by Amy DeLuca
“Thank you for ordering lunch. Please tell them I’ll take it in the dining room in about five minutes, after I’ve changed.”
“But—”
Jack walked away, calling over his shoulder, “Have a good day, Mrs. Potts.” He could practically see the disapproving scowl on her face.
Opting for the grand central staircase instead of the elevator, he made his way to the second floor and down the long hall toward the master suite, passing door after door, each of which led to guest rooms that had gone unused for at least a year.
Just shy of the double doors leading to his bedroom suite, there was an opening to the right, a narrow stairway leading to the turret room that served as Jack’s office. He stopped in front of it, staring at the floor. Breathed in. Breathed out. Turning to the stairs, he put one foot on the bottom step and a hand on the rail. Paused. Took in a deep breath.
Then shaking his head, Jack let it out and turned away, walking quickly to his room. Once inside, he went straight to the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the rocky beach and the open Atlantic Ocean. The view never failed to soothe him, no matter what the season or the weather. Today, dark clouds hung low over the blue-gray water, and there was a definite chop to the surface.
Storm’s coming.
He’d have to make sure someone went up and closed the office windows before it hit. They faced the water, and the wind whipped around the turret even when it wasn’t stormy. Jack had always loved the sound. It was the best kind of white noise for writing—back when he did that kind of thing.
The sound of his phone ringing jerked him out of his thoughts. He looked down at the screen. His editor. Great.
Swiping to answer the call, he lifted the phone to his ear. “It’s almost finished. Really. I’m so close.”
Marina’s laugh sparkled on the other end of the line. “That’s not why I’m calling, though I’m glad to hear it. How are you, Jack?”
Jack’s eyes narrowed. If she wasn’t calling about his fast-approaching deadline—the one he couldn’t miss without ending his career as an author—then why was she calling? New York editors in general didn’t have time to chat, and as one of the top editors at one of the top publishing houses in the world, Marina definitely didn’t call to make small talk.
His tone was cautious, tinged with suspicion. “I’m fine. And you?”
“Great. Great. Crazed as usual, but it’s all good. Listen, the reason I’m calling is publicity has set up an interview for you with the New York Daily Report. They’re sending one of their people to talk to you next Thursday.”
“What?” he hissed, unable to believe what he’d just heard. His head suddenly felt too light, and his neck was hot.
“Your fans will love it, and it’ll add to the hype of your release. Gotta do it up big for the last book, you know.”
Jack clenched his jaw, disciplining himself not to shout at the woman who’d shepherded his career through the first six books in his best-selling series and made him a household name—not to mention a billionaire—in the process.
“I hate the media,” he managed to grit out in a passably polite tone.
“Oh really? I hadn’t noticed,” she quipped, sarcasm dripping from her words. “I thought you were trying out a new smile when you literally bared your teeth at the photographers last month at the gas station. They’re calling you Bestia the Beast in the tabloids, you know.”
“I hate the tabloids even more.” Tone a bit less polite, but hey, they were talking about the lowest form of “journalism.”
“Well, the Daily Report is the furthest thing from a tabloid. It’s a very prestigious publication, and the writer has done some wonderful pieces over the past few years. She’s really quite talented.”
“I can’t do an interview. I’m busy. Writing.”
“I thought you said you were almost done,” Marina teased.
“Yeah well I… am… but I’m not done yet. I still have to write the ending. I don’t want to break the flow.” Ha. The only thing flowing around there lately was the tide outside his back door.
“Come on, Jack. Be reasonable. It’ll only take a couple of hours. She’ll come to the house, ask a few questions, take a few pictures, and leave. Piece of cake. And I know you can be charming when you want to—I’ve seen it.”
“You told them they could come to my house?” Jack roared.
Nonplussed by his increased volume, Marina said, “People want to see where the magic happens, get a peek behind the curtain, you know? The whole glimpse of an enigma thing. It’ll be different. It’ll be fun.”
