By the Book

By the Book Plot Summary

Introduction

The knock on the door came like a warning shot across the silence of the Santa Barbara hills. Beau Towers had spent the better part of a year hiding from the world in his grandparents' sprawling estate, nursing wounds and wrestling with a book he couldn't write. The last thing he wanted was visitors, especially not some perky editorial assistant from his publisher, demanding progress on a memoir he'd promised but couldn't deliver. Isabelle Marlowe stood outside that imposing wooden door, clutching her business card like a shield. She'd flown from New York to Los Angeles for a publishing conference, then driven two hours north on what seemed like a fool's errand. Her boss Marta Wallace had given her one simple task: get Beau Towers to finish his book. What neither of them knew was that this collision between a burned-out assistant and a broken former child star would ignite something neither expected—a partnership that would force them both to confront their deepest fears and discover what it means to fight for your dreams.

Chapter 1: The Reluctant Assignment: Izzy Meets the Reclusive Author

The woman who answered the door had kind eyes and an apologetic smile. Michaela, as she introduced herself, looked like she'd rather be anywhere else than explaining why Beau Towers absolutely would not see anyone today, especially not someone from his publishing house. "I tried, but he says he doesn't want to talk to you," Michaela said, her voice carrying genuine regret. "I'm so sorry you've come all this way." Izzy had expected this. For over a year, she'd sent Beau Towers emails every two weeks—polite, professional inquiries that went unanswered. Her messages had evolved from earnest requests to barely contained sarcasm, peppered with random facts about National Snack Food Month and celebrity memoir recommendations. She'd assumed he never read them. The "ABSOLUTELY NOT" that thundered from inside the house confirmed her worst fears about his legendary temper. This was the same Beau Towers who'd made headlines for bar fights and screaming matches at his father's funeral. The golden boy turned cautionary tale. But when Michaela slipped on her way to check the mail and twisted her ankle, everything changed. Izzy found herself helping the injured woman into the kitchen, fetching ice and making tea like she belonged there. That's where Beau found her—rummaging through his medicine cabinet with the easy confidence of someone who'd never learned to back down. He was bigger than his publicity photos suggested. Tall, solid, intimidating in gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt that had seen better days. His curly hair was unkempt, his beard unruly. When he glared at her with those golden-brown eyes, Izzy felt the full weight of his reputation. "Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my house?" His voice carried the edge of someone used to getting his way through sheer force of presence. Instead of wilting, Izzy smiled. She'd survived two years working for Marta Wallace. This angry man-child didn't scare her. She introduced herself with the same bright professionalism she used on difficult authors, offered to help with his book, suggested a ghostwriter. Each word seemed to make him angrier. When he sarcastically demanded daily pep talks, Izzy called his bluff. When he told her to pack her bags and stay to give them, she handed over her car keys. Within hours, she found herself installed in a beautiful guest room overlooking the Pacific, wondering how a simple business meeting had turned into whatever this was.

Chapter 2: Breaking Through Walls: Establishing Trust in the Library

The house revealed its secrets slowly. Behind those imposing wooden doors lay a library that took Izzy's breath away—floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with books that had been read and loved, rolling ladders that begged to be climbed, window seats perfect for losing yourself in a story. This wasn't some decorator's showpiece. These books had histories, marginalia, broken spines that spoke of countless hands turning their pages. Beau watched her explore with something that might have been pleasure flickering across his face. When she marveled at finding her favorite authors tucked between classics and contemporary fiction, he almost smiled. Almost. Their first work session was a disaster. Beau sat rigid across the long wooden table, glaring at the notebook she'd pushed toward him like it might bite. When she set the timer and told him to write, he pushed back with the fury of someone who'd been pushing back his whole life. "I can't do this," he said, shoving the notebook away. "That's the whole problem. I've tried before, it's always just bad and wrong." Izzy had worked with blocked writers before. She knew the signs—the self-doubt masquerading as anger, the perfectionism that paralyzed instead of motivated. But something about Beau's pain ran deeper. This wasn't just writer's block. This was someone at war with himself. She made him a deal. Write for thirty minutes. Don't show her anything. Just get words on paper, any words. If he got stuck, he could write about how much he hated her for making him do it. For ten minutes, he stopped and started, crossing out lines, crumpling pages. Then something shifted. His pen began moving steadily across the paper, filling page after page. When the timer went off, he looked surprised at how much he'd written. "Promise me you won't throw those pages away," Izzy said, holding out her hand for the notebook. It was a small gesture, but it felt monumental. Trust was a fragile thing, and Beau had precious little left to spare. He handed it over, and something fundamental changed between them. Day after day, they returned to the library. Day after day, she held his words safe while he found the courage to write more.

