by Amy DeLuca
“It is.” And you look good in it. Where had that thought come from? Talk about rogue waves, that was a rogue thought.
Jack pointed at the door to the adjoining bath. “Bathroom’s in there if you need to use it. There’s a hair dryer under the sink. In fact, if you want to shower, you’re welcome to it.”
“Oh no. Thank you. I’ll just towel off and put these on. My hair’s fine—it dries fast. I’ll be right down.”
“Okay, suit yourself. No hurry. I’m gonna go tell the kitchen staff you’re staying for dinner.”
Grabbing some dry clothes for himself first, Jack left the room, changed in the guest room next door, then headed downstairs. As he descended the grand staircase, he realized there was a whistle echoing off the walls and marble floor of the foyer. It was a happy tune.
And it was coming from him.
Will wonders never cease?
Twelve
Curiosity Killed the Article
Bonnie regretted declining Jack’s invitation to bathe as soon as she got a look at his spectacular bathtub.
It was a huge, sunken garden tub with a view of the ocean through the picture window beside it and a gas fireplace at the end. Correction to that earlier statement on the beach—if she lived there, she’d never leave this room. Gleaming white and lined with sparkling mirrors, it was the bathroom of her dreams.
Unable to resist, Bonnie climbed into the dry tub and stretched out. She leaned forward and touched the knob next to the fireplace, wondering how to turn it on, then pulled her fingers back and folded them against her stomach.
Curiosity had always been her downfall, though she supposed it made for a good journalist. Relaxing for a moment against the very comfortable back wall of the tub, she stared out at the gorgeous view.
If she really believed there was any chance of making this kind of money with her writing, she’d go directly to her laptop and start revising that neglected book of hers tonight.
Actually, after what Jack had said today, she was considering dusting it off for a fresh read-through and maybe even sending a few queries to literary agents. What was the worst that could happen? They’d say no. It would sting, no doubt. But if she never tried, the answer would definitely be no.
Sure, the chances of her becoming hugely successful like Jack were infinitesimal, but there might be some editor out there who’d like her book and want to publish it. And if not that book, maybe the next. Jack’s first book hadn’t been a huge hit, either.
Bonnie’s insides vibrated with excitement as she thought about writing something new. She even had a spark of an idea. Something about a regular girl being suddenly dropped into a world of fame and luxury and not quite knowing whether she liked it or hated it. Bonnie definitely liked that tub, though.
Reluctantly, she climbed out of it, changed into the dry clothing Jack had given her, and left the marvelous bathroom. Jack’s bedroom was just as impressive. Spacious and tastefully decorated, it was masculine and yet luxurious at the same time. The comforter was pulled back on one side to reveal the softest looking sheets she’d ever seen.
She did manage to resist testing those out—what a nightmare it would be if he walked in and caught her taking his bed for a test drive. He’d instantly re-visit that stalker-put-the-real-reporter-in-a-trunk theory.
Instead, she walked over to appreciate the view from the floor-to-ceiling windows before leaving the bedroom. Once in the hallway, there was no confusion about which way to go—she could see the top of the grand staircase down the hall.
On her way there, Bonnie passed several doors she assumed led to other bedrooms and then a narrow opening with a smaller staircase leading up. How intriguing.
She stopped walking and leaned forward into the gap, craning her neck upward. It was impossible to see where these stairs led because the staircase curved out of sight.
The turret. That was where these stairs led. Jack’s office—where all that writing brilliance took place—was up there. Just steps away.
Bonnie stood for a few moments, torn by indecision. Looking back and forth between the grand staircase and this far more tempting one, she waged a battle with herself, feeling a bit like the dual-sided character Gollum from one of her favorite childhood fantasy books, The Hobbit.
He said no one goes in there but him and Mrs. Potts.
Yes, because it was messy. You won’t be offended by a little mess. You’re a little messy yourself.
That’s true. And it’s not like I’d rummage through his drawers. I won’t touch a thing.
Her feet were already on the bottom step by the time she got to the crux of the matter. She bit down on her bottom lip.
This is a mistake.
I know. I know. You don’t have to tell me that.
And, overcome by curiosity, she took the next step.
At the top, the stairwell opened directly into a small, circular room with stone walls and richly colored Oriental rugs. There was a simple wooden writing desk topped by a lamp and a laptop computer.
It wasn’t nearly as grand as the rest of the house, but for a writer who adored Jack Bestia’s work, it was the equivalent of seeing the Sistine Chapel in person. Bonnie stayed in place, drinking in the details.
She didn’t even intend to enter the room, not wanting to disturb anything. But then she spotted the blue of the ocean-facing window. How amazing would it be to see the very view Jack saw when he sat down to write? She’d take a quick peek and memorize every detail, save it for later to treasure each time she sat down to work on her own books.
Of course, she’d never presume to sit at his desk. Instead, Bonnie crossed the room to stand in front of the window. She cracked it a bit, so she could feel the ocean breeze from up there. When she did, something fluttered beside her head.
