Fall For Me Again Page 6

  He nodded knowingly and pressed his fingertips together. “Different strokes for different folks, I suppose.”

  “I suppose,” I echoed. “What brings you in?”

  “I wanted to talk to you about this dinner you have planned for tonight with this new writer.”

  “What of it?” I asked.

  “Are you prepared?”

  What sort of fucking question was that? Of course, I was prepared. Well, sort of. I still hadn’t gotten around to reading the writer’s file. Hell, I didn’t even know her name. But those were all minor things. I could give it a quick read through before heading to the restaurant, when time permitted. “Yes, I’m prepared.”

  “What’s your strategy?” he asked.

  “Seriously, Dad? Strategy? I’m acquiring an author, not drawing up battle plans.”

  My father gave me a blank look. “So you’re going to wing it.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  He looked even more unimpressed now than he had when he said my office was simple. “Listen, Dallas, you need to start taking this seriously. I don’t know how many times I can keep having this conversation with you. Do you not want to succeed here? Your complete lack of self-discipline confuses me.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “I think you’re misinterpreting my business style.”

  He frowned. “I wasn’t aware you had one.”

  I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. This was a lose-lose situation. I could keep pushing back and giving him lip, or I could concede, let him say what he came here to say, and go on with the rest of my day. “What would you like me to do tonight?”

  My father sat up a little straighter. This was exactly what he’d been hoping for. A receptive audience. “Well, if it were me going, I would make sure I didn’t lead with money. In fact, I wouldn’t even discuss it. Writers are nervous creatures. She is unlikely to ask about payment so long as you keep the conversation moving along. You can be intimidating when you want to be, Dallas. I suggest you use it to your advantage so this writer isn’t overpaid.”

  Typical bullshit.

  “Talk up the company for her. Make her see that she is making the right choice aligning her brand with us. We can properly represent her. We know what sells and what doesn’t, and we can effortlessly guide her through her new writing career. She hasn’t signed on with another publishing house before, has she?”

  “Not that I’m aware of,” I said.

  “So she may not be as fresh as Winzly let on?”

  “No. Never mind. She hasn’t signed on with anyone. We would be her first contract.”

  He nodded. “Very good. Then she is even less likely to ask about money.”

  “Unless she has a brain. And some nerve.”

  My father studied me. “Naturally. But you know this business better than her.”

  I didn’t say anything. I had no plans of taking advantage of a new writer. The girl had no idea how lucky she was that it would be me sitting across the table from her instead of my father. He’d nickel and dime her all the way through, and she wouldn’t even realize it until she got home, feeling shell shocked and disoriented, like she’d just walked through a minefield.

  I was not going to do that to her. Just like the fireplace in the office, I was different than him. Much different.

  “Is there anything else, Dad?”

  My father stroked his chin before shaking his head. “No, I suppose that’s all for now. You’ll keep me posted on how everything goes?”

  “Of course.”

  “Excellent,” he said, getting to his feet and fixing his jacket once more. “Remember. Leave the money talk off the table. Dazzle her with your other tools.” He gestured at all of me.

  In other words, he wanted me to wow her with my good looks and charm. I chose not to say anything as he made his way to the door. When he pushed it open, Elijah was standing on the other side. The two shared an awkward handshake, and when my father left, Elijah stood stiffly in the doorway.

  “You can come in,” I said.

  He entered and shut the door behind him. “On a scale of one to ten, how terribly did that go?”

  “Ten being terrible?”

  Elijah nodded and stood behind the chair my father had just vacated, gripping the backrest.

  “An easy ten.”

  Elijah chuckled and hung his head. “I saw him coming and didn’t get a chance to warn you. Was he giving you a play by play of what you should and shouldn’t do tonight with Winzly’s new talent?”

  “Yep. How’d you know?”

  “Your dad might be one of the most predictable men on the planet.”

  I stood up and gathered my things together in a neat pile before walking out from behind the desk. I put on my leather jacket as Elijah straightened. “Yeah, he’s always an ass.”

  “Yes, a consistent ass. That has to count for something. You always know what you’re going to get.”

  “True.”

  We walked out together. In the elevator, Elijah glanced over at me. “You know, if you land this writer, your dad will probably be proud, even if he doesn’t say it.”

  I chuckled and shook my head. “My dad wouldn’t be proud if I doubled the company’s income by the end of the week.”

  Elijah swallowed, looking uncomfortable.

  I shrugged. “Don’t sweat it, man. I gave up trying to make that old fart happy a long time ago.”

  “You should call him an old fart to his face. I bet that would do the trick and get a smile out of him.”

  I laughed as the elevator doors opened and we crossed the lobby. “Yeah. Maybe if I’m on my death bed, I’ll try it to spare myself the misery of a long death. He’d just smother me with a pillow or something.”

  “Or inject oxygen into your blood.”

  I nodded. “Ah, yes. Much more in line with his character. Good call.”

  “This is a fucked-up conversation to be having about your dad, man.”

  I shrugged. “Families are fucked up sometimes. It is what it is.”