Chapter 3: Shared Vulnerabilities: Uncovering the Truth Behind the Memoir

The breakthrough came not with a grand revelation, but with a quiet moment in the kitchen. Beau had made dinner—fish tacos that tasted like sunshine and forgiveness—and brought it to her room when she'd stormed out after he'd mocked her advice. The simple kindness of that gesture, the handwritten "Sorry—B" tucked under the bowl, cracked something open in both of them. That night, he told her everything. About finding his father's screenplays covered in his mother's handwriting, margin notes that revealed the truth behind decades of Academy Awards and critical acclaim. About the vicious things he'd said to his mother at the funeral, words born of grief and misdirected rage. About the year of self-imposed exile that followed, holed up in this house while the world forgot him. His father had been a thief of the cruelest kind, stealing not just his mother's words but the credit for her brilliance. Beau had been the unwitting accomplice, believing every lie, parroting every excuse. The son who'd defended his father's genius while his mother suffered in silence. "How do you write a memoir about your life when you know your whole life was a lie?" Beau asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "When you know you're cursed to be a privileged asshole forever?" But Izzy saw past his self-loathing to the man beneath—someone capable of profound change, of taking responsibility, of fighting for the truth even when it hurt. She saw the baker who made croissants at three in the morning when sleep wouldn't come, the grandson who felt his grandparents' presence in every room, the son who missed his father despite everything. "Write it down," she said. "All of it. Everything you just told me." And slowly, painfully, beautifully, he did. The words came in torrents and trickles, messy first drafts that Izzy held like precious things. She watched him transform from someone who couldn't write a paragraph to someone who could face his deepest shames on the page. The library became their sanctuary. Every afternoon at three, they met at the long wooden table. He would write, she would write, and together they built something neither could have created alone—not just his memoir, but trust, understanding, the foundation of something that felt dangerously close to love.

Chapter 4: Falling Between the Pages: When Work Becomes Something More

California worked its magic on both of them. The gray February days of New York felt like another lifetime as Izzy settled into the rhythm of the house. Morning coffee with Michaela, hours of solitude to work on her own writing, afternoons in the library with Beau, evenings that stretched long and comfortable. She stopped noticing when their professional relationship began shifting into something more personal. Maybe it was the night they cooked dinner together, Beau teaching her to roll out pastry dough with his hands covering hers. Maybe it was the afternoon by the pool when she caught him staring and realized she didn't mind. Maybe it was simply the accumulation of a thousand small moments—shared jokes, comfortable silences, the way he listened when she talked about her dreams. The surfing lesson changed everything. Standing on the beach in the early morning mist, Beau patient and encouraging as she wobbled on the board, Izzy felt something shift between them. When he put his hands on her shoulders to show her the proper stance, when they stood chest-deep in the Pacific Ocean with salt water binding them together, the air crackled with possibility. But it was that evening, watching the sunset paint the sky in impossible shades of pink and orange, that courage finally overcame caution. They'd been dancing around their attraction for weeks, stealing glances across the library table, sitting a little too close on the couch during their nightly television ritual. "Dance with me," Beau said as music drifted from a nearby restaurant. They moved together on the sand, her yellow sundress flowing in the ocean breeze, his hand warm against the small of her back. When the music stopped, they didn't let go. It was Izzy who kissed him first, unable to wait another moment for what felt inevitable. He kissed her back with the fervor of someone who'd been holding his breath underwater and finally found air. They kissed until the sun disappeared behind the horizon, until the beach emptied around them, until the only sounds were waves and heartbeats and whispered confessions. "I've been wanting to do that for a very long time," he murmured against her lips, and she laughed because she'd been wanting it too, longer than she'd been willing to admit even to herself.

