Imagine With Me (With Me in Seattle #15) - Kristen Proby Page 0,4

be. Next comes a plush, yellow pillow.

“You bought bedding for in here?” He takes a bite of a California roll and watches me with interest.

Today hasn’t been quite as bad as yesterday, although we haven’t agreed on much—we’ve just been less volatile about it.

“I need texture, color, and softness,” I explain as I pull a package of my favorite pens out of the box. “I need to feel comfortable, or I’ll continue to be short and moody.”

“By all means, order all of the bedding you need,” he says. “Hell, I’ll buy it for you if it helps.”

I can’t help but let out a little laugh.

“You’re gorgeous when you smile.”

I glance his way. He’s stopped eating his lunch. Instead, he’s watching me.

“Thanks.”

“You don’t smile often,” he continues.

“Honestly, there hasn’t been much reason to smile.”

He takes a bite of his lunch. “Sorry I was late again today.”

Forty minutes this time, but who’s counting?

“I think I might have to get a rental flat here in the city. The commute is awful.”

I simply nod as I drape my new teal blanket over the back of the chair I’ve been using.

“What else did you buy?”

“Nothing yet. I wanted to see how this worked first. I’m glad we’re able to frost these windows so they can’t watch us all day.”

“Not much of a people person, are you?”

“Not at all. I want quiet and privacy. I need to think.”

“I agree,” he says, surprising me.

“You do?”

“Absolutely. I don’t know how any of them get anything done.”

“They’re young,” I suggest. “Like you.”

“You’re not much older than me.”

I smile again, and Shawn’s green eyes narrow on me. “Thank you for that, but I’m thirty-six, Shawn. You haven’t even reached thirty yet. How is it possible, by the way, that you’ve already done such wonderful things in your career at such a young age?”

“I’m a stubborn goat,” he says with a proud grin. “At least, that’s what Ma tells me.”

“If the past twenty-four hours are any indication, I’m inclined to agree with her.”

He laughs and finishes his sushi, then opens an energy drink and takes a sip. “We should get back to this scene.”

“And we were being so civil,” I murmur. “Back to battle for us.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

I sit and organize my new pens. “We can’t seem to find common ground, Shawn.”

“It’s early days yet. We’ll get there.”

The look I send him says, “Yeah, right.” He shrugs. “Or we’ll kill each other trying.”

“It’s a good thing I had my will drawn up and my estate planning done before this trip.”

“Why did you do that?”

“Because I was flying, of course.”

He frowns. “You had a will drawn up because you were about to get on a commercial flight?”

I nod. “You just never know what might happen, Mr. O’Callaghan. I’m in favor of being prepared.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone uptight enough to do that.”

I want to bristle at his words. I want to list statistics and facts. But it wouldn’t matter. I am uptight. I have been all my life.

And I’m done apologizing for it.

“I’m ready to dive back in,” I say.

“Okay. He needs to grip her shoulders in this scene.”

“No.” I shake my head and stand, pacing the room. “I have it written that he cups her face.”

“Lexi, that won’t work.” He sits back in his chair and tosses his pen onto the table. “You have to think of camera angles. In the book, that camera is in the reader’s head. But this is going to be on a screen. If we have him cupping her face, we won’t be able to see her face. He needs to hold onto her shoulders.”

I hate that he’s changing so much of my story. Hate it.

But in this instance, I understand what he’s saying.

“At the very least, he needs to wipe away her tears. The scene is intimate, Shawn. More intimate than shoulder touching. And because this is a thriller, there aren’t many intimate moments. Most of it is fast-paced and suspenseful.”

“Agreed,” he says, typing furiously on his keyboard. “We can have him wipe the tear. That will have impact. Now, let’s change the part where she plunges her fingers into his hair…”

I’m going to kill him.

Chapter 2

~Shawn~

The ferry is going to be the bloody death of me. Death. Of. Me.

It’s late. Again. It’s Friday, my fifth day commuting into downtown Seattle from the island, and I think it’s safe to say this isn’t working. I didn’t want to temporarily relocate to the city, mostly because my family is on the island,