Panic simmered beneath Jack’s skin, making him feel hot and itchy all over. “No.”
Marina huffed a short laugh. “It’s not a request, Jack. Your contract says you agree to promote your work.”
“Promote my work? I’ve given my life to this series. I am my work. It’s all I have. No one cares more about making this a success than me.”
“Then you’ll do the interview. Non-negotiable, Jack. Just be glad it’s not a whole tour—I know how you hate to travel these days.”
When he didn’t respond, she said in a softer tone, “It’s a couple of hours. How bad could it be?”
At that Jack made a hmmph noise. “I guess we’ll find out, since it’s non-negotiable.”
“Thatta boy,” she purred. “And Jack… be nice.”
His response was a growl. “I’m always nice.”
“Ha. You’re a complete brute, and everyone knows it. But you’re a brilliant brute, and no telling how many careers are hanging on your brilliant words, including mine.”
Well, thanks. No pressure there.
“Listen, I’ve gotta run,” Marina said. “I’ll look for your pages by the thirtieth. Can’t wait to read them. Bye Jack.”
She disconnected as he said, “Goodbye.”
Jack paced back to the window and stared out at the darkening sky. Might as well say the same words to his career. The deadline was only a month away. Meeting it would take a miracle, and he didn’t believe in those anymore.
But one nightmare at a time. Unless a rogue wave came along and put him out of his misery first, he had to get through this interview.
And do it without letting this “talented” writer—whoever she was—find out the truth.
Three
Second Helping
Manhattan, New York
Bonnie’s heart squeezed, and tears filled her eyes. Blinking to clear them, she turned the page and kept reading. Though she was hunched over the desktop in her cubicle, reading through her lunch break, she was also in another world, living and dying with the characters on the page.
Nothing compared to the terrible, wonderful Dark Moment in a good book—certainly not real life. And this one was a very good book—one of the best. It was Jack Bestia’s debut novel, and she’d read it so many times she’d lost count.
Why hadn’t this been the one that launched his career into the stratosphere instead of the Onyx books? They were amazing, but this one was utter brilliance, the book that had made Bonnie want to become a novel writer herself.
Sadly, that dream had died a painful death. At least she had a job that involved books—and writing about other people’s amazing writing careers. If only it paid more. With the events of the past few months, she needed a raise. Big time. Her dad would need her support in the coming years, not just physically but financially as well.
“You’re making the rest of us look bad, you know.”
The voice came from over Bonnie’s shoulder, yanking her out of the beautiful fictional world and back into the real one, which at the moment smelled strongly of fish.
She twisted in her chair and craned her neck up. Sterling Gaston loomed above her, wearing what he no doubt thought was a charming grin and holding a takeout bag from a pricey sushi restaurant. The fishy odor was stronger now. It was a struggle not to wrinkle her nose or gag.
“Look bad?” Bonnie asked. “What do you mean?”
“Eating at your desk. Working through lunch. You’ve got to cut it out or the CEO will start complaining about all the long lunches I charge to the company tab.”
“I happen to know your father is already quite familiar with your dining—and spending—habits. I think you’ll be fine.”
Though he’d been at the Daily Report no longer than she had, Sterling was already a deputy managing editor. Of course, his father did own the company, along with several others.
Bonnie had made the mistake of going out with Sterling shortly after starting her job at the Daily Report. Let’s just say she’d learned her lesson about guys with too much money and handsomeness for their own good. And about mixing work and romance.
He leaned one slender, designer suit clad hip against the edge of her desk.
“True. Besides, half the time I am eating with a VIP. Contacts are everything, babe. I snagged an interview with Matilda Morris Hunt,” he bragged. “The old broad’s as dry as burnt toast, but I can always spice up my article with a few extra juicy ‘facts.’” He made air quotes with his fingers when he said the word. “… maybe doctor up her boring quotes a little.”
