Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 145574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 728(@200wpm)___ 582(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 728(@200wpm)___ 582(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
I shot a healthy heaping of side-eye at the picture of Jameson and Scarlett that sat on the left side of the desk. “Any advice?” I asked him. “It’s not like I can fly her off into the sunset, and let’s be honest, you had a hell of a wingman in Constance.” It also hadn’t hurt that the pair had lived during a time where being reckless was a wise use of whatever time you had left.
I drummed my fingers on the desk, staring at the two finished files on my desktop.
If Jameson had won Scarlett by bending the rules…maybe the same would work to win his great-granddaughter.
I pulled out my phone and called Adam.
“Please tell me you’re about to send me the finished manuscript.”
“Well, hello to you, too,” I drawled. “I’m still two days early.”
“You know the print deadline on this is tighter than my mother-in-law’s Spanx.” I heard his chair creak.
“Yeah, about that…” I cringed.
“Do not tell me that for the first time in your career, you’re going to blow a deadline. Not on this book. Do you know how hard it’s going to be to edit it? To constantly question if I’m messing with Scarlett-freaking-Stanton?” His voice pitched upward.
“You sound stressed. Have you been for a run since I left?”
“You’re the reason my blood pressure is high in the first place.”
And I was about to ask him to raise it even higher, all so I had a shot at winning Georgia. What kind of selfish prick did that to his best friend? You, apparently.
“Noah, what’s going on?” Adam’s tone gentled.
“On a scale of one to ten, how good of friends would you say we are? Because I’d probably go with—”
“You were the best man at my wedding. You’re my best friend. Now, are you talking to me as your editor? Or as my kid’s godfather?”
“Both.”
“Shit.” I could picture him rubbing his temples. “What do you need?”
“Time.”
“You don’t have it.”
“Not mine. Yours. How do you feel about doing twice the work without twice the pay?” I held my breath, waiting for his answer.
“Explain.”
So I did. I laid it all out to the one person who had served as a linchpin in both my personal and professional life, barely finishing by the time I heard the garage door open. Georgia was home.
“Georgia’s back. Will you do it?”
“Damn it,” he muttered. “Yes, you know I’ll do it.”
“Thank you.” Every muscle in my body sagged with relief.
“Don’t thank me,” he barked through the speakerphone. “I’ll get started on what’s already there, but you owe me an ending, Noah.”
The office door opened, and Georgia slipped her head in. “Bad time?” she whispered.
I shook my head, motioning for her to come in. “I know it’s a pain in the ass, but I promised.”
“Okay, but we’re going to run tight with the printers. You have the time you need, but you’d better be prepared for some rushed edits.”
Georgia’s brow puckered in concern as she unbuttoned her coat.
“I can handle it.” I’d handle anything that got me the time I needed with Georgia.
“You’d better. Oh, and Carmen told me to let you know that the kid’s Hanukkah presents got here. You know you didn’t have to do that, but thank you. We’ll miss you for the holidays, Noah.”
“Just keep running, Adam. I’d hate to leave you in the dust when I get back.” If I get back. We hung up and I pulled Georgia into my lap, sliding my hands beneath her coat and sweater to the warmth of her skin.
“What was that about?” she asked, brushing my hair out of my eyes.
God, I loved this woman.
“Time,” I answered, kissing her softly. Now all I could do was pray that mortgaging my career had bought me enough.
Her eyes flew wide. “Oh God, your deadline. It’s this week, isn’t it? Is the book done?” Was that a hint of panic in her voice? Or was I just hearing what I wanted to?
“Not yet.” It wasn’t, at least that’s what I told myself to steal a little more time with her. Sure, it was written, but it wouldn’t be done until it was through edits. “Don’t worry. It’s just delivery. Adam’s juggling a few things on the calendar and starting with what we have so we don’t blow the print deadline while I’m getting these endings just right. Think you can stand having me around for a little bit longer?” Semantics, but it still felt like a lie.
Because it was.
But the smile she gave me? Absolutely worth it.
Chapter Twenty-Four
January 1942
North Weald, England
Scarlett glanced between the small gift box on the table, her typewriter, and the dishes that lay piled in the sink. She hadn’t had a spare moment since breakfast. William had fussed all morning, and was finally down for an afternoon nap, which hopefully gave her at least forty-five minutes to get something done…but all she’d wanted to do was nap right next to him.