Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 135847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
It was me who moved to leave then, and Hale who stopped me by standing in front of the door.
I looked up at him. “Please get out of my way.”
“I saw the interview, Elsa, so you can’t act wounded about what I said because I spoke the goddamned truth. That was personal business no one is entitled to, and you gave her the forum to put it out there.”
“I had no idea what your mother was going to say, and if I’d known she was going to share what she did, I wouldn’t have had her on.”
“Right,” he said disbelievingly.
“Right,” I repeated crisply. “Now, if I could be on my way.”
I tried to move by him, but even though he wasn’t a large man, he was tall, and far bigger than me, and still blocking the door.
I stopped moving, took in a breath through my nostrils, and let it out the same way, sounding like an irritated bull.
And I didn’t care.
Because I was a dozen shades more than irritated, and I did not mind he knew it.
He cocked his head to the side and noted softly, “You’re genuinely pissed.”
I didn’t respond.
“She blindsided you,” he whispered.
My mouth spoke before I gave it permission.
“Everyone knows what kind of man Tom Pierce is, and he’s not that man. Even if what she said was not a lie, you’re right, your family’s pain wasn’t anyone’s business. The camera was on her. If it was on me, you would have seen my reaction. We were live, it wasn’t taped. And that is not only the last live interview I’ve done in years, it’s the last one I’ll ever do. Not only because I don’t need that kind of legal headache, but because that kind of thing reflects on me. And whether you like what I do or not, Mr. Wheeler, I take it seriously. It’s important to me. It might not be crucial knowledge the world needs. But it’s absolutely in the public interest. And I’ve worked hard to create a program that gives the public what they’re interested in without being gimmicky or snide or defamatory or salacious. I have a point of view, and I have a personality, and both are part of my brand. But the woman you think I am is not the woman I actually am. And I want nothing to do with a man who thinks I’m that other kind of woman. Now, please, step aside.”
He didn’t step aside.
He said quietly, “I’ll have to watch it again.”
“That would be impossible because I’ve taken it down, and whether you believe me or not, I did that before Imogen Swan’s team descended on me. Now, I’ll ask one last time, step aside.”
“Tomorrow, nine. My place. We’re still on.”
“I think you missed the part where I don’t want the interview anymore, Mr. Wheeler.”
“Call me Mr. Wheeler one more time, baby.”
I went perfectly still.
His soft, sexy, warning tone, the hot, aggravated, even sexier look on his handsome face, the vibe emanating from him—everything about him made it feel we were both in suspended animation, standing inches apart, staring at each other.
He wasn’t touching me.
But that didn’t mean I wasn’t in his clutches.
And I liked it there.
I was breathing heavily, I vaguely noticed it, but I couldn’t stop.
“Tomorrow,” he said. “My place. Nine. And I’m renting this space for you, and you’re going to move your ass into it, because you won’t want to find out what’ll happen if you don’t.”
He was done with me then, I knew, because he walked out of the studio, the suite, and he took the real estate woman with him.
CHAPTER 3
OBSTACLE CLEARED
Hale
Then…
He was sitting in one of the armchairs, and they were clipping the mic on his sweater.
But even if they were fawning all over him, and right up in his space, it was like there was no one there, even though their living room was filled with people and lights and cameras, and there were cords snaking all over the floor.
Hale knew how that felt. To be there and not to be there.
He stood in the shadows of the doorway that led to the cliff as the busyness happened all around him.
Some woman in headphones, carrying a clipboard and wearing an Oasis t-shirt caught sight of him and smiled.
She then turned to his father and called, “You have a good-looking boy, Mr. Szabo.”
His father’s head twitched, he looked up and around the room in what seemed like confusion.
“Sorry?” he asked.
“Your son,” the woman said.
“My son?”
Yeah.
He’d have to ask.
His dad started to look for him, but before he could find him, Hale ducked backwards out the door and disappeared.
Now…
It was six thirty in the morning, and Hale was slugging back a smoothie in preparation to hit the treadmill, when Elsa texted.
It would be a lot healthier for his peace of mind if he could ignore why he not only didn’t hesitate to read the text, he didn’t waste time in picking up his phone to do it.