Page 1 of Her Reclusive Beast

1

Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!A giddy wave of excitement swirls through me, much like the gorgeous crimson and gold leaves tumbling through the air as I walk up the long, desolate driveway. The air is crisp but still warm and my sensible low-heeled boots tap out my cadence on the gray gravel. The taxi that picked me up at the bus station had no obvious means to carry me past the locked ornate gates at the end of the drive. Where there is no intercom or other means to summon the owner who Ithinkis expecting me?

I have no cell phone coverage out here either, so calling isn’t an option. The largeKeep Outsign didn’t deter me at all. I’m here on an editorial mission. So I picked up my wheely carryon and hoisted it over the low wall adjacent to the gate before scrambling over myself. I’m not built for scaling even low walls, my legs are much too short. The taxi driver watched me with a resigned shake of his head before driving off. I’m here. And about to meet the one man whose voice can send shivers down my spine.

Professionally, of course. A lowly junior editor at Rudnam Publishing like me wouldn’t dare presume to even imaginewhat it might be like to have those low rumbly tones right next to my ear in my own bed murmuring words of love and encouragement. Unless it was two a.m. and said junior editor couldn’t sleep…

I sigh with expectant happiness and ever-increasing nerves as the house comes into view. It’s an old Maine farmhouse. The kind where the original family had some wealth to play around with and subsequent generations had more children than money, continuing to add on space in a higgledy-piggledy fashion. The bright white of the clapboard siding shines out from the autumn color of the nearby trees while the windows catch their jewel-toned reflections, making them glow. The trees are in their full glory and just starting to release their leaves to the ground. Bright dots of red and orange decorate the neatly trimmed and still verdant lawn. The air is scented with distant wood fires and everything about the scene is perfect in my estimation.

It’s exactly the kind of place that fills my daydreams. The ones where I’m an established editor sought out by world-famous authors. So well known that I can have my own business, working from home while I tend to my future family somewhere well away from the grit and noise of the city.

I swallow hard now that the big moment is at hand and nervously climb the wide front steps. There’s no doorbell, so I hesitantly pull back the screen door and knock. When there’s no echo of approaching footsteps, I knock again more firmly, eyeing the nearby porch glider with unease. Is Max away? Diana, my boss, told me not to come back to New York without the finished manuscript and she didn’t give me sufficient travel money to cover a hotel room in town.IfI could even convince the taxi driver to return for me, assuming I could magically produce enough signal to contact him. I’m getting increasingly nervous about where I’m going to spend the night when the door isflung back to reveal a great big beast of a man with a short but untrimmed bushy black beard and glaring blue eyes.

He growls low and menacing before spitting out, “Go the fuck away. I’m not buying whatever you’re selling and that includes God and cookies.”

I blink in surprise. Did I get the address wrong? But how could I? This house is the only one on the long windy road and Max has told me many times he has no near neighbors. Plus, that voice… But this man looks nothing like the headshot of the famous author on the back of his books.

“Max?” I quaver. Maybe this man is a visiting relative and knows where Max is. Hope unfurls gently in my chest.

The man’s eyes narrow into dangerous slits, then study me from head to toe and back again. “Who the hellareyou?” he finally demands.

“Jenna. Jenna Addison from Rudnam Publishing? Is Max here?” The man isn’t budging from the doorway, but I’m still hesitant to set foot in the house with someone so big and angry.

“Jenna! What the fuck are you doing here?” His eyes have snapped wide in dismay and it’s then that he apparently spies my little suitcase. “Oh, hell no. You can turn right around and take your cute little ass back to New York, where it belongs.”

So much for any wistful daydreams about Max meeting me at the door and immediately sweeping me into his arms. I wince, letting those dreams die as they should, and straighten my spine. “No. I’m here to help Max finish that novel. My boss said to do whatever it takes and not to come back without a finished manuscript. So that’s what I’m going to do. Now, where’s Max?”

The man’s jaw tenses at my words. He almost looks disappointed? But then an odd expression of resignation seems to come over him. He steps back, gesturing me inside. I hesitate — side eyeing him with all the skills gained quickly when a small-town girl lands in New York with no money to speak of.

“Little Jenna. IamMax. Now come in and tell me what you think ‘doing what it takes’ entails.” His grimace of distaste does not bode well, but I step over the threshold with renewed confidence. I am slightly disappointed that he didn’t recognize me. Although that would imply that he’d bothered to go look at the company’s website under the ‘our staff’ section, which now that I think about it, doesn’t seem that likely a thing for him to do.

“You don’t look anything like your picture,” I whisper, then gasp at my gauche words because it’s clear even to my ears that I sound disappointed. His author headshot is the stuff of fantasies — broody eyes, pursed lips as if considering what body part to kiss first…

Max’s bushy beard splits in two to reveal shining white teeth. “No, I don’t suppose I do, which can only be a good thing.”

I disagree completely, but my protest stays locked behind my lips. Max spots it though because his own lips purse slightly as his eyes light with a curious fire. “So Jenna, you haven’t answered my question. How exactly do you propose to encourage me to finish that damn book?”

I study the man now confirmed as Max trying to see past the beard and the equally untrimmed hair, not to mention the wrinkly flannel shirt, to the suave book jacket author. I think I see him in there… somewhere. However, the kind, slightly brusque but deeply intellectual man on the other end of the phone has been replaced by a rude, argumentative bear. I huff and cross my arms firmly.

“Whatever it takes,” I respond sternly. “I will bang pans at five a.m. I will cook, I will chase you out of the house for a walk, read you a bedtime story…” I’m running out of ideas, but Max’s expression has softened.

“Is that what your boss told you to do? To cook and clean and treat me like a toddler?”

I shake my head mutely. “She wasn’t specific. She trusts me to get the job done.”

His face gets a slightly strangled expression, but he sighs and nods anyway. “Well, if you’re going to do all that, then I guess you might as well stay a few days. Follow me.”

Abruptly, he turns and I have to practically run to catch up to him. He leads me through a warren of rooms and corridors until landing at the end of one of them. He opens the door and gestures me in. “I’ll find you some sheets and towels. This one has an attached bath. There’s just one rule to staying here, Jenna. I don’t like other people in my personal space. You’re young and I don’t want you wandering these roads out by yourself, so youwillget behind this door by six p.m. and stay there until six a.m. Understand?”

I twist my lips in denial. “Six is awfully early, isn’t it?”

Max rolls his eyes. “No. This is not negotiable. Six p.m. or I call Fred back with his taxi.”

My eyes go wide. “How did you know his name was Fred?”

The beard splits again. “Because there is only one taxi in this town and the next and the one ofter that, little one.”

“Oh.” I glance at my watch. It’s nearly six now. I still have one granola bar left, so I guess that’s my dinner.

---