by Amy DeLuca
Jack held his hands up in a placating gesture. “And that’s completely my fault. I’d been having a bad…” Year “… day before you arrived, and my behavior was inexcusable. I apologize… again… and ask that you please just stay and give it another try.”
So much for not groveling. He could’ve won the gold at the Groveling Olympics for this performance.
Squinting, she tipped her head to one side. “I don’t know. I really don’t think I’m the right person to—”
“I’ll give you an excerpt,” Jack blurted. “An exclusive excerpt to run with the article.”
Bonnie blinked. Blinked again. “But you don’t release excerpts prior to publication.”
“I do now. I will… if you’ll stay.”
She looked as if she was still uncertain, but finally she nodded. “Okay. I guess we can try again. But I want the excerpt to take with me today.”
“Yes. Great. Absolutely. I’ll print it out for you myself.”
“And we’re tearing up that ridiculous contract.”
Okay, now wait a minute. Before Jack could object, Hunter’s words came back to him. Give her what she wants. He blew out a short breath through his nostrils.
“Some of that stuff is actually standard. We can’t tear up the whole thing, but maybe we could mark through a few of the clauses.”
She nodded and turned her back to him, striding confidently toward the library. “I’ll need to borrow a pen.”
Jack flinched with each bold stroke of the black gel pen, watching Bonnie decimate the vast majority of his protective dos and don’ts.
By the time she’d finished, nothing remained but the last two pages, which dealt with non-disclosure of “off the record” information and with spoilers. He comforted himself with the knowledge that although she could ask anything she wanted to, it didn’t necessarily mean he had to answer every question with total and exhaustive honesty.
She turned to those last two pages and was skimming them, judging from the back and forth motion of her head.
“All that stays,” he said. “That’s just non-disclosure and assurances of no spoiler material. That really is a deal-breaker.”
“Fine. I’d never do that kind of thing anyway.” She flipped to the signature page and signed her name beneath his.
Breathing a literal sigh of relief, Jack took the signed contract from her. “I’ll give this to Mrs. Potts to notarize then we can get started.”
“She’s a notary?” Bonnie asked with some surprise.
“I have to sign official papers with some regularity. I don’t leave home much these days, so I asked her to get certified.”
He pressed the intercom button on the desk to summon her. “Mrs. Potts, would you mind coming in and notarizing these pages?”
“Certainly, sir,” came her reply.
“She calls you ‘sir?’” Bonnie asked.
Jack bit back a grin. “No, that was strictly for your benefit. I do call her ‘ma’am,’ though. Old habits die hard. By the way, what did you discuss for so long with my housekeeper?”
“Our families,” she said.
He didn’t necessarily like the sound of that—Mrs. Potts considered him family as much as he did her. He was prevented from getting into it further when the lady in question entered the room. Mrs. Potts winked at him, signed on her designated line, pressed the papers with her notary seal, then scurried away, leaving him alone again with Bonnie, who was pulling something out of her purse.
“What’s that?” Jack asked, eyeing the device with suspicion.
“Just a recorder. This will make sure I quote you exactly without leaving anything out or adding any words to yours. Much more effective than taking notes,” she explained. “I want to be as accurate as possible.”
That was a good thing, he supposed. He took one of the leather club chairs opposite the one where she sat. They were in front of the library’s fireplace, which at the moment, was dark. Maybe he should have Phoebe come and light it, warm her up, so to speak. Maybe a little ambience would make her go easy on him.
“Okay, ready?” she asked and fired the first question. “Tell me about the Book Seven outline leak. What was that like for you?”
Oof. Right for the jugular. No, this lady was not going to take it easy on him—not after the first impression he’d made.
Jack cleared his throat then huffed a laugh. “That happens to be my least favorite subject of all time. Would it be possible to maybe… ease into this thing? I’ve never been particularly good at interviews, and I haven’t done any at all for the past few years, so I’m sort of out of practice.”
Her expression lightened instantly. “Of course.”
Relaxing back into her chair, she looked up and to the side, seeming to search for an idea. Then her gaze drifted down to the old books that held such obvious fascination for her.
“Is this where you write?” she asked. “At that desk?”
“In here? No. Not in here. Not once. In fact, this room intimidates the heck out of me.”
She looked bemused. “Really?”
Jack nodded, completely serious. “It’s filled with the classics. So many great, important words. Mine feel trite by comparison. I don’t spend much time in here at all, actually.”
Her perceptive eyes lasered to his. “I have an idea. Why don’t we go for a walk?”
“A walk?”
“Yes, around your property. Mrs. Potts gave me a tour of the house earlier, but only the inside.”
He rose from his chair. “Sure. Yeah, we could do that.”
A walk outside sounded like a brilliant idea. Maybe the fresh air and sunshine would help clear the mass of anxiety sitting on his chest.
Getting Bonnie to agree to stay for the interview had been a minor battle. Jack had prevailed, but the war was far from over, and the tide had turned.
Now she was the one with all the weapons.
Nine
Secret Garden
It was a perfect Autumn afternoon, warm with a nice ocean breeze and blue sunlit skies stretching overhead.
