But those were few and far between, not that it mattered. The deadline had come and gone without an offer of any kind, paid or unpaid. I hadn't even gotten an interview.
I knew why. It all came down to Professor Greenberg, who ran the program. He liked me well enough, but my status as a part-time student hadn't been a mark in my favor.
Plus, there was the little matter of my stepfather embezzling half the town. The truth was, mine wasn't a name that inspired confidence regardless of my own credentials.
But none of that mattered, not really. Timing-wise, that ship had already sailed.
I gave Jack a sarcastic smile. "In case you didn't know, the deadline was in March."
"So?"
"So that was two months ago."
"Yeah, well." He shrugged. "It was extended."
Now that made me pause. "It was? When?"
He glanced at his watch. "An hour ago."
My brow wrinkled in confusion. That couldn't be right. It was barely eight o'clock in the morning. "But I don't get it," I said. "How would you know if the deadline was extended?"
"I made some calls."
"To who?"
"Whoever it took."
I recalled what he'd said last night, something about making a few phone calls. Were those the calls he'd been talking about?
I studied his face. "So, did they extend the deadline for everyone?"
"No."
I felt my gaze narrow. "All right. What exactly aren't you telling me?"
Chapter 20
Jack
It was a loaded question.
The truth was, there was a lot I wasn't telling her. For one thing, late last night, her roommate had been busted for selling pharmaceuticals out of his car.
The bust wasn't my doing, but I wasn't sad to hear about it. I was, however, pissed at Flynn for not doing a better job of checking out Becka's living situation.
I might've told him so, too, if not for the fact that I'd promised Becka – in so many words, anyway – that I wouldn’t do anything to worry her sister.
In spite of what Becka might think, I wasn't one to go back on my word – or drop the ball when it came to protecting the people I cared about.
Yeah, maybe she wasn't mine to protect. But she was Flynn's future sister, which made her mine, too, in the same roundabout way. As such, there was no way in hell that I was leaving town without making sure that she wasn't headed for trouble.
There was only one hitch. I was leaving tomorrow, which meant that Becka was coming with me, whether she realized it or not.
In reply to her question, all I said was, "Check your email."
"Why?"
"Because it's got all the details."
She hesitated. "So, you sent me an email?"
"Not from me," I said. "From your professor."
What I didn't tell her was that I knew exactly what the email contained, because I'd drafted most of the wording myself.
Becka would receive a generous salary, along with class credit by serving as my temporary assistant for the summer semester – fall, too, if she decided to stay on.
It was a compelling offer – plenty of money, but not so much that she'd be suspicious. There was no way she'd turn it down – not if she was smart.
After she stalked off to check her email, I figured it was a done deal. But then, twenty minutes later, she was back, looking like she wanted to chew me up and spit me out.
She sputtered, "You bribed him? Seriously?"
I was still working at the table. "Who? Your professor?"
"Yeah. Professor Greenberg. So, did you?"
"If you're asking if I paid him off, the answer's no."
"I don't mean with money," she said. "I meant with that lecture."
Every once in a while, I lectured at college campuses – usually Ivy League or something nearly as pricey. None of these had been my idea. Rather, they'd been favors for some bigwig or another as part of the publishing or movie deals.
But this one? For once, the idea was all mine.
And why?
It was because Professor Numnuts had gone squeamish at the idea of setting up an internship two months past the deadline.
Even as he'd kissed my ass up and down, he'd told me that it was never done, apologizing repeatedly while making noises about the college administrators being "real sticklers for the rules."
In reply, I'd told him that this was the exception – and then sweetened the deal to make it happen. The thing is, I would've bribed him with a fat check if that's what it took.
For me, it would've been better. Money, I had in spades. But time? Not so much.
Still, I knew what I was doing. For Becka's sake, this was the best way to go – sealing the deal without raising red flags that would haunt her down the road.
But now, from the look on her face, she wasn't seeing it.
I asked, "What's the problem?"
"I don't want any special treatment."
"Good," I said. "Because you're not gonna get it. It's hard work. And your boss is a dick."
Her eyes narrowed. "You mean you?"
"Well, you're not working for someone else."
"I'm just saying, I feel kind of funny that I didn't get it on my own."
"Don't," I said. "The truth is, I had a sudden vacancy."
"Oh come on! You did not."
"You wanna bet?"
"Yes." Her chin lifted. "As a matter of fact, I do."
In case she didn't get it, I informed her, "That was a rhetorical question."
"So what?" she said. "I'm still willing to bet." She gave me a thin smile. "So…you have proof of this 'vacancy'?"
I did. But she wouldn't like it. Still, I leaned back in my chair and said, "Let's say I do. Are you gonna accept the gig and be done with it?"
"Maybe."
"That's no answer," I said. "Say yes, or you don't get the proof."
She stiffened. "All right, fine. Yes."
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my cell phone.
As I did, Becka gave me a wary look. Ignoring the look, I pulled up my last voicemail and hit play. I handed Becka the phone without further comment.
And then, I waited.