She turned to see a plotting chart on the wall. She’d learned a similar method in college and used it to plan the one book she’d finally managed to finish. Scenes tended to come to her out of order, and the chart method had helped her organize them into a workable story flow.
Handwritten index cards were taped in various spots across Jack’s chart. But there were also lots of blank spaces.
Interesting. He must plan out only the major turning points. What a genius he is. Bonnie had to plot out every scene before she was truly ready to write a first draft.
Though it was maddeningly tempting, she disciplined herself not to read the writing on the cards. She didn’t want to violate Jack’s writing process any more than she’d want someone peeking at her work before she was ready. Instead, she turned and headed for the staircase.
Oh. The window.
She’d left it open. Bonnie spun and rushed back into the room to shut it. But before she could reach the window, a gusty breeze blew a stack of papers off the printer table and scattered them across the floor.
Great. Just wonderful.
Casting a nervous glance at the stairwell, she knelt to gather the papers. They were all out of order, but thankfully there weren’t very many, and there was a number in the top right corner of each page.
She quickly sorted them. In the process, she realized what they were.
This is the beginning of Book Seven. Her heart gave a hard thud then sped up until it felt like it might spin out of her chest.
Fingers trembling, Bonnie arranged the forbidden, oh so tempting pages by number, all the while fighting the urge to read the words and growing more fearful by the second that Jack would walk in and catch her.
The last page, number fifteen, had blown farther from the rest. She crawled under Jack’s desk to retrieve it and add it to the pile.
And saw what was on the page.
She couldn’t help it. Truly. She tried so hard to train her focus on the safe upper right corner. But this last page was filled with capital letters in bold print and they drew her eyes like a super-magnet.
“BLAH BLAH BLAH, EPIC BATTLES, TWISTY TURNS, ROMANCE, AND MANY WORDS WHICH WILL EVENTUALLY COME OR MY CAREER IS OVER.
THE END.”
What was this? Bonnie’s head swam. Her heart threatened to pound right through Jack’s oversized t-shirt.
What could it mean? It couldn’t possibly be what it looked like. Was this all he’d written? Of a book that was scheduled to release two months from now? It couldn’t be.
This was incredible. It was tragic. It really was, as he’d written, career-ending. Her heart instantly broke for him. How horrible to possess such extraordinary talent and yet suffer paralyzing writer’s block. It had to be beyond terrifying.
The deafening rush of her pulse in her ears must have obscured the sound of her impending doom because Bonnie never heard Jack’s approach.
She didn’t even realize he was standing at the top of the stairs until she caught movement in the corner of her eye and looked up from his manuscript in her hands.
Looming above her, Jack looked seven feet tall. His hands were clenched into tight fists, his face was red. And his expression was nothing short of murderous.
Oh boy. The Beast was back.
Thirteen
Page Seven
The look on Bonnie’s face left no doubt. Jack’s worst fears had been realized.
She knew the truth, and he was finished. Not only would he be the laughing stock of the publishing industry for years, possibly decades, to come, but who knew how many people would lose their jobs over this.
The panic was nearly overwhelming. Jack’s own heartbeat screamed in his ears as he stared down at the lovely harbinger of his doom kneeling on the floor of his office, clutching the black and white evidence of his failure.
“What. Do you think. You’re doing?” He worked to keep his voice calm and even, though it held a detectable quiver. “Well? I asked you a question. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
She finally managed a hoarse whisper. “Jack… I… didn’t mean to…” The excuse died right there. Even she knew there was no use trying to defend this.
“I see. It was an accident. You just tripped and ended up at the top of forty-two winding steps?” His sarcasm morphed into accusation. “What were you doing—making copies to take with you and leak online?”
Her gasp was followed by an indignant tone. “I would never—”
“You would never? I thought you would never sneak into my office after I expressly told you it was off limits. I thought Claudia would never betray me either. Look where that got me. I guess I didn’t judge you any better than I did her.”
Tears swam in Bonnie’s eyes, which looked huge at the moment. Her mouth opened and closed repeatedly with no sound coming out.
“I’m so sorry,” she finally said.
The tears spilled over. The pages in her hands shook. She held them out to him. “I didn’t mean to see this. I just wanted a peek at where you write.”
In spite of his shock and fury, Jack battled an unwelcome surge of pity for her.
Where did that come from?
She was the one who’d violated his privacy. Not to mention the legal contract they’d both signed. He was the victim here, though towering over her as he was, it didn’t feel that way.
He snatched the embarrassingly small stack of paper she offered. “You know I was going to give you an excerpt, right? You didn’t have to sneak around and steal one. Well, you can bet that’s off the table now. In fact, consider every word I’ve said to you since we met off the record.”
“What? But we’ve already done the interview.”
Jack held up a finger, which was vibrating with adrenaline. “You print one syllable and I’ll sue your newspaper for a sum so high, Mr. Gaston won’t be able to afford to keep a lightbulb on.”
Without another word, Bonnie got to her feet then scurried past him to the stairwell opening, keeping her head down and avoiding his eyes. She fled as if one of the hounds of hell was at her back. In a way, it was.
Jack was hot on her heels as she descended the stairs. “Where do you think you’re going?”