But the walk idea was about more than enjoying the weather. Jack had been so uptight back in the library, Bonnie had felt like an executioner rather than an interviewer. He really was fearful about doing the interview for some reason. She’d begun to despair she’d never get any good quotes out of him.
Hopefully being outdoors in the beautiful natural surroundings and cheerful sunshine would relax him. It certainly was working for her. As they started down the crushed shell garden path, Bonnie lifted her arms to the side and tilted her face up to the sun, taking it all in.
“It is gorgeous here. The air feels amazing.”
She couldn’t see Jack’s smile, but she could hear it in his voice. “It is pretty nice. First time in Newport?”
Bonnie nodded. “First time in Rhode Island. My dad lived here when he was young and in the military. I grew up in New York, though. I’m not sure why he never brought us here.”
“Us? You have siblings?”
“One sister. She lives in Colorado. She’s a personal chef in Boulder. And you have a brother, right?”
“Yes. Hunter. He’s the entrepreneur of the family. He’s a software designer, and he’s just launched a successful tech startup. He’s the one you should be doing a story on.”
Yes. Things were working much better now. Jack was acting like a normal person instead of a robot, and the hostility he’d shown since her arrival seemed to be dissipating with every step they took.
“You’re an entrepreneur, too, you know. You’ve created quite an empire with your writing.” Bonnie twisted, gesturing to the expansive estate grounds.
His forehead wrinkled in thought. “I suppose so. There are a lot of people’s jobs riding on the imaginary people and places I dreamed up.”
“Sounds like a lot of pressure.”
He hesitated but answered. “It is.”
Jack didn’t elaborate, and she didn’t push the subject. It w
as obvious he’d struggled with some sort of writer’s block. Everyone knew he’d missed several deadlines on the final Onyx Throne book.
But he’d already expressed a wish to take this slowly, ease into it. Bonnie wanted desperately to dive into the deep end, get right to the nitty gritty, but instinct told her she’d better keep it casual for a while if she didn’t want a quick return to their standoff. Some answers were better than none after all.
“Are we heading for the beach?” she asked.
“No, you’re not wearing the right shoes for a beach walk. I have another spot in mind. I think you’ll like it. It’s the perfect day for it.”
“So, what brought you to Newport?” Bonnie asked as they strolled. “This property? I know a lot of celebrities buy here when they want some privacy and have a few million to burn—Jay Leno, Taylor Swift, Jade… Judge Judy.”
Jack laughed. “Oh, I’m not sure I’m big enough to be named in the same category as Judge Judy.” Growing more serious, he said, “No, actually, Hunter and I grew up here—far from Ocean Drive and Bellevue Avenue, though. We lived in one of those tiny cottages in town that were built to house the servants of the Bellevue mansion-dwellers. Mrs. Potts was our neighbor.”
“She mentioned that.”
He threw her a suspicious side glance. “What else did she tell you?”
Bonnie’s return glance was accompanied by a sneaky smile. “Not much. Only that you got suspended from school for gambling—in the first grade. Seems you were quite the gentleman candy-baron.”
Jack’s hand came up to cover his eyes in mock shame. “I can’t believe Mrs. Potts would reveal my darkest secret, the traitor.”
She laughed. “Did you ever think you’d end up in a place like this?”
He glanced over at her, bit his lip then smiled. “Honestly? Yes. I’ve always had a pretty big imagination. In high school, when I got my license, Hunter and I would drive up and down this road, and we’d talk about which house would be ours when we each made it big. I thought for sure he’d do it first—he’s smarter than me by a long shot, absolutely overflowing with brilliant ideas. And there’s no guarantee of making big money as a writer.”
“Ain’t that the truth?” She laughed.
“Right?” Jack’s smile was bright. “But I got lucky.”
“Uh-uh. Luck had nothing to do with it. I was being honest back there. I’ve read all your books—studied them, in fact. You’re incredibly talented. I guess I don’t have to tell you that. You can just go to Amazon and read your ten thousand reviews—per book.”
“Thank you.” His pleasure seemed genuine. “I don’t read my reviews, though.”
“Ever?”
“Nope. When I was first published, a good friend told me… once you put a book out into the world, your part’s done. ‘Now it’s theirs,’ he said. ‘They bring to it their own life experiences and views and whatever’s happening in their world at the time. You’ve got no control over that, and it has nothing to do with you. That’s how it is with all art—just let them have it.’ And I do. It’s helped me more than you can imagine.”
Bonnie was quiet for a few moments, thinking about his friend’s advice. If she’d followed that philosophy, maybe she wouldn’t have given up on her own book. He was right. Art was subjective. You could show a painting to a hundred people and get a hundred different opinions. Books were art as well. What if that writing teacher’s devastating words were just one opinion? Maybe Bonnie’s prose wasn’t the “worst drivel ever put to paper.”
“Here we are.” Apparently, her pace had lagged because Jack was several yards ahead of her, standing by the tall hedge she’d noticed upon arriving today.
She caught up to him. “What is it?”