Bonnie’s gasp was audible. “You can’t… we’d never… it’s… it’s…”
Sterling looked down at her and laughed. “Listen to you stutter. I’m only joking.”
His wink made her wonder if he wasn’t joking about committing basically every journalistic sin in the book. Plopping the handled paper bag onto her desk, he announced, “Brought you some Soho Sashimi.”
“Oh, no thanks. I couldn’t.”
She’d told Sterling she didn’t eat sushi almost as many times as she’d turned down his incessant lunch, dinner, and “Why don’t I just drop by your place tonight?” invitations. Listening was not his strong suit.
“I know, I know… too expensive.” He swished a hand through the air, dismissing the thought. “You should learn to value yourself more. I’ll be happy to spoil you anytime you’re ready to give me another chance.”
Else had been absolutely right about dating in this city. Turned out that more-fish-in-the-sea thing only meant Bonnie was a guppy swimming with a whole lot of sharks. The stuff she’d said to Else about being patient and letting it happen? She’d been patient. It wasn’t going to happen.
Bonnie had realized meeting “the one” just wasn’t in the cards for some people, and Sterling Gaston was a prime example of why she was happier at this point staying in on weekend nights with a cup of tea and a book boyfriend.
Sterling lowered his voice and leaned closer. “I miss you, Bon-bon. I miss your laugh, your big smile, the way you always enjoyed everything as if you were seeing and doing it for the first time. You were like a breath of fresh air.”
And you were like this stinky fish smell—nauseating and hard to get rid of.
She couldn’t say that out loud to her boss’s son, but she needed to get him—and the sushi—out of her immediate vicinity. Pronto.
“I’m seeing someone.” It was true if you counted the occasional platonic outing with Else’s brother Matt. “Besides, your father issued that new no-fraternization policy for co-workers, remember?”
Sterling smirked and stood. “What Daddy doesn’t know won’t hurt him. I’ll be inheriting before long anyway.” As he strolled away, he drawled, “The offer’s always open, babe—anytime you’re ready.”
As soon as he rounded the corner toward his large, windowed office, Bonnie got up and rushed to the break room where she deposited the unopened takeout bag of raw fish into the trashcan. The janitor, Mr. Ocampo, emptied it a few times a day, so hopefully the smell wouldn’t nauseate her co-workers the way it did her.
When she got back to her desk, an inter-office message blinked on the computer screen.
Would you step in for a minute?
It was from her boss, Charlotte, the editor of the paper’s book section. Bonnie placed a bookmark in her novel and closed it then hurried toward Charlotte’s office. The door was open. Bonnie poked her head in.
“Hi. You wanted to see me?”
“Yes.” Her supervisor beamed at her. “Come have a seat.”
Charlotte gestured toward the chairs facing her desk, and Bonnie took one of them. What on earth was going on? She hadn’t seen Charlotte this giddy since Stephen King tweeted that the Daily Report’s book section was his favorite of all the national papers.
Her bottom had barely hit the seat when Charlotte began. “So… I have some good news for you. Harper Collins has just offered us the biggest get in years, and I’m sending you to Rhode Island to do the interview.”
She raised both brows, anticipating Bonnie’s appreciation. Bonnie was excited but a little confused. Which author was big enough to qualify as the “biggest get in years?”
And why had Charlotte selected her for the honor? Bonnie had written some very well-received articles, but she was far from the most senior writer on the staff. She wrote book reviews and covered literary news of the more mundane variety.
“Shouldn’t Alexandra do it?” she asked. “She usually does the big interviews for her Story Behind the Story column.”
“Alexandra has put in her notice. Which means we’re going to have to find a new voice for the column.” Charlotte paused with a significant glance. “This interview could give you a big leg up on the competition.”
Desire grabbed Bonnie’s heart like a giant hand. That job would mean a higher salary, and what could be better than doing interviews with awesome writers full-time? Well, writing her own novels, but that ship had sailed.
