“Tell him it’s 20K or the waiting list.”
“The waiting list then.”
“We are in a recession after all. Just tell him to tell his wife how much he’s paid me in the last year. That should earn him enough of an ass-kicking to last him until I’m done with the book.”
“I’ll pass your well-wishes along to the happy couple.”
Nora hung up on Kingsley and left her office. She followed the thrumming of a guitar to Wesley’s room.
“That’s pretty. What it is?” she asked.
“The Killers.” Wesley stopped playing the song and adjusted his capo. “Ever heard of them?”
“If they came after Pearl Jam’s Ten then probably not.”
He looked at her and laughed a little.
“A little after. You going out tonight?”
“Nope. I hung up on King. And in three weeks if Zach signs my contract I will put on my best pair of stilettos and slam my heel through my hotline once and for all.”
Wesley smiled and started picking out a melody. Nora started to leave.
“What if he doesn’t sign it?” Wesley asked.
Nora considered the terrifying possibility that after reading the finished novel, Zach would still think it wasn’t Royal House material.
“I guess the hotline will have to stay hot a little while longer.”
Nora watched Wesley’s face.
“I like Zach,” he said. “I didn’t at first, but I do now. He’s a really good guy.”
She cocked her head and looked at him.
“I agree. Wholeheartedly.”
“I think you should tell him, you know, about the other job.”
Nora’s stomach tightened.
“I will. I promise I will. But not yet. I want him to read the book with clear eyes. If I tell him what I do he’ll think I’m just writing a knock-off memoir with the names changed instead of real fiction. If and when he signs the contract, then I’ll tell him,” she promised.
Nora left Wesley in his room and headed to the kitchen. She only made it as far as the living room when she heard a knock on her door. She glanced at the clock. Who would be stopping by her house at almost eight o’clock at night?
Nora went to the door and opened it. Zach stood on the other side looking flushed and sheepish and so handsome she had to force her heart to slow its frantic beating.
She said nothing, only raised an eyebrow and waited.
“I know why he calls you his Siren,” Zach said without preamble.
Nora grinned at him.
“You finally decide to let me blow you off course?”
“Yes. I think. I’m not sure, but I know I can’t keep living like this, Nora.”
Nora reached out her hand and this time Zach took it in his. His strong hand felt so good wrapped around hers she was afraid that now she had it she wouldn’t ever let it go. She yanked him into the house with her left hand while her right hand hit the eight on her phone.
“What now?” he asked as Nora lifted the phone to her ear.
“We’re taking a little trip. King, don’t talk,” she said when Kingsley answered. “I’m hitting the club tonight. Call and have them hold my table. One guest.” She glanced at Zach. “And Kingsley…mum’s the word.”
Nora hung up the phone and looked at Zach.
“Where are we going?” Zach asked.
Nora could hear the fear still hiding under the excitement in his voice.
She met his eyes and without smiling answered him.
“Hell.”
17
Zach entered Nora’s office and switched on her desk lamp. From what Wesley said just before he left, it sounded as if Nora would be a while getting ready. Might as well pass the time with a book. Considering Nora’s tastes he had no doubt he could find something to distract him from the screaming voice in his head telling him he really didn’t want to do this.
The lamplight spread its warm yellow glow over Nora’s desk. Wesley must have tidied up. Her usual disarray had been transformed into well-ordered chaos, if there was such a thing. He picked up a small box she’d labeled Scribbles and Bits. He opened it and found dozens of quotations from various sources on multicolored note cards.
One card read in Nora’s slanting script, “No pain, no palm; no thorns, no throne; no gall, no glory; no cross, no crown. — William Penn.” That did sound like something Nora would commit to memory. Another quote came from the Roman playwright Platus: “I do believe it was Love which devised the torturer’s profession here on earth.” Appropriate. A pink card read, “The man who has never been flogged has never been taught.—Menander of Athens.”
The last card simply said, “The Lady or the Tiger?” over and over and over again.
Zach put the cards away and closed the box. He saw her day planner tucked next to her keyboard. He knew he was being unconscionably nosy, but his curiosity got the better of him. Seemed to be today’s theme.
He flipped the red leather-bound calendar open. She and Lex apparently had rescheduled her book-signing for a month from Saturday. She’d dragged Wesley to the opera a few weeks ago. She and G.F. had been in Miami in January. He flipped to the week before he and Nora had met. On that Monday she’d written, “T.R.—M.D. 8:00 p.m.” Another notation later that week read, “S.S.—W.A., 9:00 p.m.” But the next day had another M.D. appointment at 5:00 p.m. He glanced through all the previous pages. Anywhere from two to four times a week, Nora had some sort of M.D. appointment. But as soon as they’d started working on her book the M.D. appointments had dropped off almost completely. What sort of doctor saw a patient on evenings and weekends? Why had Nora stopped going to her appointments when they started working together?
