Page 4 of Slow Burn Summer

She chewed the inside of her lip, thinking. “If I’m going to view it as playing a role, I think I’d find it easier if it’s not my real name.”

“I’d suggest you keep Kate so it feels natural when someone addresses you, but I can help you settle on a different surname, perhaps?”

The idea of reinventing herself as a completely new Kate wasn’t entirely without appeal.

“Can I know who the actual author is?”

“No. And I think that’s for the best, because then you wouldn’t need to guard the secret.”

She folded her arms and looked at him levelly across the desk. “Is it you?”

His eyes opened a little wider, startled. “Why do you ask that?”

She raised her eyebrows. “You look like a guy who wouldn’t admit to writing love stories.”

“I’d be proud as hell if I’d written this one,” he said after a few silent seconds.

“But what if I have questions about the story? Surely I need to know it inside out so I can field anything that’s thrown my way?”

He loosened the knot of his tie a fraction as he swallowed. “Perhaps a good first step would be for you to read the book?” He pushed the manuscript toward her. “Think of it as being sent a script to read, see if you connect with it, if it gives you the magic feeling.”

“Now youdosound like your father,” she said, because however different Charlie was from Jojo Francisco, “the magic feeling” was a phrase she’d heard in this office several times before.

“I learned from the best,” he said. “I realize it’s an unconventional role, not what you came here expecting. I’d make sure you’re well remunerated for your time, if you decide to take it, naturally.”

His words grounded her, a reminder that her pockets were light and her options were limited.

“Can I take a couple of days to read it before I decide?”

“Of course,” he said, getting to his feet to see her out. “Take as long as you need.”

Charlie Francisco wasn’t at all like his father in appearance or demeanor. Jojo had been paternal but unpredictable; being around him had set her nerves on edge. Charlie was a different Francisco altogether. Definitely not paternal, and he set her nerves jangling in a whole other way.

—

She’d been concerned that she’dbe one of several people up for whatever role Charlie Francisco had her in mind for, but as she headed toward the train station with the manuscript stashed safely in her bag, she had a sneaking realization that he didn’t have anyone else anonymous enough for the job on his books. He was asking her to be a ghost author.

3

Charlie barely had time tosit down after seeing Kate out before Fiona Fox came striding through, no knock on his closed door.

“Well?”

“Come in, Fi,” he said, with a resigned half smile.

“Did she say yes?”

He swallowed, watching Fiona pace. “She’s going to think about it.”

“Think about it?” Fiona said. “The woman is on her knees with a twenty-year gap on her CV, and she’s going tothinkabout it?”

Sometimes it felt as if his father hadn’t left the building at all.

“Let’s just give her time to read the book,” he said. “We need her to genuinely love the story first, which I’m sure she will.”

“She was dressed like a bloody waitress, that’s going to need work. Looks bohemian enough to carry it off at least,” Fiona said, gripping the back of the chair opposite his with her expensively bejeweled fingers. “I mean, was that a man’s necktie in her hair? Did she roll in here late, fresh from a bunk-up? We need someone we can rely on for this, Charlie. Is she that person? And as for all that clanky jewelry…” There was an implied shudder to her words, a distaste for anyone who didn’t share her own taste forpower dressing and heavily lacquered hair. Fiona Fox had perfected her signature look in the nineties and never deviated from it for the sake of fashion. Kate Elliott hadn’t struck Charlie as especially bohemian, but in truth he understood what Fi meant. She had an individuality about her that even her blank-slate white shirt couldn’t disguise, from the hastily tied-back curls to her musical silver bangles when she shook his hand. He’d found her candid honesty refreshing; there was no air of desperation even though life had chucked her into the deep end of late.

“Do you think it’s a fair thing to ask of her?” he said. “The element of subterfuge?”

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