  We stepped out the front doors into the chilly evening air. Elijah nodded at me. “Well, good luck with this new writer. I’m sure everything will go smoothly and you’ll reel her in. Worst-case scenario, just smile a lot. You know how the girls love it when you smile.”

  I rolled me eyes. “Knock it off.”

  Elijah snickered. “I can’t help myself sometimes. It’s too easy.”

  “Beat it. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.”

  Elijah turned and waved over his shoulder. He hollered “Good luck” at me one last time before he disappeared inside his car, leaving me to get into my Mercedes and head two streets over and six blocks down to the little restaurant Winzly had set up our meeting at.

  It was a small place that served fresh, locally farmed food and was usually only frequented by locals. The lighting was soft and warm as darkness set in outside. The street lamps flickered on as a waiter brought me to my table and put the drink menu down in front of me.

  I considered ordering a bottle of wine but thought that might be overkill. So I had him bring over some ice waters instead. This was a business meeting, after all.

  I shrugged out of my jacket and placed it neatly on the bench beside me. Then I rested my forearms on the table and clasped my hands together. And waited.

  I hated these sorts of meetings. They were high-pressure situations. The writers were always nervous, and I could never get a good feel for them because they treated this like a job interview, like they had to impress me. I didn’t really give a damn what their qualifications were. If they could write a good book, I was interested. All I wanted to know was a bit about them so I could make them marketable.

  Basically, all I was looking for was someone who gave half a shit and was willing to cooperate. It was surprising how many writers were not.

  I sighed and rubbed the back of my neck. It was aching from sitting and staring down at a computer all day. I was eager to get home to Roy. I miss
ed him. A whole day away from him sucked, and chances were by the time I got home, my dad would have already put him down to bed, so I wouldn’t see him until morning.

  Being a working single parent could really kick a guy in the balls sometimes.

  I glanced up when I heard a familiar voice greeting the hostess by the front door, and then I realized I was in for a hell of a bumpy ride tonight.

  Elise had just walked in.

  She was wearing tight black pants, a flowy dark green top, and a perfectly fitted black leather jacket with gold zippers. Her brown hair was pulled back off her face in a messy bun. Loose strands hung around her face.

  She smiled at the waiter who came to lead her to her table.

  To me.

  I swallowed.

  Here we go.

  Chapter 10

  Elise

  The waiter who led me to my table was incredibly friendly. He walked me through a row of tables and drew to a stop at a booth. When he stepped aside and gestured for me to sit, I drew up short, sucked in a breath, and said out loud, “Shit.”

  Dallas was sitting in the booth, and he definitely heard me curse. The corner of his mouth curled in a smile as he looked down at the table.

  “Uh,” I stammered, feeling like an idiot. “Is this a mistake?”

  The waiter blinked at me. “I don’t think so. Your reservation was under a Miss Winzly, correct?” I nodded. “Then this is your table.”

  I grimaced, moved aside, and slid into the booth across from Dallas, who had now looked up to thank the server. Then he nodded at me. “Would you like something to drink? Wine? A cocktail—”

  “Wine,” I said quickly with a smile to the waiter. I needed something to help get me through this important meeting. How was I so unlucky that it was Dallas Jansen sitting across from me? He had no idea how much power over me he held in his hands.

  His big, strong hands.

  I swallowed.

  The server took our wine order and left us alone. I instantly wished he would come back as Dallas turned his dark brown stare upon me. “Well,” he said in his deep voice. “This was unexpected.”

  “Was it?” I asked.

  He nodded. “I feel like a fool confessing this, but I never got around to reading the writer bio Winzly sent over. Probably a good thing, given the circumstances.”

  “Why, you might have bailed on me?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

  He chuckled. “No, but I might have felt compelled to warn you that it was me you’d be meeting with, and I know you. You’d have cancelled faster than I could say ‘Billingsly’.”

  I grumbled. He was more than a little right.

  “I, for one, am happy it’s you,” he said. “Now we get to catch up, and you can’t run away like you did on Saturday night.”

  “I didn’t run away,” I said shortly.

  “Oh no? Then what would you call it?”

  I lifted my chin. “I had to leave. That’s all.”

  “Right. Had to.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek. There were so many snarky things I wanted to say right now but couldn’t. I needed this. My mom and dad needed the money. So I held back my retort, took a deep breath, and made myself relax. “How are you, Dallas?”

  He looked more than a little surprised by my change in demeanor, but he didn’t say anything about it. Instead, he carried on smoothly. Everything Dallas Jansen did was smooth. “I’m good. I’m glad to hear you’re still writing.”

  “Of course you are,” I said.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing,” I amended quickly. Shut up, Elise. Just shut up! I couldn’t blow this. Obviously, he was glad I was still writing. He was hopefully going to make a boatload of money off my book if things went well.

  “You look good, Elise.”

  My initial response was to tell him to get stuffed. This was a business meeting. He shouldn’t be saying anything about how I looked. I pulled myself together and put on my business face. “Dallas, I’m here to talk about work. Let’s keep this professional. What happened between us was a long, long time ago.”

  “What did I do?”

  “Just don’t… compliment me.”

  He snorted. “All right. For the record, I compliment a lot of people. I told Elijah he looked good this morning.”

