Page 34 of Bookworm and the Beast
“It’soff.The record.” Softening his voice, he added. “Please. It’s private.”
I hated that people would never know this side of Jack, the side Mrs. Potts had told me about, the generosity and soft heart. But I agreed. Reluctantly.
“Of course. I won’t mention it.”
He nodded, apparently satisfied. “Good.”
“So what about your dad? Does he still live in the area?”
Jack’s expression changed instantly, shutting down and becoming as hard as the stony formations bordering his property.
“He does. We’re not close.”
Moving toward the opening in the hedge, he stopped and waited for me. “Listen, with all the delays today, I’m afraid I’m a bit behind on my writing.”
Oh no.
Was the interview over already? I supposed with what Mrs. Potts had given me and the few things Jack and I had chatted about on our walk I could stitch togethersomething, but there was so much more I wanted to know about him.
For the article, of course. It made no sense to have anypersonalinterest in Jack Bestia.
But then he shocked me. “Would you mind coming back tomorrow so we can finish?”
Was it my imagination or was the air suddenly filled with birdsong? No? It was just inside me then.
“Yes. Yes, of course. That would be fine.”
As was apparently my habit around him, I continued babbling. “What time do you want me?Here, I mean. What time do you want me here? Because I can come any time of the day. Or night, if that’s better for you.”
Oh my God.Whatdid I just say?
Blushing furiously, I clarified, “I mean I canbehere any time of day or night. What I’m saying is, I’m just hanging out at the hotel, so you let me know what works.”
Shut your mouth now, Bonnie, before he changes his mind.
Jack’s lips quirked in apparent amusement, and his eyes glinted with a hint of naughty mischief. “I’m not exactly an early riser, so how about I have you come... just after lunch, say one o’clock?”
“One’s perfect.” I pulled my phone from my purse to call the driver and swiped at the screen, practically burying my face in it to hide my blush.
Still sounding amused, Jack asked, “Are you putting that in your calendar, so you won’t forget what time tocome?”
My head snapped back up. “No. I’m texting the driver to pick me up.”
Jack’s expression fell. “Oh. Right. I know I said I’d drive you back, but I really do need to start writing.”
“Don’t worry about it. I didn’t expect you to take me.”Oh God.I just couldn’t stop with the double entendres.
Not noticing this one—or deciding to leave it alone—Jack glanced over at the house, then toward the road, his posture tense as if he was being pulled in two directions.
“I’ll give Harrison the keys to my car, and he can drive you—if you don’t mind.”
“Oh. Sure. That would be fine. Thank you. I just need to go in and grab my purse first.”
When we entered the house, Jack said a quick goodbye and nearly sprinted for the grand staircase, taking the steps two at a time.
I hoped he was okay. Maybe he really was that far behind on his writing.
It was a little surprising there was any left to do at this point. The publication date was only two months away. He must have been working on a side story or possibly something brand new. I’d ask him about it tomorrow.