She didn’t answer, just kept moving at a rapid clip down the hall and then the grand staircase. As he followed, Jack’s anger was joined by hurt and no small amount of confusion. How had this day gone from being entirely amazing to totally terrible so quickly?
Well, he knew the answer to that, but the reversal was staggering. His editor wasn’t going to like this turn of events—she wanted the article to run. And he didn’t like seeing Bonnie like this.
He really didn’t like watching her leave.
When they reached the bottom of the stairs, she didn’t stop. She was making a beeline for the front door.
Keeping up with her, Jack repeated himself. “Where are you going?”
“Back to New York,” she shouted back over her shoulder. “I’ll need to get a head start on my unemployment application.”
Instantly his anger evaporated, and another emotion jumped in to fill the void. Panic. She was leaving. Right this minute. No more interview.
No more Bonnie.
“Oh no you don’t,” he said. “You’re not going anywhere. You signed a contract.”
Finally she stopped and turned to face him. “What does that have to do with anything? You said I couldn’t print the interview.”
“The contract stipulates that if you should gain any knowledge of a highly sensitive and compromising nature about my upcoming release, you agree to twenty-four-hour supervision at a secure location of my choice.”
Her face was horror-struck. “You want to sequester me? I didn’t see that in the contract.”
“If you’ll kindly proceed to the library, I’ll be delighted to show it to you,” Jack snarled and made an overly exaggerated after you gesture with one arm.
She stared at him for a few moments then marched toward the library, shaking her head. “I read that contract—I didn’t see any kind of clause mentioning sequestration.”
“You may not have seen it, sweetheart, but you signed it.”
The contract still lay atop the desk in the center of the library. Bonnie picked it up and flipped rapidly through the pages.
“Page seven,” Jack offered. “Under the section marked ‘Spoilers and Non-Disclosure.’” Read it and weep, lady.
Bonnie was silent as she read, her face paling with each line she scanned. When she looked up at him, her expression was disbelieving and at the same time utterly defeated. A tide of satisfaction washed through him.
“This is ludicrous,” she said at last. “You don’t really expect me to adhere to this, do you?”
Jack crossed his arms over his chest. “Why wouldn’t I? You signed it.”
“Yes but… this says I can’t see anyone, can’t talk to anyone. It says you’ll confiscate my laptop and my phone.”
“It sure does. Right there in black and white.” He gave her a wicked grin, enjoying her astonished indignation. Now she knew how it felt.
She stared at him, then looked back at the contract as if the writing on the page might have magically changed in the past minute. When her gaze came back up to meet his there were a million questions behind her eyes.
There was also a new realization. He owned her.
“Are you going to have me… locked in my apartment?”
“No.”
Her shoulders relaxed but then tensed again when he elaborated. “You’ll be staying here. Where I can keep an eye on you and make sure you’re not spilling any secrets.”
“Here?” Her eyes bulged. “At your house? For how long?”
“Until I turn the book in.”
“Your deadline is four weeks from now.”
“That’s right.”
Her mouth dropped open and she let out a gasp of shock. “I can’t stay here for a month. I told you about my father. He depends on me. He can’t live alone. He needs me there.”
Instantaneous guilt attacked Jack’s conscience. For the first time since walking in on Bonnie in his office, he questioned his actions. Was he in the wrong here? It was a little bizarre to force a
woman to stay in your home.
But what choice did he have? He couldn’t risk the truth getting out. He’d be ruined. Bonnie had just proven she wasn’t trustworthy. And he refused to let those slivers of guilt go any deeper. This was her fault, not his. She’d forced him into this. He didn’t like it any more than she did.
But he did have to do something about her father. “I can’t let you go home, but I’ll arrange to have someone check on your father daily.”
“Who?”
Who indeed? Jack was making this up as he went along. “I’ll… hire a home health care service. A nurse can stop by once a day and make sure he’s healthy and eating well.”
She shook her head adamantly and folded her arms across her chest, wearing an obstinate expression. “That won’t work. I’d have to interview someone personally before allowing them access to my blind father in his home. Besides, a hired service isn’t the same as family.”
Jack threw his hands up in frustration. “Fine. I’ll send Mrs. Potts. You’ve met her. You like her, don’t you?”
“Yes but—”
“I have an apartment in Manhattan. She can stay there for the next few weeks and stop in to visit your father a couple times a day. She’s due for a vacation anyway, and she loves New York City.”
Bonnie appeared to consider it for a minute. She glanced down at the contract once more, then up at him.
“I suppose that could work… as long as she’s okay with it.”
“She will be. She loves Broadway shows. I’ll pay for her to go see one every night if she wants to. She’ll be thrilled.”
After a lengthy pause, Bonnie uttered a begrudging, “Fine.”
“Fine. So we have an agreement.” A sense of relief spread through him, enabling his tightly bunched muscles to relax a fraction. “I have your promise you won’t leave?”
She rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t aware I had a choice.”
“You don’t. And I’ll make you a promise in return. I won’t keep you a second longer than is absolutely necessary. Four weeks, and then you’re out of here on your nosy little behind.”
