Finding Love Between the Lines

By Summer Robidoux

Samantha Ledar lives a life that most people only dream about: she is a happily married, wealthy, world-renowned author. That is, until a uniformed officer comes to her door and tells her the devastating news: shes a widow.

Wasting away in a state of depression, Sam unexpectedly hatches the perfect plan to escape her grave reality and overcome her circumstances. Convincing her agent to hire her as an assistant but needing to conceal her identity from her fans, she transforms herself into one of the characters from her first novel. In cahoots with her agent, Sam travels across the country and excels in her new career.

When Sam finds that one of her first assignments is to work covertly on her own award ceremony, shes forced to keep up appearancesespecially when shes teamed with the agencys handsome new author. As Sams fabricated life becomes increasingly more complicated, her deceits seem to compound daily into a complex web of fiction . . . just like one of her novels.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Nov 13, 2015
• ISBN: 9781491783269

Summer Robidoux

Summer Robidoux graduated from Northwest Missouri State University with a BS in psychology/biology and received her DC from Cleveland Chiropractic College. She lives in northern Colorado with her husband and three young daughters. She likes to hike, ski, play volleyball, and write. You can find more about her and her work at SummerRobidoux.com.

Book preview

Prologue

Mrs. Ledar? Ma’am? Can you hear me? The officers stood staring, assessing my reaction.

My eyes skimmed from one police officer to the other. The shorter of the two had a stocky build. Beads of sweat made his balding hairline gleam from the sun’s reflection pouring in through the open door. His eyes were almost black; an interesting contrast to his pale, rosy-cheeked face. His partner was tall and gangly and didn’t say a word, leaving his counterpart to break the news. I noticed his expression of empathy and wondered if he’d been in my shoes before.

Utterly shocked, I stood there silently. Trying to say something would probably just unleash a flood of emotions. Finally, I nodded once, showing an inkling of comprehension to stymie the men’s questioning, even though I didn’t understand.

Actually, I was at a complete loss.

This was reality … and suddenly I was living in one of my novels. I wrote about moments like this: the sympathetic cop standing at the door telling you that your life as you know it is over. There has been a terrible auto accident, he would begin. We’re sorry, but your husband did not survive—he was killed instantly. I’m so sorry for your loss.

Don’t these men know who I am? I’m Samantha Ledar! The author! These are the kinds of incidents I write about. They can’t actually happen to me! I had flown all over the world experiencing events that most people only dreamed about. After a decade of book tours and movie promotions, I had it all. I was wealthy and happy and successful and … and now my world collapsed in a single sentence. He was killed instantly.

I was alone.

Is there anyone here with you? To help you out? he asked kindly.

My assistant, Reed, had the day off. Again I nodded, lying, willing them to leave.

We’re very sorry for your loss, the officer concluded.

The men turned and walked quickly toward their cruiser, with the gangly one glancing back at me only once. I watched the patrol car until it disappeared around the corner. And that was it; their deed was done.

I knew I should retreat and shut my front door, but I couldn’t move. I didn’t know what to do, how to breathe, or how to function. My mind was blank.

I took one last jagged breath before my vision blurred into blackness.

*****

My head pounded and my eyes burned as they opened to assaulting sunlight. I had fallen onto my back with the front door still wide open, but I couldn’t muster the energy to get up. Curling up in a tight ball, I wept uncontrollably. I cried until I couldn’t cry any more. Every time I tried to gather myself the tears would spring up again and my breath would escape, leaving me helpless on my foyer floor.

How? How could this happen to me? Why? What did I do? All my wrongdoings played through my mind. Did I deserve this? Why, God? Dammit, why? I wailed mentally, cursing and pleading simultaneously. Was it because of the pink panties I stole when I was a teen? Or perhaps it was payback for all the times I talked back to my parents. Or something I did in college—I didn’t want to even go there.

The pain in my heart was excruciating, yet I felt numb. My chest constricted and the room shrank; all I could do was weep. I had lost my best friend, my partner, my soulmate.

David was my rock. I was shy, living in a world within my mind, and he was outgoing. When he was by my side, I felt like the confident woman I tried to portray. Alone, David and I loved to hang out. We would talk deep into the night, indulging in our favorite wines. We adored watching movies, golfing regularly, and doing karate together. He would put his foot down when work threatened to consume me, pushing me to keep my priorities focused and allowing myself time to recharge.