Chapter 21
Becka
His phone felt warm in my suddenly cold fingers. Whoever the caller was, she was crying. Through choked sobs, she said, "Listen, Mister Ward, I'm sorry, okay? I didn't realize that it was such a big secret."
I frowned. A secret? What secret?
With a loud sniffle, she continued. "And she claimed she had a big surprise, something really good. She promised over and over again that you'd be delighted to see her."
As I listened, I tried to think. Her?
Who on Earth was she talking about?
Imogen?
More to the point, who was the caller? His last assistant?
It sure sounded that way.
If so, this didn't bode well.
None of it did.
I gave Jack a horrified look as my fingers tightened around his phone. By now, his eyes had grown so cold that my fingers felt nearly warm in comparison.
He held my gaze as I continued listening to the woman sob and eventually begin repeating herself.
The whole thing was beyond awful. Cripes, I didn't even know the woman, and I felt like crying along with her.
As for Jack, he looked like he'd be fine with using her teardrops to wash his boots.
Between sobs, she was still going. "Just please, give me another chance, okay? I'll do better. I won't tell anyone anything, just like the agreement says. I'm sorry. Really, really sorry."
By now, I was sorry, too.
Not only was the call beyond depressing, I felt dirty and disgusting for eavesdropping on someone else's misery.
Finally, the message ended with the promise that she'd be waiting by the phone, just in case he changed his mind.
In the sudden silence that followed, I didn't move a muscle. With the phone still pressed
to my ear, I stared at the guy who'd been so nice – and so horrible, depending on the situation.
Finally, I heard myself say, "I'm not sure I want to work for you."
"Yeah? Well, too bad," he said. "A deal's a deal."
My hand dropped to my side, and his phone clattered to the floor. On instinct, I crouched down to swoop it up, mumbling, "Sorry."
"Don't be," he said. "That's yours."
I was still crouched on the floor. With the phone once again in my hand, I looked up. "What?"
"That's my business phone," he said. "From now on, it's your problem, not mine."
I stood. "But wait a minute. I never accepted the job."
His eyebrows lifted. "You sure about that?"
"Oh come on," I said. "You're not talking about that stupid bet, are you?"
But from the look on his face, that's exactly what he was thinking. He replied, "What do you think?"
Why lie? "I think you're horrible."
"Good."
I shook my head. "Why is that good?"
"Because we're not friends. I'm your boss."
What a crock. Even at the burger place, I'd been friends with my supervisor. Then again, she'd been a nice person – and not just some of the time either.
To Jack, I replied, "Not yet, you're not. I haven't signed anything."
"Yeah. But you will."
"Oh yeah?" I scoffed. "And why's that?"
"Because it's a good opportunity, and you know it." He gave me a tight smile. "And, like I said, I've got the opening."
If this were remotely funny – which it wasn't – I might've laughed in his face. "Yeah, but only because you just fired someone. The caller, the one who was crying – that was your assistant, right?"
"Not anymore."
I considered the events of the last twenty-four hours and tried to put them into context. "That call? It was about Imogen, wasn't it?"
"So that's your theory, huh?"
"Of course it is. I mean, it seems pretty obvious."
"All right. Let's hear it."
"Hear what?" I asked.
"Your theory."
I wanted to tell him to shove it. And yet, I was curious to know if my hunch was correct. "All right," I said. "Your assistant told Imogen that you were here, at Flynn's place. But you didn't want Imogen to know. And it made you angry."
"Not angry," he said. "Careful. There's a difference."
"Oh, please," I scoffed. "And you must still be angry if you can listen to someone cry like that and not care one single bit."
"I wasn't the one listening. You were."
I was glaring now. "Was that a joke? If so, it wasn't funny."
As usual, he looked completely unashamed. "Eh, says you."
"I'm serious," I said. "How can you not care?"
His gaze met mine. "I care."
"Oh stop it. You do not."
"I care," he continued, "that she didn't follow clear instructions."
Talk about unreasonable. "But Imogen must've lied to her."
He shrugged. "So?"
"So that's hardly your assistant's fault."
"My ex-assistant," he said.
I studied his face. I had to be missing something. In fact, I'd bet my life on it. "There's more to this story, isn't there?"
"If there is," he said, "you're not gonna hear it."
"Oh, well that's nice." I was still clutching the phone. Placing it firmly on the table in front of him, I said, "Before this conversation goes any further, I need to ask you something, and I want you to be honest."
When he made no reply, I asked the question, anyway. "Her firing – it didn't have anything to do with me, did it?"
He looked at me for a long, penetrating moment. "What are you asking?" he said. "Did I fire her so there'd be an opening for you?"
I blinked. "What? No. That's not what I'm asking at all." Beyond offended, I said, "You must think I'm pretty full of myself."
"Trust me. That's not what I'm thinking."
By now, I knew better than to ask him what he was thinking. Instead, I returned to the topic at hand. "What I mean is, well, yesterday, I know that things with Imogen got kind of tense. And if I'm being totally honest, I might've added to the tension—"
Now he looked almost amused. "Might've?"
