Chapter One Savannah
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Savannah
Before she ever shook Bennett Bryson’s hand, Savannah had already imagined the rest of their lives together.
She liked to think of herself as a woman who created her own destiny. Her parents had taught her little worth remembering, but one lesson had stuck. No one handed you anything. Your future was in your own hands. Choose a goal. Make a plan. Do the work. It was a creed she lived by.
All through school she had excelled at writing, garnering the praise of her English teachers.
There was never any question in her mind that she would become an author.
Books had been her escape for as long as she could remember, and she’d always thought there was no higher calling than to be the architect of that escape for others.
What she didn’t know, what she couldn’t have known, was that the story that would define her life had already begun. But this time, she wasn’t the author.
Next week’s writers’ conference, the one she never missed, would be different.
This year, Bennett Bryson was attending.
And Bennett rarely made appearances anymore.
His first book, Promise Me Never, had been a breakout success most could only dream of.
The kind of lightning that never struck twice.
So it was no surprise that his books following it sold well enough but nowhere near his first. Savannah was privy to his sales record since she worked at Margolis, Sutton & Klein, the prestigious literary agency that represented him.
She’d had her eye on the firm for a while.
Four years at a smaller agency had taught her the ropes.
She used that time to attend talks by authors her target agency represented, and when she finally landed an interview with Marion Sutton, Marion had been so impressed with her depth of knowledge that she hired her on the spot.
Now, nine months later, she was one of Marion’s most trusted readers, the gatekeeper who decided which manuscripts made it to her desk.
Savannah took that role seriously, knowing firsthand how crushing rejection could be.
But it was also instructive. She was learning what made one submission shine while another fell flat.
That knowledge would shape her next manuscript and get her the book deal she’d always dreamed of.
Marion was Bennett’s agent, which meant Savannah had even closer access to his career stats.
Declining sales, even for a household name, were tolerated only so long in publishing.
Bennett’s next book had to be a hit. Marion insisted he tour again and kick off the first week with an appearance at the conference.
The conference director was so thrilled to add him to the roster that he gave Bennett the coveted headliner spot.
That meant Bennett’s book would be bundled with the conference registration, guaranteeing him over two thousand sales for that appearance alone.
Savannah had already offered to assist Marion with any agency-related work and would be helping to manage his book signing at the conference as well as at the bookstore the night before.
Savannah had devoured everything Bennett had ever written.
She had watched his recorded talks online over and over.
Those Paul Newman eyes seemed to look right through the camera as if he were seeing her alone.
Women would be flocking around him next week.
But Savannah would be right there, keeping the throngs at bay.
Wouldn’t it be perfect if the two of them became a couple?
He was single now. Recently widowed after a tragic accident took his wife.
But he wouldn’t stay single for long. Why shouldn’t Savannah be next?
She could see it already. The literary golden couple.
They’d be the envy of the writing world.
Attending conferences together. Giving talks.
Maybe they would even start to co-write.
They could spend their days working together and their evenings sipping wine by the fire. It would be an ideal life.
She made herself a cup of cinnamon tea and picked up Bennett’s new book.
It had come out yesterday, but she’d saved it for tonight.
Marion had given her an advance reader copy a few months ago, but Savannah liked to wait until the finished book came out before reading.
She ran a hand over the red embossed cover and drank in the title, Don’t Ask If She’s Sorry, under which, in bold letters in larger type, was his name.
She opened to the first page and read aloud, pretending that the words had been written for her alone.