He grinned. “You’ll see. But first, I want you to close your eyes for a minute.”
“Ooookay.” Bonnie dragged the word out, placing her hands over her eyes.
Jack touched the small of her back ever so lightly, guiding her forward. The unexpected contact gave her a pleasant shiver.
“Good. Now take four steps ahead—don’t worry—I won’t let you fall into a ditch or anything.”
“There’s a ditch?” She stopped in place.
“No.” He chuckled. “Not even a divot. Keep walking. Trust me. All right… now what do you smell?”
Bonnie inhaled deeply. A sweet, heady scent filled her senses. “Roses,” she exclaimed with a smile. “I love roses.”
Dropping her hands from her eyes, she looked around. They were inside the hedge, which she now realized concealed a secret garden.
There were roses of every hue. Some of the bushes were petite with delicate pale buds. Some stretched high and bore big, audaciously colored blooms. Walking from rose bush to rose bush, she bent to take in their individual perfumes.
When she looked up at Jack again, he stood with his hands on his hips and a smile spread wide across his face. A ticklish flutter moved in her belly, causing her to place her hand over it.
“I thought you would like it here,” he said.
“You were right. This garden is incredible.” Bonnie walked again, stroking the soft petals of a yellow rose as she passed it. “Did you plant it?”
“No. I wish I had a thumb this green. It was here already. This garden is why I bought the place.”
That took her by surprise. “It wasn’t the spectacular ocean view, or the indoor bowling alley, or the shower the size of a car wash that did it for you?”
He laughed. “Not gonna lie—those didn’t hurt.”
Strolling over to a bench in the garden’s center, Jack took a seat and bent forward, resting his elbows on his knees. When he tilted his head to look up at her, the sunlight hit his eyes, turning them into gemstones worthy of Tiffany’s.
His smile faded, and his face grew serious. “But no. As soon as the realtor showed me this garden, I knew I had to have this place. My mother loved roses. She grew them in our little backyard. They were beautiful. When I was young, I used to get my fingers all cut up picking them for her.”
He smiled again, but it was sad. “She never once fussed at me for destroying her prized flowers. She’d just say I’d found the absolute prettiest one on the bush and put it in a glass of water on the counter.”
Bonnie’s heart contracted with a sweet pain. She’d lost her mother as an adult, and it had been terrible. She couldn’t imagine how devastating it was to lose your mom as a young child.
“I’m so sorry.” Her voice sounded a bit choked. “How did she die?”
“Breast cancer. Brutal disease. No one should ever have to go through what she went through. I give ten percent of the royalties from every book to a charity that provides help for women coping with it—things like helping with utilities and rent and childcare and rides to treatment.”
“I didn’t know that.” How had she read just about every article ever written on the man and been unaware of his extensive charitable contributions? Ten percent of the royalties on the Onyx series had to equal a fortune.
He stood abruptly, his brows drawn together and his tone sharpening. “That’s off the record—don’t print that.”
“But why not? People would—”
“It’s off. The record.” Softening his voice, he added, “Please. It’s private.”
Bonnie hated that people would never know this side of Jack, the side Mrs. Potts had told her about, the generosity and soft heart. But she agreed. Reluctantly.
“Of course. I won’t mention it.”
He nodded, satisfied. “Good.”
“So what about your dad? Does he still live in the area?”
Jack’s expression changed instantly, shutting down and becoming as stony as the rocky formations bordering his property. “He does. We’re not close.”
Moving toward the opening in the hedge, he stopped and waited for her. “Listen, with all the delays today, I’m afraid I’m a bit behind on my writing.”
Oh no. Was the interview over already? Bonnie
supposed with what Mrs. Potts had given her and the few things she and Jack had chatted about on their walk she could stitch together something, but there was so much more she wanted to know about him. For the article, of course. It made no sense to have any personal interest in Jack Bestia.
But then he shocked her. “Would you mind coming back tomorrow so we can finish?”
Was it her imagination or was the air suddenly filled with birdsong? No? It was just inside her then.
“Yes. Yes, of course. That would be fine.” As was apparently her habit around him, Bonnie continued babbling. “What time do you want me? Here, I mean. What time do you want me here? Because I can come at any time of the day. Or night, if that’s better. 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.
His lips quirked. “I’m not exactly an early riser, so how about just after lunch, say one o’clock?”
“One’s perfect.” She pulled her phone from her purse to call the driver. Maybe he’d come back if she begged.
Jack’s expression fell. “Oh. Right. I know I said I’d drive you back, but I really do need to start writing.”
He glanced over at the house, then toward the road, his posture tensed 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.”
“That would be fine. Thank you. I just need to go in and grab my purse first.”
When they entered the house, Jack said a quick goodbye and nearly sprinted for the grand staircase, taking the steps two at a time.
Bonnie 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. She’d ask him about it tomorrow.
Tomorrow. I get to see him tomorrow.
Bonnie tamped down the glee that insisted on bubbling up her esophagus and stepped outside to see Harrison waiting behind the wheel of a sexy red Lamborghini Huracan coupe. Of course that was what Jack Bestia drove.
