Just Her Type (17 page)

Chapter 24

Four weeks after returning
from Maui, Kendra got a call from Vanessa, who was still honeymooning in the
Bahamas.

“I think we might buy a place here.” Vanessa’s
voice bounced with excitement.

 
Kendra, who had bundled up for the snowy
trek to The Sassy Sheep for a sit-and-knit session with her friends, was
already roasting. “Sounds great!”

“We’ve extended our visit obviously. Ashton and I
have been scouting properties. You sound distracted. Did I catch you at a bad
time?”

“Well, I was heading over to the yarn shop
and—”

“Tell Jackie I will give her a ring later. Have
you given any thought to that girls’ getaway I mentioned a few weeks ago? Just
you and me. No Ashton. No boys.”

They’d already planned numerous trips. Vanessa had
begged off at the last-minute for some reason or another. As a result, Kendra
had not spent any one-on-one time with her mother since Kendra went to live
with the Millers. “I don’t know. Since returning from Maui, my schedule has
been crazy. Not sure I can manage a pleasure trip out of town so soon,
especially with another book conference coming up.”

“Where is the next one?”

“In Frankfurt,” Kendra replied. Could she take
another one of her mother’s last-minute cancellations?”

“Germany? Oh, that could be fun! Maybe I can meet
you there and—”

“Won’t work,” Kendra said, implying she’d be too
busy, when in reality she had no plans to attend that conference this year.

“But you have to eat, not to mention shop,
sometime,” Vanessa said with a laugh.

“It probably won’t work.”

“Tell me what
will
work. Whatever you choose, I’ll do whatever it takes to make it happen this
time. Promise.”

“You will?” Kendra’s heart leapt with hope.

“Wait. Ashton and I are joining his family in
Aspen. And I want to surprise him with a Christmas trip to France for his
birthday.”

 
“Oh?”
 
Kendra made a face. A pricey gift quite
possibly funded with his own money.
Happy
Birthday, Ashton!

 
“But
there are plenty of other dates so—”

“I’ll get back to you on it.”

“Hey, what if we meet in Orlando? You’ll get a
break from the New York cold, and you always wanted to go there! You talked
about it all the time.”

“Yeah, when I was
eight
. Besides, Aunt Jackie and Uncle Alex took me there for my
tenth birthday. I think I’m long over Disney World.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right,” Vanessa replied,
sounding deflated.

 
Guilt
pricked Kendra for acting like a big brat.
 
Perhaps she had been too harsh. She mentally scrolled through additional
locations and possible dates for a get-away with Vanessa. “Okay. About the
girls’ trip, I think—”

“Just a minute. It’s Ashton. He can’t find his
keys. I’m talking to Kendra, honey bear,” she called out, and then added for
Kendra, “Ashton says hello. He says he downloaded that
ThunderFire
series by Blake Spencer to read on his iPad. Spencer is
one of your clients.”

“Yes, he is,” Kendra replied, sure Vanessa knew
this information only because Ashton had told her. She had expressed little
interest in what Kendra did for a living. And when she did comment, it was
usually only an attempt to get the numbers:
So
what kind of money are we talking? The average (editor, agent, author,
publishing executive) makes about what?

“Tell Ashton I said hello, and I hope he enjoys
the series,” Kendra said.

“Check that left drawer, right shelf in the
kitchen,” Vanessa called out to him again. “You’ve left them there twice
already.”

There was an indecipherable response from Ashton.

“Then try your walk-in closet shelf,” Vanessa said
to him.

As this exchange with Ashton dragged on, Kendra
rested her shoulder bag and her knitting tote near her snow-booted feet. She
silently counted to ten and gazed out the window at the luminous snow. Icicles
dislodged from the stairs to her fire escape and fell to the ground.

Another indecipherable response from Ashton
and girlish laughter from Vanessa
.
“He’d lose his head if it weren’t
attached,” Vanessa said to Kendra before calling out to Ashton again. On and on
their back-and-forth went for another ten minutes.

“
Look,
Vanessa.” Kendra checked her watch. “I’m going to be late meeting my friends at
the shop if I don’t get a move on now.”

