Page 45 of My Not So Wicked Boss (My Not So Wicked 3)

“Ugh!” He slapped his chest. “Direct blow to the heart. That’s an awful crime against humanity.”

“If I’m too nervous I can’t enjoy it,” I defended myself.

“Now I’m debating whether I should tell you or not. Your reading etiquette is atrocious.”

“Fine, don’t tell me, but just so you know . . . not once did I peek at the end of Silent Stones. I was too engrossed in the story,” I admitted.

Miles glanced at me when he stopped at a stop sign. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Thank you.” He focused back on the road. “I suppose for that I’ll share with you. But you must promise me you’ll correct your wicked behavior.”

“Write another fascinating book and we won’t have to worry about it.”

A rumble of deep laughter escaped. “You are cheeky. I’ll do my best. Well then, the book.”

“Wait. What’s the title?”

“That is an excellent question. It’s one my publisher and I can’t agree on. They are dead set on calling it Whispering Stones, but I don’t feel like when it is all said and done that it will encompass the story, and since my contract states the title must be approved by me, we are at a standstill.”

“What do you want it to be called?”

He pressed his lips together and thought for a moment. “I think I will keep that to myself for now. After you’ve read what I’ve written, perhaps you’ll have some suggestions.”

“I wouldn’t count on it. I’m not very good at that sort of thing.”

“I don’t believe it. Are you ready for the synopsis?”

I nodded eagerly while Henry shouted, “Yes!” though he had no idea what for. It made Miles and me laugh.

Miles pulled off to the side in one of the nearby neighborhoods, put the car in park, and turned toward me. His eyes shone with excitement, like he couldn’t wait to share. I wasn’t sure I had ever known a man to be so passionate. Leland liked to pretend to be, but it never lived in his eyes, the way Miles’s love for his work lived in his. It was kind of endearing.

“I’ll try not to give too much away. I don’t want to spoil it for you, but a little information will help, assuming I am able to finish.”

“I believe in you.” I covered my mouth with my hand. I couldn’t believe I blurted that out. I didn’t like feeling so comfortable around him. It made me feel too vulnerable.

Miles pressed his lips together, holding back a bigger reaction to my slip of the tongue. “Thank you, Aspen. That means the world to me.” He moved on from it, knowing that’s exactly what I would want. And he gave me something to take my mind off it. “As you know, at the end of Silent Stones, Isabella has disappeared,” Miles began. “And Dexter, who you think is the villain, is actually her savior. The wrong person has found out that Isabella possesses her father’s journal and it has put her life in danger.”

This was good. I sat on the edge of my seat, waiting to hear more.

“Dexter,” Miles continued, “has been keeping an eye on Isabella for many years unbeknownst to her, afraid something like this might happen. He knows he must act to protect her, but he doesn’t have time to gain her trust. So, for lack of a better term, he kidnaps her, but he makes it look as if she left of her own accord.”

“I bet she isn’t too happy about that,” I interrupted.

“Quite right,” Miles confirmed, “but she does come to trust him enough, or at least enough to begin to wonder if what he’s telling her is true. Her father didn’t kill the Alexanders.”

“I knew it,” I couldn’t contain myself.

Miles smiled, amused. “You are very clever. Can I proceed or would you like a moment?”

“I’ll gloat later; please continue.” I held my hands together, anxious to learn more.

“After some, let us call them unfortunate events that almost get Isabella killed, Dexter convinces her they need to come to America for her safety. He chooses ‘River Cove’, as I’ll be calling it, because of a trip he had taken here once as a boy with his parents. Not even Dexter knows how significant that is until they arrive.”

I wanted him to go into more detail but also didn’t want him to so I could savor the words he had written and would write.

“Dexter and Isabella pose as a couple on holiday in hopes of not drawing any attention to themselves. So, I need you to help me blend in, become a local. Help me see and feel what Isabella needs me to.”

I let out the breath I’d been holding during his captivating synopsis. “That’s all you’re going to tell me?”

“For now.” He tapped on the steering wheel. “What do you think so far?”

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