Part 4 (2/2)
Brooks made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a groan covered by a cough. Well, he could dismiss the idea all he wanted, but maybe Frank had a point. If she really wanted to get back into freelance work, she needed to build her connections. ”Do you work in public relations, then?”
”Me?” He looked shocked, brown eyes wide under that unruly wave of hair. ”No. I work in publis.h.i.+ng. Cutting edge. We buy foreign rights and get them ready for American distribution. Strictly digital, no paper copies. ”
”So, you hire translators?” Caroline felt her cheeks growing hot. She couldn't quite grasp what Frank did, exactly. A journalism degree covered a hundred different separate categories and she desperately searched her memory for anything related to foreign rights.
He c.o.c.ked his head and smiled, as if she'd said something charming. ”Not quite that. Our publis.h.i.+ng house is pretty specific and only acquires rights to manga books.”
”Those comics that start at the back page?” Caroline remembered Debbie Mae reading those when they were in high school. There was a whole series about a girl who found out on her sixteenth birthday her real father was a bird and she could fly. The absurdly large eyes and very shorts skirts made her wonder if it was secretly targeted toward teen boys. She'd never bothered to open it, since reading a comic version of any book seemed a travesty of literature.
”Right. We hire young, fresh writing voices to help spruce up the dialogue. We have in-house translators but they're not writers.” He leaned forward a bit and deep brown eyes locked on hers. ”You'd be perfect for our team.”
It had been a long time since she's been part of anyone's team. Caroline felt herself warm to the idea, even as it took shape in her mind: a group of young, hip professionals gathered around a conference table throwing ideas at each other with rapid-fire genius, and herself there in the middle of it all.
”You've never read anything she's written.” Brooks spoke into the moment, his voice dry.
”I can remedy that.” She smiled tightly, refusing to look at Brooks. ”Let me know when and how. I'd like to know more about your company.”
Frank pulled out a card and handed it over. ”I can tell you right now, this is going to be epic.” He said the word without any hint of embarra.s.sment.
”Caroline and Brooks”, a voice exclaimed right behind Caroline's left shoulder. She turned, almost b.u.mping into Mrs. Reynolds. She was holding a large champagne gla.s.s and clutching the elbow of a strikingly beautiful woman. ”I want to introduce my granddaughter, Lauren Fairfield. She's working on a book about Th.o.r.n.y Hollow.”
”Oh, Nana, I wish it was just Th.o.r.n.y Hollow.” She smiled ruefully, one bare shoulder lifting, the delicate strap of her cream-colored summer dress slipping an inch or two. Her skin wasn't tanned by the sun, but she had a natural color that paired perfectly with the fabric. ”But my editors know I have family here and agreed to let me spend a bit more time on this lovely area.”
Caroline forced her face into a pleasant expression and worked at hiding her surprise. Of course, Lauren wasn't just brilliant, well-connected, and preparing a coffee table book on their home town history. She was beautiful. Not an ordinary beautiful, no, but enormous gray eyes rimmed with dark lashes, set over sculpted cheekbones. A rippling sheet of dark, glossy hair hung in waves on either side of her face. Not just beauty, really, but elegance and sophistication. She smiled and Caroline wanted to roll her eyes at the sight. Lauren's matching dimples framed an impossibly sweet smile and white, straight teeth. It was the icing on her jealousy cake.
”Are you related to the Elliots of Badewood?” Lauren's voice was soft, even a bit musical.
Brooks seemed pleased that she had recognized his estate by the mere mention of his name. ”It's my family home.”
”It would be wonderful to visit Badewood. I'm particularly interested in the outbuildings.”
”We'd be happy to have you.” His slow smile was genuine and Caroline wondered how he could be so happy with the idea of a photographer tramping around the place. Maybe it would be a different matter if Lauren was an ugly toad. If she thought she could get away with it, she'd use his attention as a point in her favor, but Caroline had to admit that Lauren was everything Mrs. Reynolds had said she would be. And more. She couldn't blame Brooks for giving her more than a pa.s.sing glance.
The two rambled on a bit about Badewood and the local historic buildings, but Caroline had the distinct impression that Lauren was practically reading from a script. Maybe she was nervous, or intimidated.
”Miss Fairfield, I've heard that your publisher is close to being swallowed up by a larger imprint. Is that true?” Frank's question seemed straightforward, if a bit awkward, but Lauren's reaction was swift. Her cheeks deepened in a blush and she blinked several times, as if struggling to find words.
”Mr. Keene, I'm sure that I know very little about the financial state of the company.” Her words were stiff, clipped. She turned to Mrs. Reynolds. ”Nana, let's get closer to the atrium before the tour starts. We don't want to be left behind.”
They murmured their goodbyes and waited in silence while Lauren moved away, her dark hair swinging in a silky curtain around her shoulders.