Chapter 5: Oceans Apart: Separation and Professional Crossroads

The call came on a Friday morning that felt like any other. Josephine Henry from Maurice Publishing, offering Izzy the assistant editor position she'd dreamed about for years. The opportunity was everything she'd hoped for, but it came with a price—she had to be in New York for the interview by Monday. Monday meant leaving Sunday. Sunday meant leaving Beau in two days. They'd known this moment would come. Her time in California was always meant to be temporary, a brief detour from her real life in New York. But somehow, in the bubble of the house and the library and their afternoon writing sessions, the future had felt very far away. Beau took the news with the careful neutrality she'd come to recognize as his way of protecting himself from disappointment. He helped her make travel arrangements, offered to drive her to the airport, spoke of logistics and practical matters while avoiding the elephant in the room—what this meant for them. Their last Saturday was perfect in the way that endings often are, precious because they're finite. They worked in the library one final time, passing his notebook back and forth like a sacred ritual. They spent the afternoon by the pool, Izzy reading manuscripts while Beau swam laps, both of them hyperaware that this domesticity was about to end. That night, he took her to dinner at a Mexican restaurant overlooking the water. They talked about everything except her leaving—his mother's upcoming visit, the foundation he was establishing, the weather in New York. Afterward, they walked on the beach where they'd first kissed, dancing again to distant music while pretending this wasn't goodbye. The drive to LAX was quiet, both of them lost in thoughts they couldn't voice. At the departure curb, with airport security hovering and the bustle of travelers around them, they hugged like drowning people clinging to life preservers. "I'll text," he said, and she nodded like that was enough, like they both didn't know how inadequate texts would be after living in each other's pockets for two months. She cried during takeoff, watching the Pacific shrink beneath the plane's wings. In the first-class seat Beau had quietly arranged for her, she felt like she was leaving more than just California. She was leaving the version of herself she'd become in that house—confident, creative, loved.

Chapter 6: The Notebook Confession: Words That Bridge the Distance

New York felt smaller than she remembered, grayer despite the spring flowers blooming in Central Park. Izzy threw herself into interview preparation, into catching up with Priya, into the familiar rhythms of her old life. But everything felt slightly off-kilter, like a song played in the wrong key. The interview with Josephine went better than she'd dared hope. They talked for two hours about books and editing and the kind of career Izzy wanted to build. For the first time in years, she felt seen by someone who understood her ambitions, who wanted to help her achieve them. But the job offer, when it came, felt hollow without Beau to share it with. He hadn't texted. Not when she landed, not to wish her luck, not to ask how the interview went. The silence stretched between them like an accusation. Then the package arrived at her office—a black spiral notebook with coffee stains and water damage and the patina of heavy use. Her heart stopped when she recognized it. This was Beau's notebook, the one they'd passed back and forth every day in the library, the repository of his struggles and breakthroughs. "Read Me," said the Post-it note on top. She found a quiet park bench and opened to the first page. What she found there made her breath catch in her throat. From the very beginning, from that first angry afternoon when she'd forced him to write, he'd been writing about her. *I'm very annoyed about it. I'm also very annoyed about how much I like her.* Page after page chronicled his growing feelings—his attraction that he thought he was hiding, his admiration for her strength, his gratitude for her patience. He wrote about wanting to kiss her during their television nights, about the way she smelled like flowers and ocean air, about falling asleep thinking of her laugh. *I've always been writing this to you, Izzy,* the final entry read. *This has all always been for you.* By the time she finished reading, tears were streaming down her face. He'd been in love with her almost from the beginning, holding back because he didn't want to complicate their working relationship, because he was afraid she didn't feel the same way. All those moments when she'd thought he was indifferent, he'd been fighting the same battle she was. She tried calling him, desperate to hear his voice, to tell him she'd read every word and understood everything he couldn't say in person. The phone rang and rang before going to voicemail, and she wanted to scream with frustration. "Hi, Beau, it's Izzy. I got the notebook. I read it. Call me. As soon as you get this." But he didn't call back, and her heart began to sink. Maybe she'd misunderstood. Maybe the notebook was his way of saying goodbye, a final gift before they both moved on with their separate lives.

