Page 22 of Thrown

“You have all these ideas for ways to publicize and increase traffic to Hawthorne House,” he said, his words coming out in a rush, now that he’d gone mad enough to say them. “You could act as my agent, speaking to the production people about things like the website information. And who knows? Maybe you could come up with a dozen more innovative ideas for things to do with Hawthorne House while you’re up there. They film at an old, historic pottery, after all. The production team probably has stories of how they took the place from a faded museum to a thriving tourist attraction.”

Robbie felt like he needed to gasp for breath once his little speech was done. He didn’t feel confident about a word of it. In fact, he wanted to take it all back as the worst idea he’d ever had.

“I think that’s a brilliant idea,” his dad said, letting the smile he’d been holding inside burst out, making him look almost comical. “The two of you obviously make a fantastic pairing.”

“What? No, we don’t,” Robbie protested.

“I definitely wouldn’t say that,” Tillman said at the same time.

The two of them looked quickly at each other.

Robbie had to catch his breath at the spark that clearly passed between them. The kiss they’d shared popped into his mind. He’d intended it to be a short, playful peck, but neither of them had been quick to let it go. In fact, Robbie had been moments away from getting his tongue involved when the crowd started cheering.

He’d forgotten Keith and John were standing there watching.

“Believe me, this is a brilliant idea,” Dad said, shifting so he could stand between the two of them, clapping each of them on the shoulder as they walked on. “Robbie, you’re going to need some sort of support behind the scenes. Exactly like an agent. And Toby, Robbie is right about you picking the brains of the production crew to come up with ideas for Hawthorne House. I’d say the arrangement is ideal.”

“It’s not part of my job,” Tillman argued. “And I assume filming would be during the week? I’d have to inform my boss that I’d be out of the office for a few days.”

“Aren’t you out of the office while poking around our humble estate anyhow?” Dad asked.

“Yes, but this is my assignment,” Tillman said, his face pink and his eyes darting to Robbie several times as he spoke. “It’s not my assignment to go on holiday in Staffordshire to take in the historical sites.”

“It isn’t a holiday, it’s work,” Dad insisted. “What if I called Phillip Johnson to explain the situation?”

“No, no, I can handle that myself,” Tillman said, a bit of his usual, combative scowl setting in.

Paradoxically, that scowl set Robbie at ease. That was the Tillman he knew, toxically independent and furious with anyone who would try to tell him what to do.

Of course, his words also implied that he was agreeing to the idea.

“If you don’t want to come along, you don’t have to,” Robbie said, wondering if he could find a way out of his impulsive suggestion. He had no idea why he’d made it to begin with.

“Nonsense,” Dad said, smiling as they reached the pottery workshop and stepping ahead of both of them. “I’ll have Rebecca call and make a hotel reservation for the two of you. Just let me know what nights you’ll be up there.”

“I’ll let you know,” Robbie said, wondering if he’d won something or lost.

His dad waved at them in parting and walked on. As soon as he did, Robbie sent Tillman a short, wary look, then headed down the side of the pottery studio toward the gap in the counter so he could go inside and get back to work.

Before he could make it halfway there, Tillman grabbed his arm to stop him.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” he hissed, keeping his voice low and glancing around.

Robbie checked the area to make certain no one could overhear them as well. “I’m not doing anything,” he hissed in return, yanking his arm out of Tillman’s grasp.

He could still feel the imprint of Tillman’s hand, though, hot and bruising and making his blood rush.

“You hate me,” Tillman said, stepping closer. “You despise everything about me. Why would you want me to go on an overnight road trip with you?”

Robbie wished he had a good answer to that question. He didn’t like the true answers that sailed at him like flaming arrows shot from the battlements during a siege. He was attracted to Tillman despite himself. He found the bastard challenging and exciting. He suspected Tillman knew what it felt like to struggleand strive for what he wanted, and how it felt to despair that nothing would ever turn out for the best.

“I do hate you,” he said, narrowing his eyes at Tillman. “But I love my family. I love them so much that I will do whatever it takes to keep this estate and to make my dad happy. If that includes allowing you to tag along with me so you can observe a television production and get ideas about how we might use some of that to save this place, then not only will I tolerate you coming with me, I’ll strap you to the boot of my car and drive you all the way to Staffordshire like that.”

Tillman’s rough, furious look shifted into a sly, teasing one. “I knew you were a kinky bastard.”

Robbie huffed and turned away from him, stepping into the workshop.

“Tell me more about these straps,” Tillman said, following him for a few steps, then leaning against one of the posts with his arms crossed, just like he had earlier in the day. “Do they come with clamps and hooks and other restraints?”

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