The blonde gave him a winning smile. "That's Darbie with two e's."
Huh? I tried to think. Darbee? Derbie? Something else?
I looked to Darbie and suggested, "Maybe you should spell it on an index card? You know, so there's no mistake?"
As I spoke, I reached for the stack of blank index cards, helpfully provided by the event organizers. I was still in mid-reach when Jack's voice cut in, saying, "No need. I've got this."
I drew back my hand. "Oh. Okay." And with that, I turned and left the table to greet the next person in line – an older guy holding a hardcover book in each hand.
As I made a note of the new guy's name, I was overly conscious of the sounds emanating from the table behind me. Even now, Jack was saying, "So, Darbie, huh?"
"Right," she said. "And remember—"
"Two e's. Got it."
Darbie giggled. "If you want, you can write down my phone number, too, like below your signature or something."
Her phone number? Inside the book?
Under my breath, I said, "A fat lot of good that'll do."
The guy in front of me frowned. "Excuse me?"
I summoned up a smile. "Nothing. Sorry."
Still, I couldn't help but marvel at the ridiculousness of Darbie's request. After all, if Jack wrote down her phone number inside the actual book – a book that she was obviously planning to keep – how on Earth would Jack know which number to call?
Bye-bye phone number.
And here, I thought I was the one not thinking straight.
Then again, Jack did have that effect on people.
And now, Darbie was saying, "And write something really nice too. Pretty please?"
I muttered, "You forgot the sugar on top."
The guy in front of me said, "Sugar? What sugar?"
"Sorry," I said. "Bad joke."
"But I love jokes." His face broke into a wide grin. "Go ahead. Hit me with one."
I froze like a clown in headlights. I loved jokes, too. But suddenly, I couldn't recall a single one.
From behind me, Darbie gave another giggle. "Oh, please. I am not a trouble-maker, honest."
The brunette chimed in, "But look here, Darbie. He wrote that you're his favorite trouble-maker. That's good, right?" Her voice grew husky as she added, apparently to Jack, "Just so you know, we sometimes cause trouble together."
From the tone of her voice, it was pretty obvious what kind of trouble she meant.
Naked trouble.
Times two.
Or times three, if I counted Jack.
Against my better judgment, I turned to look. Jack was still writing in the book while the girls ogled his pen like it was their new favorite sex toy.
The blonde gushed, "I just love the way you do it, saving my name for last. It's like you're building suspense or something."
As I gave a mental eye-roll, she pointed to something on the signature page. "And I see your name right there at the bottom." She leaned in close, offering up a nice view of her cleavage. "Your signature's so sexy, too, all big and bold like that."
Oh, for God's sake.
I'd been a fan of Jack for years. And even I wouldn't drool over his signature.
Much.
From behind me, the guy waiting in line said, "Hey, have you heard the one about the talking dog?"
I jumped at the sound of his voice. "Um…" I turned to face him and summoned up an encouraging smile. "No, actually. But I'd love to hear it."
I wasn't even lying. At the moment, a distraction – any distraction –would be a very good thing.
"Sorry, but I was hoping you could tell me." He chuckled. "I only caught the tail end."
"Oh." Now I hardly knew what to say. "Gosh, that's too bad."
He frowned. "But that was the joke. Get it? Tail end? Because dogs have tails?"
"Ohhhhh." I forced a laugh. "Yeah. I haven't heard that one before."
And yet, from the table behind me, I was hearing plenty.
"But wait," Darbie was saying. "My name – I think you made a tiny little mistake."
I gave a derisive snort. What, not enough e's?
At the table, Jack told her, "No mistake here."
"See, but, actually…" Darbie lowered her voice to nearly a whisper. "That's not my name."
Jack said, "Sorry, no do-overs."
Again, I turned to look. Darbie had retrieved the paperback and was studying its opening pages. She looked up, and her eyebrows furrowed. "But I'm not Becka."
Chapter 27
Jack
Right. She wasn't Becka.
Unlike Anna's little sister, Darbie – however the hell she spelled it – was a star-fucker if I'd ever met one. And that went double if I included her friend.
I said, "And your point is…?"
She turned the signature page outward so I could see it. "It's the wrong name." She smiled like she wasn't getting the hint. "Mine's Darbie, with two e's, remember?"
I didn't smile back. "Want to know what I remember?"
"What?'
"You giving my assistant a hard time."
Darbie's smile faded. "But she was totally rude to us."
Next to her, the brunette added, "Yeah. And she's a total psycho."
My gaze shifted to Becka. She was talking to the next guy in line, but I'd be a fool to think she wasn't listening.
I looked back to Darbie. "Maybe," I said. "But she's my psycho, so take your party somewhere else." I looked toward the paperback I'd just signed. "And leave the book."
"But it's mine!" Darbie protested.
I knew better. "You sure about that?"
She lifted her chin. "Well, it's mine now."
"We'll see."
"What does that mean?" Darbie asked.
"It means it's time for you to go."
"Fine," she said. "But I'm still taking the book."
I shrugged. "Suit yourself." Signed or not, the book was replaceable. Or retrievable. I still couldn’t decide which.
