Page 24 of The Write Midlife

He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, her phone buzzed again. It was another text from Carmen:

"Forgot to mention—meeting with Liam Carlisle tomorrow at 2 PM to discuss the ghostwriting deal. Wear something professional!"

She showed the text to Nate, watching as his expression darkened. "Nate, what's going on? Why do I feel like I'm walking into a trap?"

He took a deep breath, seeming to weigh his words carefully. "It's complicated, Melody. There are... expectations, pressures from the board. My father has his own vision for the company's future, and sometimes that vision doesn't align with what's best for our authors."

She felt a surge of panic. "Are you saying I shouldn't take this meeting?"

"No, you should definitely go. But... be prepared. My father can be very persuasive when he wants something."

"And what exactly does he want?" she asked, dreading the answer.

Nate's eyes met hers, and she saw a mask of determination and something else—protectiveness, maybe—written in the lines of his face. “He wants to turn you into a brand, Melody. A marketable, controllable asset for Carlisle Publishing."

The weight of his words sank in, and a knot formed in her stomach. "And what do you want, Nate?"

He reached across the table, his hand covering hers. The touch sent a jolt through her, warm and electric. "I want you to stay true to yourself, to your voice. That's what makes your writing special."

For a moment, they just sat there, his hand on hers, the bustling café fading into the background. Then, as if suddenly realizing what he was doing, Nate pulled his hand back, clearing his throat.

"Look," he said, his voice gruff, "go to the meeting. Hear my father out. But promise me you won't agree to anything without talking to me first, okay?"

She nodded, still reeling from the intensity of the moment they had just shared. "Okay. But Nate, I need you to be honest with me. No more surprises, no more hidden agendas. Deal?"

He met her gaze, his expression serious. "Deal. Partners?"

She couldn't help but smile, despite the tension of the situation. "Partners. God help us both."

As they parted ways outside the café, Melody was struck by the realization that tomorrow's meeting could change everything—her career, her relationship with Nate, her entire future as a writer.

She watched Nate walk away, his tall figure disappearing into the crowded Seattle street. For the first time since this whole crazy situation began, she found herself grateful to have him in her corner.

Tomorrow, she would face Liam Carlisle and whatever scheme he had cooked up. But tonight? Tonight, she had some serious thinking to do about what she really wanted—from her career, from Carlisle Publishing, and from the infuriatingly handsome man who was quickly becoming more than just her editor.

TWELVE

The morningafter coffee with Melody, Nate sat at his desk, surrounded by a sea of contracts and legal jargon. The office was quiet, save for the gentle hum of the air conditioning and the occasional ping of his email. It was the kind of mindless work he usually breezed through, but that day, his focus was shot.

His thoughts kept drifting to Melody. Her connection to her work, the way her eyes lit up when she talked about her characters. The memory of her hand in his at the café lingered, a phantom warmth that was both thrilling and unsettling.

He shook his head, trying to clear it. “Head in the game, Carlisle," he muttered. "You're here to work, not daydream about stubborn, beautiful authors."

As if on cue, a new file appeared in his inbox. The subject line read: "CONFIDENTIAL: Archer Project - Ghostwriting Initiative." His stomach dropped as he opened it.

The contract was extensive, detailing a multi-book deal for a series of romance novels. But it wasn't under Melody's name. Instead, it was for a new pen name, one that Carlisle Publishing would have full control over.

"What the hell, Dad?" he growled, scrolling through the document.

The terms were clear: Melody would write the books, but she'd have no creative control. The plots, characters, even the writing style would all be dictated by the marketing team. It was everything Melody hated about commercial fiction, wrapped up in a shiny, legally-binding package.

He leaned back in his chair, blowing out a long breath. This was bad. Really bad. And the worst part? He was pretty sure Melody had no idea what she was walking into.

His phone buzzed. It was a text from Melody:"Hey, Editor Extraordinaire. Mind if we do a little prep before my meeting with your dad this afternoon? I can be there in an hour. I've got some updates on the manuscript."

He stared at the message, guilt gnawing at his insides. How could he face her, knowing what he knew? How could he not tell her?

He typed out a reply: "Absolutely. Looking forward to it." His finger hovered over the send button. Should he warn her? Give her a heads up about what his father was planning?