“But, but, you were saying about our trip—”

“I’ll get back to you,” Kendra said cheerily
though her mood had crashed. “Good luck with the bungalow hunting!”

***

 
Kendra trudged through the snow to take
the subway and then the train. When she arrived at The Sassy Sheep, Selena and
Alyssa were already there for their sit-and-knit session. The threesome rarely
let so much time pass before getting together so they had a lot of catching up
to do. At no point would she slip upstairs to her office. This time was
strictly for her best friends, she vowed.

Kendra removed her coat outside the door, shook
off the snow, and hung it on coatrack after she stepped inside. Now that
repairs were complete one would never guess the place had suffered water damage
from the flooding. The charming little shop had been arranged to resemble a
country sitting room with laminate wood floors, mismatched, but comfy, ruffled
furniture. Assorted afghans, all knitted by Aunt Jackie, adorned every chair
and sofa. Vintage inoperable pop machines, refrigerators, trunks, and china
cabinets had been repurposed and used for storing and displaying the yarn.

Aunt Jackie and Donalisa Findley sat upfront in
wing chairs while two shop attendants assisted the handful of customers, who
milled about.
 
Kendra moved toward
the sitting area at the rear of the shop. She noted that Aunt Jackie had formed
a special bond with her new friend.
Thank
goodness for Donalisa Findley.
Maybe Aunt Jackie would also reconnect with
her longtime friends. She still wore dark slacks and a black turtleneck, but an
elaborate mint-colored eyelet sweater she’d knitted brightened the ensemble.
Her curls hung loose around her shoulders.
Progress?
The bell on the front door jingled when the mailman entered. Smiling, Aunt
Jackie went to him to sign for packages.

“I’ll join you in just a bit to check on your
progress,” Aunt Jackie called out as Kendra joined her friends. Brittany, who
was visiting her family in Stamford, would miss today’s session.

Female relationships had always been important to
Kendra. She felt extremely fortunate for hers. She and Selena, thirty-two, had
become close while working as editors at Winn-Aster. Seven and a half years
ago, Kendra had acquired the debut novel of Alyssa, a.k.a Aurora Chastain, now
thirty-three. The series that followed had become one of Winn-Aster’s
best-selling properties. The pair had developed a beyond-business bond after
spending time together at numerous writers’ conferences.

When Kendra left Winn-Aster to open Porter
Literary Agency, Selena inherited an “orphaned” Alyssa.
 
Alyssa had considered hiring Kendra as
her agent, but ultimately remained loyal to her longtime literary
representative with whom she’d had a fruitful partnership. Kendra understood
that decision.
If
it
ain’t
broke
…

Besides, their personal and professional lives
could feel a bit too intertwined. Though Alyssa and Selena could be
argumentative with each other at times, Kendra likened them to an old married
couple, whose occasional sniping was another expression of their deep affection
for one another. In all the years the trio had been close, personal and
professional secrets shared had not been divulged outside their circle, as far
as she knew.

“Hey, Aly!” Kendra air-kissed and hugged her
friends. “And Sporty Spice!” She trilled her nickname for Selena, who had an
affinity for all things fitness related. That morning her friend had dressed in
one of her many pairs of Sweaty Betty workout tights in eye-popping prints, a
second-skin running top with thumbholes, and high-performance athletic shoes
with small chain-like grips for the snow and ice.

Alyssa stood, opened a white cardboard box, and
removed a mocha mousse-like confection that resembled a small but elaborately
decorated hat box. “From that little French Patisserie on Gale Avenue,” she
said after noticing Kendra’s questioning look.
 
Alyssa snapped several photos of it and
swiped the face of her phone a few times. “You want it?” she offered the treat
to Selena and Kendra.

“No way, I brought my own eats.” Selena claimed
the gingham chair, gesturing toward her ever-ready cooler, filled with cans of
tuna (packed in water only), baked skinless boneless chicken breasts, plain
pasta (with just a pat of margarine), and bottled water.
 
Snack of champions.

When Kendra declined, Alyssa dumped the dessert in
the trash and sat on the gingham sofa.

“What was that all about?”
 
Kendra sat next to Alyssa.