I wanted David. I needed David.

After several hours the sun began casting shadows as the trees stole my sunlight. The chattering of my teeth made me realize how cold I was. With an enormous amount of effort, I rose off the floor and shut the door, thankful there wasn’t a neighbor in sight.

Weighted down with grief and suffocating under a blanket of despair, I slowly made my way to the nearest couch and fell into the soft cushions.

I fell so deep I didn’t see how I could ever resurface.

Chapter 1

Hello? I grumbled.

Hey, Sam!

Oh, hey, Laura … My agent’s cheerful voice made me cringe.

How are you? she chirped.

I rolled my eyes, as if she could see how preposterous her question was before I let out a loud sigh. From the tone of her voice, I knew this was going to be a long conversation.

Snagging my blue terrycloth robe off my unmade bed, I put it on over my gray shorts and tank top and tied it snugly around my waist. I plodded across the bedroom to the oversized leather chair in the corner and plopped down.

David’s orange Tabby, Sophie, was curled up in her bed next to the chair. I reached down and scratched her behind the ears. Her tail twitched once and she continued on with her nap. As I rose from petting Sophie, I looked toward the window, trying to get an idea of the time. With the shades pulled, I could only see a hint of sunlight sneaking past the edges. What time is it?

I had lost track of all time since that life-altering January, but I didn’t have a reason to care anymore. David was gone.

It’s two o’clock your time. Why?

Just curious.

So … what are you up to today? she asked innocently.

Laura, I lightly scolded, knowing exactly what she was alluding to.

There was a slight pause before she spoke. Sam, it’s been a year and a half since David’s death. Maybe if you started writing—

I interrupted her, not wanting to have this conversation again. I already told you that writing is not going to take my mind off of him.

It might, she said, pleading. It breaks my heart to hear you suffering. Are you still seeing the counselor?

Yeah, I am.

And?

And what? I retorted.

And is it helping?

I don’t know.

Are you getting any sleep?

I exhaled sharply. Not really. I keep having nightmares. It’s like the police photos are etched into my memory. Every time I close my eyes, all I see is … My voice trailed off; I couldn’t bring myself to say the words.

David’s mangled truck, Laura finished for me. I’m surprised your medication isn’t helping with that.

I didn’t respond.

You are still taking your medication, right?

No. It made me feel funny, so the doctor took me off of it.

Although I couldn’t see her, I could imagine the look of disapproval on Laura’s face. She would frown, creating a slight crease between the sandy-blonde eyebrows that were the perfect complement to her chocolate-brown eyes and pale skin. Laura was cute in a bookworm sort of way. Her ash-brown hair was long and generally pulled up into a low ponytail, and she sported thick, black reading glasses.

I know what you need, Sam—a vacation!

No. I don’t. I already tried a weekend getaway, and it was a disaster. All I did was sit around and cry: in my hotel room, on the beach, at the restaurant. It was miserable.

I could hear worry in her voice. I don’t know what to do for you, she faded off.

Guilt flooded through me. Laura—

I stopped short as I looked around the guest bedroom, which became my bedroom the day my husband died.

It was a disaster.

At one time, this room was airy and bright and looked as if it had been modeled after a cover of Better Homes and Gardens. It boasted a large, eight-piece cherry furniture set, including a king-sized bed draped with a handmade floral-patterned quilt. Several impressionistic paintings of garden scenes hung on the walls, emphasizing the high ceiling. There were green candles and matching Armani lamps on the nightstands on either side of the bed.

Now it looked worse than a frat house after a long night of partying. The room was dim and the curtains were drawn. There were uneaten bags of chips and microwave food trays covering every square inch of the furniture. Red-wine bottles littered the carpet like pine needles covering a forest floor. The TV was showing an old rerun I had seen at least a dozen times.

Like a flip of a light switch, something occurred to me: I was a total mess.

Sam? Laura prompted.

Springing back to our conversation, I continued, I’m sorry, Laura. Don’t worry about me; I’ll be fine. Tell me more about what’s going on with you. I spoke in the perkiest voice I could conjure, wanting to change the subject and have a moment to process my latest self-discovery.

My diversion worked. Laura rattled on for half an hour, telling me about her newest green author, Justin something-or-another, and about a steal of a buy she got on a chaise. She ended by griping about her assistant.

