Page 90 of Someone to Tempt
I raise a hand to stop him. “I don’t need to have my name up there. I want the books to speak for themselves.”
“But youwrotethe books.” He glances down at my chicken-scratch notes, then back to me. “Every word, right? No team of ghostwriters helping?”
His doubt stings but doesn’t surprise me. “All me.” I rub a hand over my jaw, then move toward the kitchen. “I’ve imagined this conversation a hundred times in my head, but not like this. I’m going to need caffeine and some food to give it the attention it deserves.”
“You always were a crabby ass first thing in the morning.” His smile is sentimental. “Your brother woke up like he was the second coming of sunshine. You, not so much.”
“Let’s face it,” I answer as I pour coffee grounds into a filter, “Mikey was better in every way.”
“That’s not true.” He stands and opens the fridge then looks me up and down, carton of eggs in hand. “Shower and get dressed while I make breakfast. After you eat and down the caffeine, you can explain to me why my grandson is one of the most popular authors in publishing and no one knows it.”
“You know why,” I mutter, but head for the bathroom after hitting brew on the coffee maker.
I want to call Iris for moral support, but she can’t help me because I haven’t told her the truth either.
I think about what I want to say to my grandfather as the hot water streams over me. After toweling off, I throw on jeans and a Longhorns sweatshirt. As promised, a steaming cup of coffee and a perfectly cooked fried egg sandwich with cheese is waiting when I return to the kitchen.
Grandpa sits across from me, his rough hands wrapped around a ceramic mug as I dig into the sandwich.
“Perfect,” I tell him after eating half of it in two large bites.
He smiles. “One of my few culinary skills.”
“Me, too,” I tell him. “Have you heard Iris’s brother is back in town?”
Other than a slight tightening of his fingers on the mug, he doesn’t visibly react. But when he lifts it to his lips for a long sip, those fingers aren’t quite steady.
“How’s Nick doing these days?”
“He got a job at The Pinecone Grill as the new chef.”
Grandpa makes a noncommittal sound. “I didn’t know he’d gone to culinary school.”
“Don’t think he did, but the guy’s got mad sandwich skills, and he’s going to put them to good use.”
“Wonder if he’ll last.”
“He’s not the asshole kid he was when we were teenagers,” I feel compelled to point out.
“Neither are you,” he reminds me.
“I was never an asshole. My forte was in the skilled underachiever arena.”
He reaches out and taps on the stack of books. “Hardly. You’ve been lying to me—to everyone.”
“It wasn’t exactly lying.”
He lets out a disbelieving snort. “You let me think you were bouncing from one thing to the next, living off the family trust. All this time…”
I place the last bite of the sandwich back on the plate and try to ignore the guilt curling in my gut. Taking another fortifying swig of coffee, I pick up the first book in the series,Absolute Darkness. “The title was Mikey’s. It washisdream. How can I take credit when it should have been him?”
Confusion dulls the anger in my grandfather’s eyes. “I don’t understand. You wrote these books with your brother before?—”
“No. We didn’t write anything down. But we made up stories to entertain each other. Mom would go on one of her girls’ trips or wellness retreats.” I use air quotes around those last two words, and his mouth tightens. We both know several of those wellness retreats were in a mental health facility. “Dad liked to entertain while she was gone.”
“Women,” Grandpa’s whisper is harsh.
“So many women.” I take a deep breath as memories assail me from all sides. “So many parties. They got loud and rowdy. Mike and I would climb into the attic, where we couldn’t hear them.” My gaze shifts to the book. “And there was?—”