”She seems a little defensive,” Caroline mused. Surprising that Frank could elicit a response with one sentence.
”Everyone in traditional publis.h.i.+ng is. With the digital market, we're on the cutting edge. Anytime we have to partner at all with them, it's like using the Pony Express. Absolute waste of time and energy.” His lip curled as he spoke, his eyes followed Lauren across the room. ”I'm glad I don't have to work with that sort of backward att.i.tude.”
”Perhaps a partners.h.i.+p would be the wisest course.” Brooks spoke in that calm, slow way he had when he completely disagreed with someone but was too polite to say.
Frank considered his words for a moment and shrugged. ”I'd better go apologize, then. I'd hate to burn any bridges. You can never tell when you'll need to ally yourself with a bloated, tyrannical publis.h.i.+ng company.”
Reaching out, Frank touched her elbow. ”Call me and we can go to lunch. I'm based in Spartainville for the next few months.”
She nodded, feeling a rising sense of purpose for the first time in a long while. ”I will.”
He was gone a moment later, back into the swirling group of guests making their way toward the Atrium. She watched him go, his dark hair and tailored clothes standing out, even though the room was filled with elegantly attired guests. He turned just before he rejoined his friends, catching her eye. A wide smile crossed his face and Caroline felt her cheeks go hot.
”Don't tell me you're actually going to call him.”
Whirling, she frowned up at Brooks. ”Why the sudden negativity? You wanted me to get back into the loop. Well, a small press could be just the thing.”
”Right. Because working on a manga comic would be totally epic.”
She raised her chin. ”You're being petty and it doesn't become you.”
”I don't care if it becomes me. I think brains are more important than looks, remember?”
Her mouth dropped open in shock. ”You're implying that I gave Frank attention because he's handsome?”
”You can't deny that he's preoccupied with his own appearance.”
Manning hurried to their group, breathless. ”I think we've got about two minutes before the tour. Debbie Mae is stuck over with Mrs. Kropp and she says if you two leave without seeing her, she'll hunt you down.” He called over his shoulder, already on his way past them. ”Don't think she doesn't mean it, because she does.”
Caroline snorted. ”Mrs. Kropp is a black hole of Southern sweetness. Once you've wandered into her orbit, she'll keep you trapped there forever.”
They were slowly making their way through to the Atrium, as fellow guests murmured around them, holding gla.s.ses and small bone china plates piled with half-eaten canapes. ”I've never seen a s.h.i.+nier suit outside of Nashville. He looks like one of those people that scout for models in the local mall on Sat.u.r.day afternoons.”
”That's harsh. I expected more from you.” Her jaw went tight. ”About the slang, he's probably surrounded by college kids and is more flexible in his word choices. You know, the days of those author and editor teams like James Thurber and Harold Ross are gone. An author can have dozens of editors over the years and they're all going to be about age twenty five. You can afford to stagnate in academia as a revered professor, but the rest of us are fighting the inevitable slide into obsolescence. ”
”Stagnate?” The calm in his face warned her she was pus.h.i.+ng his b.u.t.tons, but Caroline didn't care.
”I'm sure when you were younger and working toward tenure, you had to be up on all the current news. But now you're comfortable and secure. You're looking down your nose at him because he's trying to stay relevant.”
Brooks stood still, eyes narrowed. Caroline knew she was being a little unfair, but Brooks was out of line. Frank seemed no worse and no better than most of the people in the room.
”I guess time will tell whether I'm just a dull and lifeless academic, too comfortable to rouse myself from the reveries of my youth.” He paused. ”But I can tell you that if I'm right, and Frank is part snake oil salesman, part publis.h.i.+ng hack, then you'd best be staying far away.”
They stood there, gazes locked in anger for the second time that evening. Caroline wouldn't back down. He had an annoying habit of bossing her around and she was perfectly capable of making decisions for herself. Just when she felt her resolve begin to wither, his eyes flickered past her and his expression s.h.i.+fted to a neutral smile.
”Dr. Stroud, how nice to see you here. This is Caroline Ashley.” Brooks put a hand on the small of her back, while reaching past her to extend his other hand to an elderly man with the brightest blue eyes Caroline had ever seen. A white three piece linen suit was perfect for the early spring heat, but with the man's gray hair grown long to his collar, he looked a bit like Mark Twain.
”I think Caroline and I have met once before. At a party quite like this one, I believe.” He turned to her and leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially. ”Your friend Shelby Roswell and I discussed the many methods in which a Civil War soldier could lose a limb. When you made a graceful exit, I realized how inexcusably rude I'd been. I'm glad to have the opportunity to offer my apologies for my shocking behavior.”
Caroline gasped, laughing. ”I remember you! When you mentioned necrotic tissue, I was forced to retreat to the pink lemonade table.”
”I hope all is forgiven. I hear Miss Roswell has moved to Jackson?”
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