Page 19 of The VIP Doubles Down
No, Allie Nichols had allowed him to sleep. With her herd of electric ants, her soft fingertips, and her West Virginia twang. And her passion for Julian Best.
He straightened as he remembered. Julian had been alive again in his mind. He’d started to imagine how Julian would meet a normal woman, how the spy could convince himself that he could protect her.
Gavin put down the water glass and slid to the floor. Pulling on his sweater and slipping his feet back into his loafers, he took the stairs two at a time up to the second floor.
He strode into his office and sat down in front of the computer screen, jiggling the mouse to wake it. When the blank page came up yet again, he typed, “Julian Best needs a good woman.”
That was all he could manage, but the six words were more than he’d written about Julian in months.
He grimaced and scooped his phone off the desk to call Allie, cursing when it went to voice mail. His message was brief. “Schedule me for two hours tomorrow, whenever you can fit it in.”
After lunch, he sat in front of the computer, hoping equally for Allie’s phone call and more words. Instead, he got an e-mail from his stepsister Ruth.
She was the oldest of the three girls his father’s remarriage had brought into their previously all-male household. She had been nine when Gavin was thirteen. The two younger daughters had followed their mother’s lead, treating Gavin as a cross between a wild animal and a freak. Ruth had decided to adopt Gavin.
Today she was married to the man who had taken over Miller’s Feed and Dry Goods, and was mother to two children. But for reasons he could never fathom, she remained his staunch ally in his battles with his stepmother.
Gavin, have you looked in the box I sent you? You’ll want to see what’s in there, I promise.
He didn’t understand why she had to make such a big deal out of the shipping carton that had arrived a couple of weeks before. Irritated, he shot back,Why don’t you just tell me what you think is so damned important about it?
Ruth’s response came immediately.It’s too complicated. Just open it. And don’t be cranky. I’m the one who likes you.
Her last crack made him snort out a laugh.Liking is all relative with relatives, he wrote back,but I apologize for being a curmudgeon.
His stepsister retorted,We don’t know what that means out here in the sticks of Illinois.
He snorted again.
The truth was that hehadopened the damned box. It held the autographed first editions of his books that he’d sent to his father as they were published. Once Gavin saw the pristine books neatly wrapped in plastic, exactly as he’d sent them, he’d slammed the box shut again.
He hadn’t expected his father to read them. Kenneth Miller read only the ledgers of the family feed store or biographies of Civil War generals. But Gavin had foolishly hoped for some acknowledgment that his ambition to be a writer had worked out after all.
He’d shoved the box into a corner at his beach house in Southampton, where he didn’t have to be reminded of it or the wrench of disappointment it had delivered.
His cell phone buzzed as it scooted across the mahogany desktop. He seized it, hoping it was Allie saying she could come tomorrow. Instead, he saw Nathan Trainor’s name on the screen.
He considered not answering, but he owed the man an apology. “Trainor, you know I’m a jerk, so I shouldn’t have to say this, but I’m sorry.”
The CEO’s dry chuckle sounded over the phone. “Kudos for not beating around the bush, but it lacks a certain sincerity.”
“Oh, it’s sincere. I just don’t handle pity well.”
“You confuse pity with friendship,” Trainor said, his tone serious. “There’s an important distinction.”
Gavin kneaded his forehead. “I don’t handle friendship well, either. We writers are loners by nature. I’m still not sure why you and Archer put up with me.”
“Now we get to the pity part.” The humor was back in Trainor’s voice, and Gavin relaxed. “And since you’re so pitiful, Chloe and I would like you to have dinner at our place on Saturday. It’s short notice, but some friends are visiting from out of town. We thought you’d like them, and vice versa.”
Gavin’s pity radar went on full alert. “I’m not planning to slit my wrists over the weekend.”
Trainor’s sigh was heavy. “For God’s sake, it’s a simple dinner invitation.”
Why did he care about Trainor’s motivation anyway? He had nothing planned for Saturday night, and Trainor’s friends were always interesting. “Sorry. I forgot the pity/friendship distinction again. I’ll attend with alacrity. Thank you.”
“Come at seven.”
“Are Archer and his new bride on the guest list as well?”
