Page 48 of Bookworm and the Beast
“I see. It was anaccident. You just tripped and ended up at the top of forty-two winding steps?”
My sarcasm morphed into accusation. “What were you doing—making copies to take with you and leak online?”
Her gasp was followed by an indignant tone. “I wouldnever—”
“You would never? Ithoughtyou would never sneak into my office after I expressly told you it was off limits. I thought Claudia would never betray me either. Look where that got me. I guess I didn’t judge you any better than I did her.”
Tears swam in Bonnie’s eyes, which looked huge at the moment. Her mouth opened and closed repeatedly with no sound coming out.
“I’m so sorry,” she finally said.
The tears spilled over. The pages in her hands shook. She held them out to me. “I didn’t mean to see this. I just wanted a peek at where you write.”
In spite of my shock and fury, I battled an unwelcome surge of pity for her.
Where didthatcome from?
She was the one who’d violatedmyprivacy. Not to mention the legal contract we’d both signed. I was the victim here, though towering over her as I was, it didn’t feel that way.
I snatched the embarrassingly small stack of paper she offered. “You know I was going to give you an excerpt, right? You didn’t have to sneak around and steal one. Well, you can betthat’soff the table now. In fact, consider every word I’ve said to you since we metoffthe record.”
“What? But we’ve already done the interview.”
I held up a finger, which was vibrating with adrenaline. “You printone syllableand I’ll sue your magazine for a sum so high, Mr. Gaston won’t be able to afford to keep a lightbulb on.”
Without another word, Bonnie got to her feet then scurried past me to the stairwell opening, keeping her head down and avoiding my eyes.
She fled as if one of the hounds of hell was at her back. In a way, it was.
I was hot on her heels as she descended the stairs. “Where do you think you’re going?”
She didn’t answer, just kept moving at a rapid clip down the hall and then the grand staircase. As I followed, my anger was joined by hurt and no small amount of confusion.
How had this day gone from being entirely amazing to totally fucked so quickly?
Well, I knew the answer to that, but the reversal was staggering. My editor wasn’t going to like this turn of events—shewantedthe article to run.
And I didn’t like seeing Bonnie like this.
I really didn’t like watching her leave.
When we reached the bottom of the stairs, she didn’t stop. She was making a beeline for the front door.
Keeping up with her, I repeated myself. “Where are you going?”
“Back to New York,” she shouted back over her shoulder. “I’ll need to get a head start on my unemployment application.”
Instantly my anger evaporated, and another emotion jumped in to fill the void. Panic. She was leaving. Right this minute. No more interview.
No more Bonnie.
“Oh no you don’t,” I said. “You’re not going anywhere. You signed a contract.”
Finally, she stopped and turned to face me. “What does that have to do with anything? You said I couldn’t print the interview.”
“The contract stipulates that if you should gain any knowledge of a highly sensitive andcompromisingnature about my upcoming release, you agree to twenty-four-hour supervision at a secure location of my choice.”
Her face was horror-struck. “You want to sequester me? I didn’t see that in the contract.”