Later.
I sent the duo on their way, looking decidedly less happy than when they'd arrived.
Good.
I wasn't happy myself.
Becka was proving to be a problem in more ways than one. And like most problems, I'd find a way to fix it, one way or another.
Until then, I'd be smart to keep my distance.
It was a good plan – nice and neat. The plan lasted for less than twelve hours before things got surprisingly messy.
And I had only myself to blame.
Chapter 28
Becka
Ten hours later, I was still stewing. Not only had Jack practically called me a psycho, he'd neglected to retrieve my book. Instead, he'd simply let those two girls waltz out of the conference room, as if they weren't taking something that didn't belong to them.
I hated thieves.
My stepdad had been the biggest thief I'd ever met. Oh sure, he wasn't a criminal of the smash-and-grab variety, but he'd still managed to chalk up an impressive array of financial crimes, many that harmed people in our own community.
So yes, I realized that a signed paperback wasn't such a huge deal in the big scheme of things.
And yet, it still grated. The fact that Jack had actually held the book in his hands, signed it to my name, and then let those girls carry if off anyway, well, it was making a little crazy.
Not psycho.
Just crazy. There was a difference.
Unfortunately, this same craziness made it nearly impossible for me to sleep that night, even in spite of my posh hotel room and comfy mattress.
At nearly 3 a.m., I gave up entirely. I crawled out of bed, got dressed, and left my room. I wandered down to the lobby with a different paperback – one not written by Jack Ward – in hopes that a change of scenery might help me relax.
I found a nice cozy chair behind a big potted plant and tried to focus on my book – a new one that I'd purchased in the hotel gift shop for just such an emergency.
The eff
ort was a total waste. I couldn’t focus at all. My thoughts kept returning to Jack, wondering what exactly he was up to.
Other than the actual book-signing, I'd barely seen him, unless I wanted to count our tense discussion in the powder room.
Either he hated my company, or he was the least sociable person I'd ever met.
As my thoughts swirled, and my attention wavered, I happened to look up just in time to see something that made me stop and stare.
It was Jack Ward, striding in through the hotel's main entrance. His clothes were dark, and his hair was rumpled. He was almost smiling.
He looked, well, satisfied, like he'd just gotten lucky.
I froze. Oh.
Given the fact that it was nearly four in the morning, it wasn't hard to guess what he'd been doing or what kind of "luck" he'd had. At the realization, I slumped deeper in my chair – not out of disappointment, but rather because I didn't want to be seen watching him.
Yes. That had to be it.
But then, in mid-slump, I spotted something that made me sit up with a sudden jolt.
He was carrying a book – and not just any book. It was an oversized paperback that looked all too familiar.
How on Earth did he get it?
I stared in total confusion as a whole slew of possibilities slithered across my brain. Very few of them were nice. Some of them were downright nasty. All of them made me feel just a little bit nauseous.
I was still staring when Jack suddenly stopped moving. Slowly, his head turned in my direction, and our gazes locked.
His smile, faint as it was, disappeared entirely as he eyed me across the nearly empty lobby.
I didn't flinch, and I didn't look away. Instead I waited, nearly certain that he would simply walk over and return the book.
Except he didn't.
Instead, he looked forward once again and resumed his original path toward the elevators.
No hello. No wave. No nothing.
Unable to stop myself, I stood and began stalking toward him.
Yes, he was my boss, but I still wanted answers.
And I wanted them now.
Chapter 29
Becka
By the time I reached him, the nearest elevator was already open, and he was striding into it. I rushed in behind him and watched in awkward silence as he hit the buttons for two floors – seventeen and eighteen.
Eighteen was mine, so I could only assume that seventeen was his.
As the elevator doors slid shut, leaving the two of us alone in the confined space, I looked to him and said, "Well?"
He didn't even glance in my direction. Instead, he kept his gaze straight ahead, facing the elevator doors instead of me. In a tight voice, he replied, "Well what?"
"Oh come on. You know what. Listen, I know you're not big on wasting time, so why don't you just tell me?"
With slow deliberation, he finally turned to face me. "If you've got a question, you're gonna have to be more specific."
"All right." I pointed to the paperback. "Is that my book?"
He made no move to hand it over. "No comment."
It was easy to guess what that meant. "So how'd you get it?"
His gaze hardened, and the silence stretched out. As the elevator climbed, my heart sank. I could just imagine how he'd come into contact with the book, along with the person who'd swiped it from me.
I said, "I'm just curious, that's all."
"Yeah? Well I'm not paying you to be curious."
I almost flinched. His words stung, even more so because they were technically true. And if he were an ordinary boss – as opposed to a family friend who'd practically dragged me here against my original wishes – I might've simply let it go.
I might've even apologized for being so intrusive.
But I'd been on-edge ever since the book signing, and his secrecy wasn't helping. It's not like I expected to hang out with him or anything. But it was strange that I was supposedly his assistant, and yet had no idea where he went or what he did when we weren't together.
I still had that cell phone, the one he'd given me at Flynn's place a few hours after I'd listened to that tearful message. But no one ever called. And even that one godawful message had been wiped clean, along with any contact information.