“Wow,” she said. “Thank you. Who is it?”
Charlotte delivered the answer in a deliberate staccato, halting dramatically between each syllable. “Jack. R. R. Bestia. Can you believe it?”
Bonnie couldn’t. The hand around her heart squeezed harder, becoming painful. “But he doesn’t do interviews. I mean, not for the past couple of years anyway.”
“Well, he’s going to do one with us next week. With you, I should say.” Charlotte grinned widely, clearly expecting Bonnie to be thrilled out of her mind.
She might have been out of her mind, but she was definitely not thrilled. She couldn’t. She really couldn’t.
“I can’t.”
Charlotte’s smile dropped instantly. She blinked. “What?”
“I can’t do it. You should send someone else. How about Suzanne? She loves fantasy. She did a great job on the Maas interview last year.”
“I don’t understand, Bonnie. I thought you’d be thrilled. You love Jack Bestia.”
“Exactly. That’s why I can’t interview him. It wouldn’t be… objective.”
A laugh hissed between Charlotte’s teeth as she shook her head. “It doesn’t have to be objective. It’s a coup just to get him to talk to us. It’s a color piece, a victory march to create hype for the release of the final Onyx Throne book. No one’s expecting any sort of big expose on the ‘secret life of a reclusive author.’”
“But the release doesn’t need any hype,” Bonnie argued. “Believe me, Jack’s fans have been salivating over this book for years. It’ll hit the top spot on the bestseller list on day one.”
“And we’ll have the exclusive interview with the number-one best-selling author,” Charlotte said.
Starting to feel desperate, Bonnie searched for an out. “I can’t leave my father.”
Charlotte looked concerned. “I thought you said he doesn’t need full-time care?”
“He doesn’t. But he doesn’t know many people here. And… he can’t cook for himself.”
Bonnie’s dad had moved in with her seven months ago following her mom’s death. Though he wasn’t elderly, only sixty-three, he had late-stage macular degeneration, and his vision loss was now at a point where he was legally blind.
With his loss of eyesight, cooking had become too hazardous, thou
gh admittedly, he’d be more than happy to eat microwave meals—or order takeout Chinese or pizza. He loved that particular perk of living in the city and took advantage of it as often as he could. Bonnie wasn’t a very good cook anyway.
“It’s only for a couple of days,” Charlotte said. “I’ll be happy to stop in after work each evening and check on him. And I doubt he’d classify himself as lonely. When I called your apartment last week, he told me all about the people he’s met out on his walks with his dog Grover.”
Charlotte had her there. Bonnie’s dad loved going out for daily walks, and with a big friendly golden lab at his side, he’d turned plenty of strangers into friends. It kind of drove her crazy to think of her blind father out on the busy sidewalks alone, a perfect target for muggers and pickpockets. But he insisted he was just fine and wouldn’t be kept “prisoner” in a small apartment all day. A former military man, her dad was independent and brave to a fault.
“That’s true…” Bonnie was running out of excuses. “I just…”
“Wait—don’t tell me. You’re having an indoor pool installed next week.” Charlotte leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs and narrowing her eyes. “No one is more qualified to do this interview than you. I know you’ve read all his books—several times. You could probably teach a class on them. No one would do a better job on this than you. And you’ve interviewed plenty of authors. So what’s the problem?”
Bonnie stayed silent for a moment. Charlotte had been good to her. She’d given Bonnie this job, and now she was giving her a huge opportunity to advance her career. Every other writer in this building would be foaming at the mouth to get a chance like this. Bonnie owed her the truth.
She let out a long exhale. “It’s embarrassing.”
One perfectly groomed light brown eyebrow lifted. “Oh. This should be interesting. Go on.”
“Well… you see… I’ve met him. I mean, not in the normal, social kind of way. I met him at a signing for his last book. As you said, I’ve met plenty of authors. I was always fine. I did my job, acted like a normal person, spoke intelligible English.”
