Chapter 13
Even a week later, Hunter still craved her.
He’d fucked up somehow; he’d offended her with his offer and instead of going back to his bed and resuming their stable relationship full of lies, she’d left him.
He felt more alone than ever before.
There was Eldon, of course, but Eldon was hired to assist him with tasks, not to offer companionship. He’d preferred that for so long, and yet now? Now the house seemed too quiet, too lonely.
Hunter hadn’t realized how quickly Gretchen had changed his life. How much he’d had to look forward to now that she was in it. When he reached across the bed, it was empty. There was no warm, cheerful smile to wake him in the morning, no one to bring him coffee before turning to her own work. No one to walk through the gardens with. No one to appreciate his efforts in the greenhouse. No one to talk over his day with. No one to caress and hold and love. No one to say bold, exciting things to shock him out of his shell.
He needed Gretchen back.
Rubbing his face to clear his mind, Hunter scanned the ever-growing list of unopened emails in his inbox. For some reason, he hadn’t had much of an appetite for work this week, and things were piling up. He scanned them with disinterest, pausing at Preston Stewart’s name. He clicked on it.
Buchanan,
It seems we’re in need of a new ghostwriter for our launch book. Any suggestions? Let me know who you have in mind.
Preston
Hunter immediately dialed the man’s phone number, his heart pounding.
“Preston Stewart speaking.”
“Why do we need a new ghostwriter?”
“Ah. Mr. Buchanan. Very nice to talk to you again. I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed the party the—”
“Explain to me,” Hunter said, cutting in through the editor’s niceties, “why we need a new ghostwriter.”
“Well,” Preston said. “I got a call from Ms. Petty’s agent earlier today. She’s off the project. Since we haven’t signed anything, there’s no money to collect as of yet. Kat and I were still working on negotiations—”
“What do you mean, she’s off the project?”
“I mean she quit. She doesn’t want to do it.”
“Did you offer her more money?” Gretchen needed that money, didn’t she?
The editor laughed. “Mr. Buchanan, that’s not how publishing works. I—”
Hunter hung up. He stared at the phone, thinking. Gretchen had quit. To teach him another lesson? But her agent had said she needed money. He didn’t understand.
Damn it, he didn’t understand women. He didn’t understand any of this. Frowning, he thought to himself for a moment, then stared at his monitor. He wanted to call Gretchen’s agent, see what was going on. He didn’t remember her name, though. Kat something. That wouldn’t get him very far. There were a million agents in New York City. He drummed his fingers, thinking.
Then he jolted to his feet. Of course. Logan’s assistant was Gretchen’s sister. She’d know where Gretchen went off to . . . and she’d know why Gretchen declined the contract. He wanted answers.
Hunter hit the speaker button on his phone. “Eldon?”
“Yes, Mr. Buchanan?” The assistant’s voice was as cool and monotone as ever.
“Bring the car around. I need to go out.”
He waited for Eldon to ask where. To protest. To tell him he was busy and coul
dn’t drop everything at a moment’s notice. To crack a joke.
Something.