“Look, Paige, I get it. I really do. You want to write the book yourself, just the way you want to tell the story. But the higher-ups love this. Ethan’s already cleared his schedule, and they expect you two to deliver a draft by the end of the summer.
This is non-negotiable. And it allows you to keep your advance. ”
Paige opened her mouth to argue, but no words came out. Her pulse was pounding too loudly in her ears for her brain to come up with another reason why she couldn’t do what they were asking.
“Paige, I’m on your side,” Kaylor added, softening.
“But the reality is, Ethan brings clout, and Windy City Press thinks this is a great idea. And you need a win. Just think of it like a marketing goldmine, okay? Write it together, make it good, and once it’s a hit, you can write whatever you want. ”
“I, I—” Paige muttered, having so much to say but not being able to get any of it out.
“Glad we’re on the same page,” Kaylor said cheerily. “Gotta run. I’ll email you the contract. Call me when you sign it. Byeee!”
The line went dead before Paige could respond.
She peeled the phone from her ear and glared at it, resisting the urge to chuck it across the bar or over the guardrail and down to the street below.
Instead, she put it on the table and ran her hands over her face with a groan.
Her attention only yo-yoed back to reality when a server placed a fresh lemonade on the table.
“Your date’s still not here?” the server asked with a polite smile, gesturing to the empty seat across from Paige.
“Uh, no,” Paige replied, her mind twirling. She’d nearly forgotten she was waiting for her blind date to show up. A glance at her phone didn’t show any new messages. “He should be here soon.” Though, at this point, Paige really didn’t care if her date showed up or not.
“Okay, I’ll stop back in a few minutes.” The server bounced to the next table and Paige took a sip of her lemonade, hoping it would cool the fire blazing in her chest. After a few swallows, she decided she needed to leave.
She was in no state for idle chitchat. Besides, her date was twenty-five minutes late.
She needed to get home, vent to her girlfriends, and figure out this absolutely bonkers mess.
Just as she grabbed her purse and pulled out cash to leave on the table, a maddeningly familiar voice interrupted her thoughts.
“Leaving so soon?”
Her head shot up, and there he was. Ethan Cole. Too tall, too handsome, and way too smug for his own good. He was a walking, talking red flag wrapped in a leather jacket. Which, by the way, was a crazy fashion choice for warm summer weather.
Paige’s stomach clenched with the one-two punch of shock and anger.
“I just got here.” He slid into the chair across from her and stared at her—she assumed—because she could only see her irate reflection in his shiny aviators.
Paige blinked, her brain racing. “Are you stalking me?”
He was at the museum yesterday, had the gall to tell their publisher they’d write her book together, and now he shows up at the same bar she’s at? What was this guy up to? But before she could unpack each weird coincidence, a horrible realization struck her like a bolt of lightning.
“Wait,” she said slowly, pointing a finger at him. “You’re not—”
Ethan raised an eyebrow, his expression all faux innocence. He leaned back casually, one arm draping over the armrest. “Not what?”
Was he her blind date?!
Her stomach sank as the possibility hit her, and the first word that tumbled out of her mouth was, “Pineapple!”
Ethan cocked his head at her, clearly thrown off. “Pineapple?”
“Pineapple,” she shot at him again. This time he looked over his shoulder and above him, like she’d shouted Fore! and there was a large, prickly fruit about to drop from the sky. When all he discovered were funny looks from the other tables, he turned back to Paige.
“Are you talking to me?” He jabbed a thumb at his chest.
Paige nodded, before leaning forward and whispering, “Pineapple,” like a threat.
“Are you okay?”
“You’re not my date,” Paige said, sitting back and exhaling a sigh. Her shoulders sank in relief as she added, “At least the universe gave me a break on that one.”
Ethan stared at her, considering her statement. “Wouldn’t you know if I was your date?”
Paige debated whether he deserved one more second of her time.
After a few beats, she offered two clipped words: “Blind date.” Ethan didn’t need to know the details—that she used GambleOnLove, a dating app that kept pictures and names private.
It matched couples based on answers to an extensive questionnaire.
Then, if the couples messaged and wanted to meet, the app picked a location and provided a safe word to confirm identities.
This date’s safe word? A prickly fruit.
Ethan’s forehead wrinkled. “Is your blind date’s name ‘Pineapple’?”
“Yep,” she replied, dryly.
“Huh.” Ethan pursed his lips.
“Why are you here?” Paige waved her hand in a circle, pointing at the bar, her table, her life.
“I wanted to talk to you in person.” Ethan slid his sunglasses to the top of his head, revealing an ice-blue gaze that would convince most women to reveal their deepest secrets.
But not her. No sirree.
His movie star good looks would not affect her.
Paige cleared her throat, breaking her focus from Ethan’s eyes. “You wanted to talk to me?” She squinted at him, wanting to rip him apart for meddling in her writing. “How’d you know I was here?”
“I saw the reel you posted.” He shrugged out of his leather jacket, letting the sun wash over a gray T-shirt that skimmed a toned chest and arms. “Recognized the view. Plus, this is the only rooftop bar I know of with neon Adirondack chairs. I was just down the street—”
“You are stalking me,” Paige interrupted, remembering the casual Instagram story she’d posted of her lemonade, a book she was halfway through, and the backdrop of the Chicago skyline. Her readers liked to see what she was reading and where she was writing. She hadn’t given it a second thought.
“You practically sent a smoke signal.” He gestured toward her phone. “You know, you should be more careful with your social. Some weirdo could’ve stalked you down.”
She clicked her tongue at him. “Some weirdo did stalk me down.”
Ethan leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Look. I’m not stalking you, or here to crash your date. I just wanted a few minutes to explain why us writing this book together makes sense.”
“How about you start with why you thought it was a good idea to tell Windy City Press that I already agreed to write it with you?”
Ethan’s jaw tightened, a crack in his maddeningly cool composure. “Okay, maybe I should’ve run it by you first,” he admitted, his voice low. “But I knew you wouldn’t listen to me if I just emailed or called. You’d shut me down before I could explain.”
“Of course I would.” She gave him a look, like duh .
“I get it. You don’t like me. And I gave you a reason not to.”
She glared at him, but Ethan didn’t squirm. Instead, he leaned in, his expression serious, morphing into something almost . . . sincere? Was that his sincere face? Or was he just trying his best to get what he wanted?
“The tweet was a mistake. It was out of line,” he said. “I was in a bad place, but that’s no excuse, and I wish I could take it back.”
Paige blinked. That was not what she expected to come out of his mouth.
“But,” he continued before she could process his pseudo-apology, “your last book didn’t land the way you wanted, and our publisher is about to drop you.”
Paige’s back straightened. How did he know that? “That’s none of your business—”
“Probably not,” he replied. “But you need a project that will put you back on top. And I need that necklace.”
Her rebuttal bubbled up but got stuck in her throat. “What?” Had she heard him correctly? “You want the necklace?”
“I do,” he said firmly. “It belongs to my grandparents. It’s a family heirloom.”
Puzzle pieces shifted and locked into place. Her breathing slowed. “Are you saying the journalist and archeologist are your—”
“My grandma and grandpa,” Ethan confirmed. “Pops and Mimi, to be exact.”
Paige’s mouth hinged open. Her chin might’ve hit the table.