Page 43 of Claimed
I intended to keep being gracious. I wasn’t in the practice of burning bridges.
Her replycame fast:Good luck to you too. I hope we can remain friends.
Always, I wrote back.
She sent another quick message:And perhaps sometime colleagues.
I twisted my lips thoughtfully. At the moment, Rachel wasn’t aware that she was involved with a journalist who was the embodiment of professional cyanide.
Perhaps, I replied.
And that was how we left it.
The more stories I researched, the more I began to understand what kind of conundrum I’d found myself in. I didn’t have the motivation to travel from city to city, chasing down sources. Perhaps, in my case, being in love was professional suicide. I wanted to always be near Jasper. I wanted to see him every day. I wanted morning sex with him and afternoon kisses. I was sure I could still do all ofthat and be a journalist too—I just had to curb the way I went about performing my job.
I pondered the idea of working for a magazine. The thought fizzled away just as fast as it had come. There was so much technology in the world and so many television channels that aired informational programs. One of my favorite channels aired multiple-part series on famous presidents, the world’s greatestscandals, early pioneers… the list went on and on. Those shows were the new magazines. I certainly didn’t want my job to become obsolete.
I decided to start a new document and write down all the secrets I’d been hiding deep inside myself. First, I enjoyed being a journalist, but it wasn’t the writing that I liked—I relished the act of discovery, questioning my sources, and painting thebig picture. I loved finding the whole truth. Using the techniques I had learned at the university to write articles had always been a chore. I’d even hired screenwriters—since they were trained to find the action in a story—to help me write my two books. My editor had been on me to produce a third manuscript, but frankly, I didn’t have another book in me.
Are you sure, Holly?I closedmy eyes to ponder deeply the question I had just asked myself. I was more than sure.
So I opened the email from my publisher, which was flattering, and wrote,
I don’t have a book in me right now. Sorry. Good luck.
And that was all.
Investigator, I typed into the document I’d just created. I followed it up withWhat do I want to be?I like investigation.
Perhapsthat was the career change I was seeking. I’d never been one to wait and see how things shook out—I felt the urge to make things happen.But how?
My mind was racing when Jasper walked out of the room he’d been in with the security guy. “Sorry to leave you alone for so long.”
As he sat, our hands connected and fingers intertwined. My heart went pitter-patter. Then I was hit by a disturbingsense of clarity. At the moment, I wanted nothing at all but Jasper. Quickly, I pulled my hand out of his and looked at the document I’d been typing.
Before I could close it, Jasper had already seen it. “What’s going on, babe?”
I couldn’t say the words. He didn’t look away. Instead, in pure Jasper style, he waited for me to say something.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I was thinkingabout doing something else.”
“Doing something else with what?”
“My life.”
“Ah, I see,” he said, sounding relieved. Then he took my hand again. “We haven’t discussed our future together, but there’s no better time than now to do so. Do you agree?”
I was both elated and terrified by the conversation he was beginning. The little girl in me wanted to run away from the talkand hide in her row house in Philadelphia. The grown woman wanted to brace herself for what was sure to be a life-changing chat. I nodded stiffly.
“I don’t want to be away from you,” he said.
My throat and heart tightened. I could barely breathe as I said, “Me too.”
He sighed with relief. “That’s so good to hear, babe.” He kissed the back of my hand and then my palm.
“Do we live together for a while?”
“We live together for as long as we live,” he quickly said.