Chapter 7: Reunited in New York: Finding Home in Each Other

She was walking toward the elevators in her office building when she heard her name being called at the security desk. Something in the guard's voice made her turn, and there he was—rumpled from travel, holding roses, looking like he hadn't slept in days but had never been more awake. Beau had come to New York. For her. They found a quiet corner outside the building, away from curious colleagues and the bustle of midtown Manhattan. Standing there in his presence again, Izzy felt the missing piece of herself snap back into place. "I sent you—" he started to say, but she was already pulling the notebook from her bag. "I read it," she said. "I read it all." He swallowed hard, suddenly vulnerable in a way that reminded her of that first day in the library when he'd been afraid to put pen to paper. "There's something I realized I didn't say in there," he said, stepping closer. "I love you." The words hung in the air between them like a bridge finally built across an impossible distance. Izzy felt her heart expand to hold all the hope she'd been too afraid to feel. "I love you, too," she said, and then they were in each other's arms, roses crushed between them as they kissed with the desperation of people who'd thought they'd lost everything and found it again. Later, after she'd finished her work day and they'd found a quiet restaurant where they could talk without interruption, Beau told her about submitting his manuscript, about the phone calls with his mother, about the foundation that would bear his grandparents' names. Izzy told him about the job offer from Maurice, about finally understanding her worth as an editor and a writer. They talked about logistics—visits back and forth, video calls, the practicalities of loving someone three thousand miles away. But underneath the planning was a deeper conversation, an acknowledgment that what they'd found in that Santa Barbara library was worth fighting for. "I don't know how this works," Izzy admitted as they walked hand-in-hand through Central Park. "Long distance, I mean. I've never done it before." Beau stopped walking and turned to face her, cupping her face in his hands like she was something precious. "Neither have I," he said. "But I know I don't want to do it without you. Whatever this looks like, however we make it work, I want to try. If you want to try." She thought about the woman she'd been when she first knocked on his door—burned out, undervalued, afraid to ask for what she wanted. That woman would have let fear make this decision for her. But the woman she'd become in his library, in his arms, in the space between them where trust had grown into love, was braver than that.

Summary

The story Beau finally wrote became a bestseller, a raw and honest account of family, forgiveness, and finding the courage to face uncomfortable truths. Critics praised its unflinching examination of privilege and complicity, but for Izzy, the real triumph was watching him sign copies at bookstores, no longer the angry young man who'd slammed doors and refused to see visitors, but someone who'd learned to channel his pain into purpose. They made it work, the long distance and the different time zones and the complications of loving someone whose life existed in a different world from yours. Izzy took the job at Maurice and flourished under Josephine's mentorship, eventually editing the kinds of books she'd always dreamed of championing. Her own novel found an agent, then a publisher, then readers who saw themselves in her characters' struggles and triumphs. Some love stories begin with chance meetings and instant attraction. Others grow slowly from friendship and shared experience. But the best ones, the ones that last, are built in the space between two people brave enough to show each other their truest selves. In a library overlooking the Pacific Ocean, surrounded by books that had witnessed countless stories unfold, Isabelle Marlowe and Beau Towers discovered that the most important story they would ever tell was the one they wrote together—not on the page, but in the daily choice to love each other, flaws and fears and beautiful imperfections included, one word at a time.

About Author

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Jasmine Guillory

Guillory investigates the complexities of modern romance through narratives that challenge traditional tropes. Her novels, including the celebrated The Wedding Date and the Reese's Book Club pick The Proposal, weave together themes of love, identity, and empowerment. By situating her characters in relatable yet transformative situations, Guillory builds a world where personal growth and romantic connection are intertwined. This approach not only offers fresh perspectives on relationships but also invites readers to reconsider the dynamics of love in contemporary society.\n\nThrough her engaging storytelling methods, Guillory reaches a diverse audience seeking both entertainment and introspection. Her work, frequently featured in notable publications such as The Wall Street Journal and Cosmopolitan, captures a broad spectrum of experiences and resonates with those looking for narratives that reflect their own lives and aspirations. Meanwhile, Guillory's contributions to The Today Show underscore her influence in the literary field, positioning her as a pivotal voice in contemporary fiction.\n\nReaders benefit from Guillory's ability to merge humor with heartfelt emotion, creating books that are both uplifting and thought-provoking. Her narratives are not just escapist but also educational, offering insights into the intricacies of human relationships. This makes her bio an essential touchstone for anyone interested in exploring the evolving landscape of romance novels, as her stories provide a lens through which to view both personal and societal change.

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