I don’t think she’s going to work out, she said curtly. "She’s unreliable, and she’s always late. And of course I just got her trained … now I’m back at square one. Good assistants are nearly impossible to find."

Suddenly, I had an epiphany. An assistant, huh?

Surprisingly nervous about Laura’s response, I took a large gulp of air and let both the air and the question out quickly. What do you think about hiring me?

The other end went silent.

Laura?

Nothing.

Laura! I could feel the anticipation building, weighing heavier with each passing second.

You can’t be serious, Sam. Laura spoke in her most somber, business-like tone.

I smiled faintly. Oh, but I am.

I don’t think so, she said hesitantly.

Why can’t I be your assistant? I whined.

"Well, first of all, you’re Samantha Ledar, and I work for you, remember? Second, you make more in a month off royalties than you’d make in a year working as my assistant; I can’t pay you much. Why on earth would you want to work for me?"

She paused for a second.

Are you running low on funds? she asked, sounding almost shocked at the idea.

No, it’s not that. I have plenty, especially with David’s life insurance policy. I need to get away—far away. And remember, you only work for me when I’m writing, and right now I’m taking a break, I said, refuting her protests.

Umm—

"Oh, come on, Laura! It would be fun. Plus, the training would be minimal because I already know what you do for the most part, and … and I could really use the diversion. Please, Laura," I begged.

Where are you going to live during your little escapade?

Well, if you’re okay with it, I thought I could stay with you?

She answered immediately, which made me feel good. Of course you can stay with me, but my condo is small, especially compared to your digs. Are you sure you want to leave Mayberry? Who’s going to take care of your place while you’re gone?

Laura always called my neighborhood in Thousand Oaks Mayberry. It was an upscale, gated neighborhood with custom, Spanish-style homes on large lots. Every home had a perfect lawn, a white picket fence, and most boasted a pool in the backyard.

My house was a taupe two-story. As expected, it had a flawless lawn (thanks to Frank, my gardener) with a large flowerbed and a few fruit trees on the west side of the house. Inside it was mostly painted a sandstone color, with the occasional burnt-orange or chocolate-brown accent wall. The master bedroom was on the main floor and the spare bedrooms and my office were on the second floor. Although the outside of the house had Spanish flair, the interior was full of classic Ethan Allen décor. I had a soft spot for their furniture and accessories, especially anything that came in earth tones.

I blew out a breath before I answered.

I’ll miss it here, but I need a new life for a while. I’m sure Reed will take care of my house while I’m gone. So what do you say?

The line grew silent for a few seconds as she contemplated my proposal.

How exactly are you going to pull this off? Everyone knows who you are.

Good point, I mentally agreed. My face crinkled as I pondered my scheme.

I’ve got it! I proclaimed. I could be Julie Smith, your assistant.

"Julie Smith? As in The Shooting Star Julie Smith?"

Yes! What do you think?

"Well, since millions of people have read that book, I think it’s a poor cover."

Oh, I mumbled. She was right; Julie would be a dead giveaway. I mentally flipped through all the novels I’d written over the years. I’d been blessed as an author. In fact, I’d been blessed period: my second novel struck gold, and my career had been a storybook ever since … At least until a year and a half ago.

However, there was always book number one: In Brooklyn. My first attempt at a novel was a dismal failure. It was a typical whodunit and it was definitely a learning experience. Nonetheless, the main character, Zoey Churman, was perfect.

I’ve got it. How about Zoey Churman?

Who?

"Zoey Churman was the lead from my first novel, In Brooklyn. You know, the novel I self-published forever ago? Trust me, no one has read it."

She paused before answering. I don’t know, Sam. I think people will still recognize you.

Laura, how many times have I traveled to New York? You usually come here because it gives you an excuse to take a trip to California, remember?

She remained silent. I started to panic because this was exactly what I needed—another life, at least for a while.

I’ll cut my hair and dye it brown, I said, brainstorming out loud. Even the thought of cutting my long blonde hair made me shudder, but I was desperate.

You’ll have to wear brown contacts to hide your eyes; they’re a dead giveaway too.

I nodded, the receiver pressed to my ear. My eyes were bright aqua blue, and she was right, they would expose me in an instant.

Okay. No one will ever suspect. Please, Laura. I needed to escape, if only for a few months, and no one knew that better than Laura. I’ll only stay until you find a new assistant, and then I’ll return home— I took a deep breath before blurting out, and I’ll write again. What do you say?