The whole thing was beyond strange.
Under his steady gaze, I started to squirm. Unable to stop myself, I finally looked away. As I did, my gaze landed on the elevator buttons, and I felt myself frown.
The numbers went all the way up to seventy. I wasn't the most experienced traveler in the world, but even I knew that billionaires didn't stay on the lower floors.
No, they stayed at the very top in penthouse suites with private balconies and room to spread out.
If Jack were anyone else, I might've wondered if he was afraid of heights – or if he was trying to save a buck.
But I'd seen his demeanor during the fight that had carried us here. He'd been as cool as a cucumber, even on takeoff and through enough turbulence to make me uneasy. And, as far as the whole penny-pinching idea, it was beyond ridiculous. We'd flown here on his private jet, for God's sake.
As these thoughts bounced around in my sleep-deprived brain, I realized that I hadn't yet responded to his last statement.
I’m not paying you to be curious.
Who knows? Maybe he didn't expect an answer. Either way, I wouldn't learn anything by staring like a coward at a bunch of numbered buttons.
Reluctantly, I looked back to Jack, only to see that he was still hammering me with those ice blue eyes of his, as if he could freeze me on sight.
He was wrong.
I wasn't freezing. I was melting with embarrassment.
By now, I knew exactly how he'd obtained that book, and for some stupid reason, it irritated me more than it should.
Obviously, he'd given in to Darbie's charms, which had been on clear display earlier.
I didn't want to believe it, but it was the only explanation that made sense. After all, no one returned smiling at four in the morning from simply retrieving a book.
Plus, if he'd gotten the book a different way, like if he'd just found it on the sidewalk or something, he'd surely tell me.
Right?
But instead, he was acting like I'd just caught him in mid hump.
I muttered, "Never mind. Forget it."
"Done."
And with that, he turned away just in time for the ding that announced our arrival on the seventeenth floor. When the elevator doors slid open, he strode out, taking my book with him.
Fine.
I didn't want it, anyway.
All I wanted was a shower, if only to wash away the unpleasantness of our encounter, along with all of those visions of Jack Ward encountering Darbie, and maybe even her friend, in the most intimate of ways.
Forget the book.
And forget him, too.
Except it wasn't that easy.
Chapter 30
Becka
On the phone, Anna was saying, "So, you think he had sex with them?"
"Maybe not both of them," I said. "But probably one of them at least."
"Oh come on. You don't know that."
"Not for sure," I admitted. "But it's the only thing that makes sense. I mean, why else would've he acted so strange?"
"Aside from you lying in wait?"
I frowned. What, like a spider?
I didn't get it. Just yesterday, she'd warned me away from this job – and from Jack Ward in particular. Now she was singing a totally different tune.
Given my current mood, the tune felt wrong and off-key. "I wasn't 'lying in wait,'" I told her. "I was reading in the lobby. Big difference."
"Look, I get it," she said. "But did you ever think of just letting him walk on by?"
"Oh, please. I couldn't, even if I wanted to. You did hear the part where he spotted me, right?"
"Yeah. And I also heard the part where you followed him into the elevator and got all nosy with hi
m."
Nosy? Seriously? I made a sound of annoyance. "Whose side are you on, anyway?"
Her voice softened. "Yours. You know that."
It was eight o'clock in the morning, just four hours after that scene in the elevator. I was tired and cranky – and with good reason.
Sleep had proved nearly impossible – just like my boss, and now my sister, too.
This was not going to be a good day.
And now Anna was saying, "He's a really private person. You knew that going in."
"So?"
"So you made your own bed by accepting the offer. And now that you've made the bed, you might as well sleep in it. Or just quit. But you can't exactly stay and expect him to change."
Bed? Sleep? What a joke. I hadn't slept. Instead, I'd spent most of the night tossing and turning with agitation.
And the single time I had drifted off, I'd seen him in my dreams. He'd been holding my book in one hand while he pleasured Darbie with the other.
Stupidly, obscenely, Darbie was wearing that hideous multi-colored shirt, the one he'd given me as a replacement for my ripped blouse. Even worse, the Darbie in my dream wore nothing else – well, except for big red floppy shoes.
Talk about messed up.
At this rate, I might never sleep again.
When I said nothing in reply, my sister said, "And you still don't know for sure what he was doing."
"Last night? Oh come on. You can't be serious."
"But I am," she said. "Maybe he couldn't sleep. Maybe he went out for a walk. Maybe he just got up really early."
I recalled his tousled hair and satisfied smile.
No one looked like that in the morning unless they'd had a really good night.
I glanced at the nearby mirror, and frowned. I didn't have a good night. That much was obvious from the dark circles and red-rimmed eyes.
Damn it. I needed to pull myself together – and fast. In just a couple of hours, I'd be seeing him again. Today it wasn't a book-signing, but rather some sort of speech, followed by a Q&A with audience members.
According to the publisher's instructions, I'd be holding a microphone and going from person to person as they asked whatever.
Too bad I couldn’t be in the audience. I'd have some questions, all right.
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