“You have a phone. Check Post-a-Pic,” Alyssa
replied.

Kendra tapped the Post-a-Pic icon on her own cell.
Alyssa’s pastry photo topped her personal feed. She read the caption: “
THIS just happened, y’all. Nom, nom, nom,
nom!”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” Kendra said.

Alyssa removed healthful snacks from her tote bag.
“Nobody salivates over a baggie of celery sticks, baby carrots, and low-fat
Greek yogurt dip.”

“I do!” Selena popped two fish oil capsules and
washed them down with a big gulp from her usual chia seed and detoxifying
charcoal smoothie.

“Keep that to yourself. I’ve seen both of you wash
the sugar glaze off Krispy Kreme doughnuts before eating them,” Kendra said.
“Sacrilege.”

“I have an image
and
a figure to maintain,” Alyssa said. “If I actually ate all the
decadent junk I posted, my weight, not to mention my cholesterol and blood
sugar levels, would shoot off the charts.”

“Readers aren’t morons, Alyssa.” Selena flicked
the long fishtail braid snaking out of her perspiration-wicking beanie. “They
don’t actually expect you to live as hedonistically as your characters, no more
than they expect the author of
Until I
See You Dead
-
The Groundskeeper
series to maim and murder people with pruning shears.”

“So? I think it’s great for my brand. It’s
important for readers to
feel
I’m
writing what I know or have experienced. This approach is one of the keys to my
success.”

“And don’t forget your crackerjack storytelling
skills,” Kendra added.

Alyssa’s literary specialty was a heady fusion of
envelope-pushing erotica, swoon-inducing romance, and sudsy drama with glitzy
backdrops reminiscent of those eighties “bonkbusters”
 
featuring old monied and nouveau riche
people breaking the Ten Commandments on mega yachts with elevators, Blackhawk
helipads, submarines, Baccarat crystal staircases, white-stingray-hide decor,
and koi pond flybridges. The character who connected and prominently appeared
in all
In
the
Billionaire’s
Bed
series books was a charismatic hot
alpha she’d christened Gunnar “Steele” Everheart. Her readership could not get
enough of Steele and his gang of equally hot alpha billionaire buddies.
“Cash,”
the former investment banker; “Flash,” the former rock star; “Clash,” the
former Navy Seal; “Ashe,” the former
 
firefighter, and “Lash” (Whiplash), the former Formula One race car
driver. Three had obtained their fortunes through ground-breaking inventions
that changed their respective industries. One had made wise investments while
another came into a huge inheritance after discovering he was a sultan’s long
lost illegitimate son.

Alyssa’s prose was merely adequate, if truth be
told. But the woman sure knew how to spin an entertaining tale that not only
titillated, but also engaged her readers’ wits and emotions. “Wild escapism at
its best” was how most critics described her work.

Her street team of super fan girls spread the word
about Aurora Chastain’s books with gospel-like fervor to score coveted slots on
her short beta readers list.
 
Kendra
often felt like snuggling with her own e-reader and bringing it breakfast in
bed after reading one of Alyssa’s torrid love scenes. Was she thinking about
love scenes more often? Or was spending time with Dominic just making her
notice she was thinking about them?

“It’s always about the brand, brand, brand.”
Alyssa removed the pin holding her dark hair in a topknot as she slicked a
glossy lipstick over her kisser. “Aurora Chastain can sell the heat and all the
trappings. Aurora lives that life. Her world is aspirational.
 
It’s about the fantasy.” She released
the three top buttons of her shirt, fluffed her hair for sex-kitten volume, and
then reached inside her bag to remove a collapsible selfie stick on which she
clipped her smartphone. Extending the stick about three-feet overhead and
angling the phone on the top end just so, she posed, puckering her full lips
and serving up her “best side.” She pressed the remote button to snap the shot.
She would stagger post it, along with a give-away announcement to promote her
upcoming novel
Steele
Everheart: All Night Long,
to her
numerous social media accounts.

Alyssa retracted the selfie stick and removed the
phone to place on her lap while she twisted her long hair back into a topknot.
Soon, her fingers swiped over the face of her cell again.