I wasn’t above bribery, and this was a huge carrot. I knew she’d take the bait.

She let out a long sigh. Okay, fine. If that’s what it’s going to take to get you to write again, I’ll do it. But only until I find a replacement, she warned.

Laura exhaled another long, calculating breath, and her mood shifted abruptly. She practically chirped, It’s going to be great! Us working side by side again—I can’t wait!

For a minute I agreed. Then I wondered what I’d gotten myself into.

Chapter 2

I couldn’t begin to describe my mental state—nervous, elated, anxious, petrified? What I did know was my nerves were strung tight, and the butterflies were plentiful. At least ten minutes passed as I paced in front of my gate waiting for the boarding announcement. I was thankful that I had worn a pair of comfortable Keens with my jeans and tee and not my standard flip-flops.

After another five minutes, which felt like twenty-five, I decided to keep an eye on the gate agent instead of my watch. She would be a good gauge to see if it was time for us to board, and she was still behind the front desk talking with another woman. Her brown bob framed her thin face and her smile was bright; it looked as if she was enjoying herself and wasn’t going to end her conversation any time soon.

Feeling somewhat like a stalker by continually watching her, I decided to shift my gaze to the chaos around me. The airport was busy. People scurried by, hurrying to make their flights. Normally I would sit with a cup of coffee in hand and relax as people rushed by. Today it was different. I blew out a breath, mentally willing for the announcement that it was time. I knew once I got on the plane, there would be no turning back. This diversion was exactly what I needed, but my courage was running low. It would have been easier to go home and watch another rerun in the safety of my spare bedroom while avoiding everyone.

I had become a pro at evasion. When David and I would hang out with friends, I knew my place in the dynamics of the group, and I was comfortable. Without David, the relationships seemed labored and awkward. Finally, I got to the point that I quit going altogether, which to me was an infinitely better option than being the fifth wheel.

There seemed to be only two exceptions: Laura and Reed. We always used work as an excuse to get together, but when Laura came out to visit me, we basically played and rarely worked. David kept himself occupied so we could have time together. Sure, we’d all go out for dinner, but Laura was my closest friend, and our friendship seemed to be one of the only relationships that didn’t need revamping.

Reed had been my assistant for the last four years, and to call him steady was an understatement. Always two steps ahead of my crammed-full, chaotic mind, he took care of details I never thought of; especially when I was writing. After David’s death, he stepped up and took over as I fell apart. I felt indebted to Reed and didn’t think I could ever repay him. Regardless, I was proud to call him my friend.

A voice came over the speakers. I looked over and saw the gate agent in front of the door. It was finally time to board! I almost ran over and hugged her, but I thought better of it and forced myself to calmly stroll over and wait with the other passengers until she called my section of the plane.

Flying first class, I was one of the first sections to board. I stepped up, scanned my ticket, and froze. This was exactly what I wanted: a new life and destiny. So why was I scared? Frightened didn’t even cover it. Maybe the fear of losing control by getting back into the game had been my largest obstacle all along.

The flight attendant looked at me with a concerned expression. Ma’am, are you okay?

I glanced over to her and nodded once. One step at a time, I told myself.

After a stabilizing breath, I began the long trek down the ramp. The lighting was dim, and it smelled musty. I felt like I was walking down a tunnel of inevitability—the picture of fate. As I approached the plane, my heart pounded and my gait quickened. I almost leapt through the oval door, clutching my one-way ticket to New York like a lifeline.

I did it! I exhaled a nervous breath and looked around. It was a typical jumbo jet, weird smell and all.

Welcome! A flight attendant crooned. Her blonde hair was pulled up into a ponytail and she had large brown eyes. She was cute, curvy, and overly perky. I was sure she was at least four cups of coffee in.

I smiled. Thank you. I found my seat, 3B, and sank into the large, brown leather chair. I waited patiently for the plane to take off.

Now that I had taken the first big step of boarding the plane, my fear slowly began to melt away. I felt antsy, yet ecstatic—finally, I was going to escape my grave reality. Laura had given me an opportunity for a fresh existence. I didn’t have to be the boss, make any decisions, or be creative. Best of all, I didn’t have to fulfill the high expectations of millions of people. I could disappear.

Goodbye, Sam.

Hello, Zoey!

Ten minutes later, a younger girl in her