"Fine," I said. "Point taken. But what I'm asking is… was that reason you fired your assistant? Because of all the drama from yesterday?" I winced. "Drama that I caused, I mean."
Abruptly, he stood. "No."
Compared to my long question, his answer seemed woefully short.
Plus, now that he was standing, I felt even smaller in comparison. As I craned my neck to stare up at him, I wondered yet again, who was this guy?
I definitely needed to know. Fortunately, I had someone I could ask.
My sister. I still hadn't called her back, but I was planning to, ASAP.
Already, I was making a list of questions and stacking them like cordwood in my head. By now, the stack was so big, my head literally ached.
I was tossing yet another question onto the pile when Jack said, "The jet leaves tomorrow morning."
I shook my head. "What?"
"And we leave for the airport at nine. Be ready."
"But wait," I said for what felt like the millionth time. "I already told you, I haven't accepted."
"And I already told you, don't worry, you will." As he said it, he picked up the cell phone and returned it to his pocket. And then, he turned and walked away, leaving me standing alone in Flynn's kitchen.
Almost in a trance, I moved toward the table and claimed the seat that Jack had just vacated. And then, I heard myself sigh. Damn it. He was right, yet again.
I would be accepting.
Cripes, I'd be stupid not to. The pay was amazing, and more importantly, I needed the college credits.
If I played my cards right and doubled up on some other classes, this might enable me to graduate a whole semester earlier than I'd planned.
That was the upside.
But the downside was a lot more complicated. Thanks to that godawful phone message, not to mention Jack's heartless attitude, I knew for a fact that the job would be no picnic.
Just a couple of days later, I was proven terribly right – but not for the reasons I'd been anticipating.
Chapter 22
Becka
"I'm really sorry," I said for the third time. "But I'm not lying. You can't go in."
The brunette frowned. "But why not?" She was tall and leggy, just like her companion – an equally attractive blonde who was standing by her side. They were both dressed in skin-tight sparkly tank tops – one red and one purple – along with identical black miniskirts and high strappy sandals.
The skirts were so short, I just prayed that neither one of them bent over any time soon, especially considering the number of guys who were ogling them from the sidelines.
As for myself, I was wearing a long navy skirt, my favorite white chiffon blouse, and low navy pumps. Compared to the girls in front of me, I felt positively frumpy.
"Because," I told her, "it's a private lounge. And Mister Ward is, um, lounging."
This was only half true. The lounge wasn't open to the public, but he wasn't quite lounging. He was scribbling in his black notebook again, using that same pencil – now marred with bite marks along the top.
The last time I'd seen him, just five minutes earlier, he'd been doing more stabbing than scribbling, as if the pencil were his weapon of choice and the notebook had done something to personally offend him.
From what I could tell, he was not in a good mood.
We were at a hotel and convention center in downtown Atlanta. The publisher had scheduled Jack to appear here for the next three days as part of a giant comic book expo.
At first glance, the event had seemed a strange venue for a book signing, given the fact that Jack wrote sprawling epics with no pictures whatsoever.
But then, I saw the full program. The expo al
so featured a few stars from the movies that had been adapted from his books – so I guess I could see the connection.
What I couldn’t see was why the door to the V.I.P. lounge wasn't being guarded. There'd been a security guard earlier, when we'd arrived maybe a half-hour ago.
Where on Earth was the guard now? I glanced around, but saw no sign of him.
As for the lounge itself, it was strictly off-limits to regular attendees. Inside the lounge were a few of the aforementioned movie stars, along with other famous writers and artists – none of whom I knew personally.
The lounge also contained its share of lowly assistants, me included. At the moment, I wasn't quite sure what I was supposed to be doing, but I did know there'd be hell to pay if I moved aside and admitted the girls into Jack's private sanctuary.
After all, I didn't want it to be me sobbing on the phone the next time around.
The brunette gave me a desperate smile. "But we can help."
I wasn't following. "Help with what?"
Her smile turned sly. "Well, you said he's lounging, right? We can help him do that. You know, relax." She looked to her companion and said, "Isn't that right, Darbie?"
The blonde named Darbie gave an enthusiastic nod. "Oh sure," she gushed. "We're great at that." She licked her glossy upper lip and said, "We know all the tricks."
I had no doubt of that.
I was still trying to come up with a decent response when the brunette said, "So, how come you're allowed inside?"
I hesitated. Should I tell them? Or not?
I hadn't mentioned who I worked for. A few minutes earlier, I'd simply had the unfortunate timing to be coming out just as they were preparing to sneak in.
When I'd politely informed them that the lounge wasn't open to the public, they'd asked for Jack personally and suggested that I go find him. When I'd refused as nicely as I could, they'd renewed their efforts to be let inside.
That wasn't going to happen.
And why? It was because I knew better. That's why.
One thing about Jack, he was the most anti-social person I'd ever met. He was quiet and brooding, like a secret agent who'd failed on his last mission and was plotting some sort of dastardly revenge.
Stalling, I turned and gave the door behind me a long, worried look. Why, oh why, had I chosen this particular moment to dash out for a cup of coffee?
Wordless Page 8