  “Good for Elijah.”

  The waiter returned with the bottle of wine. He uncorked it and poured a mouthful into my glass to taste. I didn’t bother swirling it around or smelling it. I pounded back the mouthful, put the glass back on the table, and nodded. “It’s good. More please.”

  Dallas was smiling at me the whole while. Damn him. He waited quietly as his wine glass was filled up, and when the waiter asked to take our orders, we told him we needed a couple more minutes. Neither of us had even opened our menus yet.

  When the waiter left, Dallas picked up his wine glass, took a sip, and watched me over the rim.

  “Something you’d like to say?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “No, not at all. It wouldn’t be professional.”

  I glared at him. He stared right on back, his expression calm and collected. Almost humorous. He was having a go at me.

  I felt like we were in high school again.

  How had I navigated the murky waters that were Dallas Jansen when I was a young girl? Right. Honesty. Transparency. I had to appeal to his emotions. If he had any of those left.

  I squared my shoulders. Here goes nothing. “Listen, Dallas. I know this is weird. It isn’t what either of us were expecting. But this doesn’t change anything for me. I still really, really want this. It could be the big break I’ve been looking for.”

  “I agree,” he said calmly.

  I nodded. “Okay. So we’re on the same page, then? We can carry on with this meeting? As possible work colleagues, rather than bickering exes?”

  He took another sip of wine. “Yes.”

  “Good. Because I really want this job. More than anything. Kate and I have been scrambling to try to keep our parents from going bankrupt, and my dad can’t afford his own medications anymore. Will you be honest with me? Could this change things for me? In a big way? Or was Winzly just blowing smoke up my ass?”

  Dallas studied me. His brown eyes flicked back and forth between mine, and he lifted a hand to scratch at the dark stubble along his jaw. “She wasn’t blowing smoke.”

  I slouched forward a bit with relief. “Thank God.”

  “Do you want to know the details of what it would entail?”

  I nodded eagerly. “Yes. Please.”

  Dallas opened his mouth to speak, and then he shook his head. He slid my menu toward me. “Let’s put in our orders first. Then we can get down to business. I’m starving and intend on taking advantage of the company credit card. You should too.”

  “You don’t need to tell me twice,” I said, flipping open my menu and scanning the pages.

  Dallas seemed to make up his mind quickly. He closed his menu and leaned back, where he sat quietly waiting for me. That reminded me of the old days.

  I glanced up at him. He was smirking at me. I rolled my eyes and looked back at the menu as I asked him what he was ordering. Then I held up a hand. “Wait. Let me guess. The sirloin steak?”

  He grinned. “Naturally.”

  I shook my head. “So predictable.”

  “What are you deciding between? Pasta or… pasta?”

  I shot a dark look up at him.

  Dallas threw his head back and laughed. The sound shot through me like an electric current, tickling my insides and making something stir below my belly. Something that reminded me of the way I’d felt when I was writing the sex scene in my novel. Oh dear. Dallas waggled his eyebrows at me. “Was I right?”

  I closed the menu and crossed my arms under my breasts. “Maybe.”

  When the waiter came back, he ordered his steak, and I ordered my pasta. Neither of us said another word about our food choices, and Dallas looked me in the eye as he started g
iving me details about the job.

  “I’m not going to jerk you around, Elise. I’m going to be honest. We could use your talent. Winzly stands behind you, and she’s never led us astray before. And I know how skilled you are. There’s no doubt in my mind that signing you would be a good and risk-free decision for the company. You’d be able to work from home, but you’d have to come in for a weekly meeting every Monday. Most writers like it. It brings them out of their shell a bit and gives them a chance to meet new people in the industry. You never know what sort of connections you might make.”

  “Will I have deadlines?”

  “If you need them, yes.”

  “Need them?” I asked.

  Dallas nodded. “If you can self-motivate and hold yourself accountable to not miss key dates, we won’t have to enforce them. But if you need the structure of someone else providing deadlines for you, we can do that too. Whatever works best for your process.”

  I liked the sound of that. “Deadlines would probably be a good idea. At least just while we start out.”

  Dallas smiled. It was a wonderful smile. “All right.”

  “Can I ask something that might come across as—I don’t know—rude?”

  He chuckled. “Please do.”

  “Will it be worth the pay?”

  Dallas leaned in close. “Yes. So long as you know how much to ask for.”

  I blinked. “I have no clue what to ask for. Wait. I ask for what I think I’m worth?”

  He nodded.

  “Oh.” I shook my head. I had no clue what sort of dollar value should be put on my head or on my work. “I don’t know what sounds fair. I’ve never done this before.”

  “Anything less than eighty would be selling yourself short.”

  I cocked my head. “Eighty?”

  “Thousand,” he said.

  My brain imploded. I pressed my hands flat to the table and leaned forward. “Eighty thousand dollars?” I asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

  My shock must have been written all across my face because he laughed again as he nodded. “Yes, I’d ask for more if I were you. But I’m not going to tell you just how much. You have to decide that on your own. Do not tell my father I told you any of this. He’d find a way to get my ass fired.”