I hold back a smile. “It looks like you just beat me here.”
She shrugs that off. “I was up late reading a manuscript that my boss demanded that I finish this week.”
I point a finger at my chest. “This boss?”
She nods. “The boss who just so happens to be my favorite former student.”
Mrs. Hosek was my fourth-grade teacher. She left the classroom two years ago, right before her sixty-third birthday, to pursue her other passion.
She’s a burgeoning romance novelist. This job gives her insight into the publishing world, and it affords her three days a week to hone her craft.
Fridays and weekends belong to her.
Monday through Thursday, she’s at her desk in this office doing an excellent job for me.
I hired Mrs. Hosek the same month I signed my sister to an exclusive contract. Sinclair has ghostwritten several memoirs for me, including one about a teenage tech entrepreneur from Spain and another on a third-generation philanthropist living in France.
It’s fed her love of travel, and it’s gifted me with two books that have sold well in Europe. My sister has a natural talent for understanding what makes people tick and then translating that into mesmerizing life stories.
“I loved the book, Berk.” Mrs. Hosek sighs. “You need to sign that author today.”
“You think?” I rub my chin. “Tell me what stood out in the book to you.”
She sets off in a rambling speech about the depth of emotion and the layers of intrigue before getting to her favorite part of any love story.
“The happy-ever-after in this one was…” Her voice trails as she kisses the tips of her index finger and thumb. “Chef’s kiss.”
Nodding, I smile because I agree with everything she just said. I read the manuscript last week. “Reach out to the agent of the author today. Tell them I’d like a face-to-face later this week.”
“You’re old school.” She laughs as she rounds her desk to take a seat in her chair. “We can make an offer on the phone. You’ve heard of those, right?”
To punctuate that, she digs her phone out of her purse and waves it at me.
“Set up the meeting, Mrs. Hosek.” I pat my hand on the top of her desk. “I like this new hair color.”
Her hand rakes a path through her now strawberry blonde hair. Last week it was brown. A month ago, she had black streaks running through her naturally gray hair.
“I think I’ve settled on this color.” She bats her eyelashes. “It complements my eyes.”
“I agree,” I say before I turn to enter my office.
“Before we officially launch into work mode, I have a question.”
I glance over my shoulder at her. “Shoot.”
“Why were you late?” She tilts her head to the left. “Was Stevie dragging her heels this morning?”
“I went to visit my cousin,” I tell her the truth, leaving out the part about my search for Astrid. I also don’t mention that Gaines wasn’t home.
He lives two blocks from the subway stop where I’ve spotted Astrid twice now. The first time I saw her, I was on my way to have a morning coffee with Gaines. Today, he wasn’t answering my calls. That’s not uncommon, given that he’s a doctor.
I wasn’t craving coffee or his company today.
The desire to see Astrid again is what made me step off the train at that stop.
“Gaines?” she questions since he’s the only one of my cousins she taught.
Nodding, I laugh. “Gaines.”
“I’m only asking because of that smile on your face. I haven’t seen it in a long time, and I like it.”
“Call the agent.” I point at her phone. “On that device you have there.”
“I’ll get right on it, old-timer.” She winks. “If you can keep that smile on your face until this meeting happens, we’ll sign the author for sure.”
“I’ll do my best.” I leave it at that as I head into my office.
Two hours later, I glance up when I hear my sister greet Mrs. Hosek. I can’t hold in a grin when I notice my assistant get up from her desk to take Sinclair into her arms.
“He has a new job for me,” Sinclair says loud enough for me to hear. “I hope he’s sending me to Scotland. It’s on my must-visit list.”
Mrs. Hosek lets out an audible sigh. “I’m afraid not. I don’t want to ruin the surprise, but you won’t be meeting any lads in kilts in the next few weeks.”
“Have you been to Times Square on a Saturday night?” Sinclair laughs. “I saw a shirtless lad in a kilt there the night of my friend’s bachelorette party.”
“Was he a stripper?” Mrs. Hosek asks.
My sister shrugs. “I didn’t stick around long enough to find out.”
As entertaining as their conversation is, I need to hand Sinclair her latest assignment before I head out to a meeting.
“Sin,” I call out to her with a wave of my hand in the air.