She glances my way. “Duty calls.”
Mrs. Hosek nods. “It’s time for my coffee break. You two have a nice chat.”
I watch my assistant gather up her purse and coat before she shoots me a smile. “I’ll be back soon, Berk.”
“Take your time,” I say.
I always tell her that, but she’s always back behind her desk in exactly ten minutes, even though her coffee break is scheduled for fifteen.
I stand as my sister approaches me.
She rounds my desk for an embrace. I take her in my arms, pressing a kiss to her head. “How are you?”
She steps back to look up at me. “Curious. Where am I off to this time? Please say it’s somewhere I’ve never been. I’m craving a new adventure.”
I’ve kept her in Manhattan for months working on the memoir of one of the wealthiest women in this city. I know she wants to step foot on a plane and fly away to somewhere new to her, but that’s not what I have planned.
“You’re staying in New York.”
The smile on her lips falls into an instant frown, but she keeps her composure. We work hard to respect the line between our professional and sibling relationships.
Sinclair has always treated her job as her priority. When I first offered her a contract to ghostwrite for Morgan Press, I had my doubts, but she’s proven that I had nothing to worry about.
Her gaze travels over my face. “Who is the client?”
I’ve been waiting to say this name to her for months. It’s taken countless discussions and a lot of negotiation on my part, but I wanted to make this particular project a reality for various reasons. The main one was so my sister could meet and work with someone she has idolized for years.
Writing earns her a living, but she once called painting her true love. She’s set it aside for a few years now to focus on her career.
For her birthday, I bought her all the supplies she needs to get back to it, so I’m hoping her latest client will help spark that creative desire in her again.
I lock eyes with her because I want to witness her reaction in all its force. “Brighton Beck.”
Silence greets me as she studies me with a shocked expression on her face. “Who?”
I say the name of the world-renowned watercolor artist again, “Brighton Beck.”
“Really?” The word is barely audible as her voice cracks.
I rest both of my hands on her shoulders. “Really.”
“I can’t believe this.”
“This isn’t your typical assignment,” I explain. “This is going to be a coffee table book of photographs of some of his work along with his thoughts about art, life, and how they intersect to enrich the world. He needs you to help him sort through everything.”
“Me?” Her right hand jumps to the center of her chest. “I’m going to help Brighton Beck do that?”
I point at a stack of papers on my desk. “If you agree to my standard terms and sign that contract, you’re not only going to help him, Sin. He wants your name on the cover of the book alongside his.”
Tears stream down her cheeks. “Give me a pen. I’m more than ready to sign.”
Chapter Eight
Astrid
“Sinatra or Astaire?”
I tap my fingertip against my chin. “Both?”
Lester lets out a light-hearted chuckle. “You know me too well, Astrid. How can anyone choose between two legends?”
I approach where he’s been standing for the last ten minutes as he’s shuffled through a pile of my new inventory. I set aside a bunch of records so Lester could take a look at them first.
He’s been one of my best customers for years. It’s fitting that he has the perk of first pickings.
“It looks like you’ve found a few to add to your collection.” I motion toward a stack of records near him.
“I swear that I spend half of my tips here.” He chuckles. “I’m damn lucky that the people in my building are generous.”
“They are generous because you’re good at your job.”
Smiling, he shakes his head. “I hold doors. I carry packages, but mostly, I listen.”
I gaze at his face and the fine lines that dart out from the corners of his eyes. “Sometimes, that’s all someone needs.”
“A willing ear?” he questions with a wink.
“Exactly.”
He tugs on his right ear lobe. “Do you need a willing ear? Are you having boy trouble?”
I laugh at that. “No.”
His graying brows bounce. “With a voice like yours, you must have men tripping over their feet in a rush to take you out.”
I skirt around that by tossing him a compliment. “Is being charming part of the job description for the position of the best doorman in Manhattan?”
He shoots me a smile. “It is, but I speak the truth.”
Knowing Lester, he’ll keep circling back to the subject of my dating life. He’s suggested setting me up with single men who live in the building he works at several times, but I’ve always laughed that idea off. “I’m going to change out what’s playing for something more upbeat.”