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close my body had been to his. My heart was still pounding.
    He walked over and handed me a rocks glass. The brown liquor swirled as I took it between my palms. He knocked his back in one swallow and discarded the glass on the table. I took a small sip and inhaled the bourbon scent. If I was going to get through this, I would need a drink, maybe a few.
    Two years ago, I met Jack for the first time, in his office of course. I sat outside of the frosted glass walls that separated his workspace from Ann’s desk and those ominous sorting baskets. I chewed on the end of my pen while pretending to write some oh-so-important notes for our meeting. Really, I didn’t have anything to write. I didn’t want my new editor to think I spent my time idly sitting around not writing. I borrowed my mother’s pearls for the occasion. It felt like an interview, although I had already signed a contract for my first book.
    When my editor appeared in the doorway, it took some major effort to keep myself from whistling, gasping, blushing, or tripping over my five-inch heels. Instead, I rather gracefully collected myself from the loveseat I had been parked on for thirty minutes and reached out to shake his hand. He looked over my black skirt suit, the pearls, and my half-eaten pen and invited me into his office.
    “Ms. Grace, sorry to keep you waiting, Jack Coleman, your new editor.”
    “Hi.” I reminded myself I was supposed to let go of his hand. I tried to think of something clever to say, but one look in his eyes and I was tongue-tied. All I could do was follow him into his office.
    He smiled. “Welcome to our small publishing family. I’m ready to get to work. I hope you are.”
    With that first meeting, my writing blossomed, along with my career, and a crush I could never brush aside.
    The fire crackled and one of the logs broke in half. He looked annoyed as he glanced at me and back to the letter. “Ivy?”
    I knew I had to choose my words carefully, and I needed to slow this all down. It was happening too fast. I wanted space and time to think, and Jack was affecting me more than he ever had.
    “You have to know I don’t know who sent this letter. I didn’t have anything to do with it. I’m at risk here as much as you are. You see that, right?” I waited for some kind of acknowledgment. “We need to put our heads together and figure out what to do with it now that it’s here.”
    He exhaled. “I’m giving you another chance. You took one look at that letter and ran for the door. You ran out of here, fast. You know something and you’re going to tell me what’s happening or I’m calling the police. I probably should have already called them instead of even asking you to come over, but I thought you deserved a chance. I thought we had worked together long enough that I should at least ask you what you know before I get the authorities involved.” He sat across from me now with his elbows digging into his knees. He pressed his fist into his chin.
    The bourbon hadn’t calmed me enough. I panicked. “You read the letter—you can’t do that. Don’t do that. These are dangerous people. More dangerous than in any book. We’ve got to think through everything before we make any decisions. Lives are at stake. Our lives, our families.”
    My heart ached as I spoke those last words. I hoped he could hear in my voice that I had regained my composure and was back in control of my thoughts. I couldn’t believe I had bolted, and my cheeks started brimming crimson as I thought about my idiotic move to run from him, although it was clearly a better choice than vanishing in a sparkly, unexplainable exit.
    I twisted my grandmother’s ring back and forth across my right ring finger and caught specks of the firelight bouncing off the deep blue stone. The room felt calmer now that he was sitting across from me, and it seemed his anger had receded for the moment.
    “Why don’t you start by telling me who you really are, or maybe who