Page 26 of Charming Deception

You’re kidding. It has to be one of the tallest buildings downtown.

I don’t know what to say. I’m miles out of my depth here. The people I know, besides my brother, own, you know, clothes and books and maybe a nice car. Maybe a home of their own, if they’re lucky. Maybe a little cabin out at the lake, too, if they’re really lucky.

That’s in small town Manitoba.

I can’t imagine the price tag on a skyscraper in downtown Vancouver, or a mountaintop ski chalet. Or, for that matter, a professional hockey team.

I dare a look at him. He put on a beachy button-up shirt for dinner, linen, with the sleeves casually rolled up and the front wide open, so I can still see the dagger tattoo on his chest. I notice the two tattooed drops of blood that drip from the tip of the blade. The second one looks a bit pink and raw, like the tattoo is new.

I want to ask him about it, but it seems too personal.

I can’t think of a thing else to say to him that wouldn’t be awkward.

So, you’re rich and gorgeous, that’s cool. What movies do you like?

“So.” He breaks the silence this time. “Is that really what you came to the big city for? To be a gardener?”

His tone is neutral. Not accusatory or judgmental or anything. But he’s probably asking because my discomfort with the whole situation is so obvious.

“No.” My face flushes as I speak; I’ve never been so embarrassed about my general position in life as I have been today, in this man’s company. “But I’m grateful for the job.”

“Why don’t you have any money?”

“Um…”

Blunt much?

I take another swig of my champagne. It’s not a question I have an easy answer for, if I’m being honest.

I’m not even sure why I want to be honest.

Self-respect? I don’t like the idea that maybe he thinks I’m hiding something from my brother. That’s the furthest thing from the truth. Cole knows how I ended up here.

Maybe it’s just the champagne.

“Okay, the thing is…” I take a deep breath and tell him what I’ve told so few people in this world. “I’m an author.”

Jameson’s expression is slow to shift, but something like curiosity hones his features. “Really?”

“Well, I’m writing a series of books. I’ve published the first three already, under a pen name. It’s just novels I write for fun.” I hiss out an annoyed-with-myself breath. “Okay, that was a small lie.” I put my glass down on the table and kind of wring my hands, feeling the faint ache of all the hours at my keyboard. “It’s my passion. I’m just not used to talking about it.”

“Okay. But why are you going to work in my garden if you’re an author?”

“Well, um, I didn’t say I was successful.”

He doesn’t smile at my self-deprecating jab.

“I just love storytelling. I love plotting and world building.”

Now a faint, heart-stopping smile drifts across his lips. “Cole never mentioned you were such a nerd.”

It takes me a long moment to compute that he’s teasing me.

“Maybe I am,” I admit. “I just love getting lost in this fictional world I created. I think I developed such a knack for it because of living in a place I didn’t want to be. Wanting another life? I created my own escape, especially during the endless winters when I was stuck in the apartment so damn much.” It really hits me as I say it out loud: how much I resented living in Crooks Creek.

Yeah, this is definitely the champagne loosening my tongue.

But he seems to be waiting for me to continue, so I venture on. “It’s so personal for me, writing. I’m still uncomfortable sharing it. That’s why I use a pen name.”

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