“The waiting list then.”
“We are in a recession after all. Just tell him to tell his wife how much he’s paid me in the last year. That should earn him enough of an ass-kicking to last him until I’m done with the book.”
“I’ll pass your well-wishes along to the happy couple.”
Nora hung up on Kingsley and left her office. She followed the thrumming of a guitar to Wesley’s room.
“That’s pretty. What it is?” she asked.
“The Killers.” Wesley stopped playing the song and adjusted his capo. “Ever heard of them?”
“If they came after Pearl Jam’s Ten then probably not.”
He looked at her and laughed a little.
“A little after. You going out tonight?”
“Nope. I hung up on King. And in three weeks if Zach signs my contract I will put on my best pair of stilettos and slam my heel through my hotline once and for all.”
Wesley smiled and started picking out a melody. Nora started to leave.
“What if he doesn’t sign it?” Wesley asked.
Nora considered the terrifying possibility that after reading the finished novel, Zach would still think it wasn’t Royal House material.
“I guess the hotline will have to stay hot a little while longer.”
Nora watched Wesley’s face.
“I like Zach,” he said. “I didn’t at first, but I do now. He’s a really good guy.”
She cocked her head and looked at him.
“I agree. Wholeheartedly.”
“I think you should tell him, you know, about the other job.”
Nora’s stomach tightened.
“I will. I promise I will. But not yet. I want him to read the book with clear eyes. If I tell him what I do he’ll think I’m just writing a knock-off memoir with the names changed instead of real fiction. If and when he signs the contract, then I’ll tell him,” she promised.
Nora left Wesley in his room and headed to the kitchen. She only made it as far as the living room when she heard a knock on her door. She glanced at the clock. Who would be stopping by her house at almost eight o’clock at night?
Nora went to the door and opened it. Zach stood on the other side looking flushed and sheepish and so handsome she had to force her heart to slow its frantic beating.
She said nothing, only raised an eyebrow and waited.
“I know why he calls you his Siren,” Zach said without preamble.
Nora grinned at him.
“You finally decide to let me blow you off course?”
“Yes. I think. I’m not sure, but I know I can’t keep living like this, Nora.”
Nora reached out her hand and this time Zach took it in his. His strong hand felt so good wrapped around hers she was afraid that now she had it she wouldn’t ever let it go. She yanked him into the house with her left hand while her right hand hit the eight on her phone.
“What now?” he asked as Nora lifted the phone to her ear.
“We’re taking a little trip. King, don’t talk,” she said when Kingsley answered. “I’m hitting the club tonight. Call and have them hold my table. One guest.” She glanced at Zach. “And Kingsley…mum’s the word.”
Nora hung up the phone and looked at Zach.
“Where are we going?” Zach asked.
Nora could hear the fear still hiding under the excitement in his voice.
She met his eyes and without smiling answered him.
“Hell.”
17
Zach entered Nora’s office and switched on her desk lamp. From what Wesley said just before he left, it sounded as if Nora would be a while getting ready. Might as well pass the time with a book. Considering Nora’s tastes he had no doubt he could find something to distract him from the screaming voice in his head telling him he really didn’t want to do this.
The lamplight spread its warm yellow glow over Nora’s desk. Wesley must have tidied up. Her usual disarray had been transformed into well-ordered chaos, if there was such a thing. He picked up a small box she’d labeled Scribbles and Bits. He opened it and found dozens of quotations from various sources on multicolored note cards.
One card read in Nora’s slanting script, “No pain, no palm; no thorns, no throne; no gall, no glory; no cross, no crown. — William Penn.” That did sound like something Nora would commit to memory. Another quote came from the Roman playwright Platus: “I do believe it was Love which devised the torturer’s profession here on earth.” Appropriate. A pink card read, “The man who has never been flogged has never been taught.—Menander of Athens.”
The last card simply said, “The Lady or the Tiger?” over and over and over again.
Zach put the cards away and closed the box. He saw her day planner tucked next to her keyboard. He knew he was being unconscionably nosy, but his curiosity got the better of him. Seemed to be today’s theme.
He flipped the red leather-bound calendar open. She and Lex apparently had rescheduled her book-signing for a month from Saturday. She’d dragged Wesley to the opera a few weeks ago. She and G.F. had been in Miami in January. He flipped to the week before he and Nora had met. On that Monday she’d written, “T.R.—M.D. 8:00 p.m.” Another notation later that week read, “S.S.—W.A., 9:00 p.m.” But the next day had another M.D. appointment at 5:00 p.m. He glanced through all the previous pages. Anywhere from two to four times a week, Nora had some sort of M.D. appointment. But as soon as they’d started working on her book the M.D. appointments had dropped off almost completely. What sort of doctor saw a patient on evenings and weekends? Why had Nora stopped going to her appointments when they started working together?
