Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 129113 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129113 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
“The white pencil pusher shirt you had delivered? In your dreams, Princess.”
She smiled inwardly at his description. The shirt was her choice, and it was a decent, Richard James shirt. “The photographer is using a dark backdrop for a black and white shoot. The choice was for practical reasons and not to make you look good.” She glanced at Donald and Ben in the rearview mirror. “There are bacon and egg sandwiches in the ice chest. I thought you might need breakfast.”
They reached eagerly for the cooler box she’d left between the seats. “Thanks, miss.”
“Call me Alice.”
“I like a well-organized woman.” Ivan held out a hand. “Hand it over.”
“They’re not for you,” she said. “We can’t risk getting egg on your face.”
He sighed and twisted his tall frame back to face the road. “I get the jab. Withholding food from me is cruel.”
Immediately, she was punished with a guilt attack. Ivan had gone hungry for a big part of his young life. It was unforgivable of her to have made such a remark.
“I didn’t mean to…” She bit her lip.
“Bring up how my biological father starved me?” He chuckled. “It’s all right. I was always hungry when you first met me. Something like that’s got to stick in one’s mind.”
“There’s breakfast waiting at the newspaper office.” She motioned at the glove box and quickly changed the subject. “There’s a copy of the interview. We should go over your answers.”
“I’m sure you can tile your bathroom with all the paper you’re wasting on my interview.”
“My bathroom won’t be big enough.”
He narrowed his eyes at the joke. “I could’ve said your kitchen, but that’s not the room I pictured you in.”
She stole a peek at Donald and Ben to see if they’d picked up the suggestive remark. “Is he always this funny?”
The only answer she got was their munching.
When Ivan didn’t reach for the glove box, she mentally shrugged. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t memorized each question.
“What are your plans for after the concert?” she asked.
Cupping his hand over his ear, he looked from the window. The gesture disturbed her. It was something he’d often done at school when the voices had plagued him. She’d wondered if he’d outgrown the strangeness. Part of her was happy he was still the same, while part of her was sad for him. Maybe it wasn’t the voices. Maybe he was still sulking over the sandwiches. When he didn’t answer for several seconds, she repeated the question.
“What?” he said with an absent-minded air.
“Where are you going after London?”
His dropped his hand to the edge of his seat. A small shock ran through her when the back of his hand brushed against hers where she gripped the gearshift. Not certain if the contact was by chance or intentional, she moved her hand to the steering wheel.
“Why? Want me to stay, Princess?”
She shook her head with a chuckle. “Preparing you for your interview.”
“Ah, and here I was thinking—”
“That I’m doing a good job?”
He shifted in his seat to look at her. “Reminding me again that there’s nothing more to our conversation than you doing your job?”
“When you’re in my business…” She gave him a sidelong glance and arched an eyebrow.
His expression turned tight. “The artists you work with, do they all come onto you?”
“Do you always joke around?”
“You call this a joke?”
“Do you always answer a question with a question?”
He studied her as if he was trying to make up his mind about something.
“What?” she said.
“Why would you want to work with assholes like me who make passes at you?”
“I love the theater. Can we get back to you now?”
“What about me?”
“What’s next?”
His demeanor became closed-off. For a moment she thought he wasn’t going to answer, but then he said, “I haven’t decided, yet. It all depends on you.”
She maneuvered the car through a busy section. It gave her time to hide her discomfort. She looked at Donald and Ben again who were privy to Ivan’s private moments and encounters such as these.
As if reading her thoughts, he said, “They’ve signed a confidentiality agreement.”
She pulled up at The Times office building and cut the engine, happy for the excuse to end their seemingly innocent banter. Where Ivan was concerned, nothing was ever innocent.
“Ready?”
“Just remember,” he said, “I’m only here for you. Don’t get used to it. I won’t make a habit of being at your disposal for your publicity needs.” He got out of the car and banged the door.
With a sigh, Alice led the way to the lobby where the editor-in-chief, Henry Forbes waited for them.
Henry took her in a warm embrace. “Alice.” He held her at arm’s length. “You look lovely, as always.” He turned to Ivan and shook his hand before introducing himself to the other men. “May I just say what an honor it is to have you at The Times. We’ve extended several interview invitations, alas, without success. I’m glad the ever-efficient Ms. Jones managed to hijack you.”