I SPENT ALL morning working diligently as I wanted the tasks out of the way before Taste of the Town began. I barely stopped for a coffee break and ate my lunch of leftovers from the previous night’s Wild Ginger dinner in front of my computer. Chewing on the last bite of cold broccoli beef, I placed the empty plastic containers in my tote and scooped up a package of washable markers along with my Taste of the Town folder. Thus supplied, I headed for the conference room.
As expected, no one was there and I began to prepare for my meeting. On the whiteboard, I drew out a chart. Across the top row I wrote in the agents’ names and in the far left column filled in an event for each subsequent row: Klara’s book release, Books and Cooks Signings, Short Story Contest, Food in Children’s Lit, Literary Banquet, TV Show. I was so intent on my task that I didn’t realize Jude had come into the room until he spoke.
“You look very absorbed,” he said in a playful tone.
His voice startled me and my hand jerked, giving the “w” on the word “show” an upturned tail. I spun around. As always, my pulse sped up at the sight of Jude. His chocolate brown eyes held a glint of amusement beneath his long lashes. Smiling at me, he ran his fingers through his dark wavy hair. “I’ve been watching you for five minutes and you didn’t even notice,” he said. “Not that I didn’t enjoy the view.”
I refused to respond to his flattery. I was Sean’s girl, and my brief ill-advised fancy of being with Jude had dissipated long ago. Glancing at the time on the wall clock behind him, I said, “You’re early. The meeting doesn’t start until two.”
“I know. I just wanted to have a few minutes alone with you before everyone else comes in.” He stepped closer to me.
“Jude,” I cautioned. “You know Sean and I—”
“Not like that. I know you and the policeman are tight. My loss,” he said, shaking his head. He held out a stack of papers. “I actually came here early to discuss the latest submissions for the Alexandria Society sequel. Not one of these has the same spellbinding, desperate voice that Marlette had, and I’m inclined to turn them all down. How did you fare with yours?”
Marlette Robbins, one of the agency’s authors represented by Jude, had written an intriguing suspense novel that became an immediate bestseller. Unfortunately, he didn’t live to see his masterwork in print. Now, with the book’s success, his publishers were eager to put out a sequel and Jude and I had been given the task of finding a ghostwriter for the book. So far we hadn’t had any luck.
“Same here,” I answered. “I wasn’t impressed by any of the submissions I received. And some of them were from big name authors.”
Jude sighed and plunked himself into a chair. “I thought this would be an easy project, but Marlette’s unique voice is proving difficult to replicate. Any suggestions?”
“What if…” I tapped the end of a marker on my chin. “Instead of focusing on seasoned authors, we expand the playing field. Go through our unsolicited queries, maybe put the word out to writers who may not have published a bestseller yet. Or published anything, for that matter. Look at Marlette. He was unknown and unpublished, and he still penned a winner.”
Jude nodded. “But how do we advertise what we’re looking for without seeming overanxious?”
“The Taste of the Town will bring lots of people in—maybe we could have a contest in conjunction with the first event held at the Marlette Robbins Center for the Arts.”
“I like that. A ghostwriting contest to honor Marlette.” Jude started writing on his notepad. “However, since we already have the ‘Stories about Food’ writing contest under way, it might not be such a good idea to have two contests going at once. Should we run it by Bentley and see what she thinks?”
“Maybe we can talk to her after this meeting. Right now I have to finish this.” I turned back to the whiteboard and completed the chart.
A few minutes later, the rest of the staff was seated around the conference table, gazing expectantly at me. I felt a little self-conscious standing at the front, especially with Bentley Burlington-Duke, the founder and president of Novel Idea Literary Agency, sitting to my left. She peered at me over her diamond-studded reading glasses but said nothing.
I cleared my throat and began. “I set up this meeting because the day after tomorrow, the Taste of the Town festival begins in Inspiration Valley. As you know, our agency’s portion of the festival, Books and Cooks, commences at the same time. And I wanted to ensure that everything is in place so that it all runs smoothly.” Pointing at the chart on the whiteboard, I continued. “If I could get your status on the areas for which you are each responsible, we can move on from there.”
Vicky, the office manager, spoke first. With her ramrod-straight posture and direct approach, she gave the impression that she was much taller than a mere five feet. Straightening her blue-rimmed glasses, she began. “I’ve booked rooms for all of our celebrity guests and their entourages at the Magnolia Bed and Breakfast, although a few of the underlings have rooms at Bertram’s Hotel.”