Envy(24)

She glanced flirtatiously at Todd. “I can handle him just fine.”

“I bet you can,” Todd said, bobbing his eyebrows. “Anytime, sweetheart.”

Roark left her giggling over the innuendo. It was hours later before he returned to his and Todd’s room. After listening at the door for several moments, he knocked tentatively.

“Huh?”

“Okay if I come in?”

“Yeah.”

Todd was alone in his loft, lying on his back, one bare leg and foot dangling over the side. He looked completely done-in but managed to mumble, “Thanks for keeping your distance. Where’ve you been all this time?”

“The library.”

“How’s Gatsby?”

“No more *-whipped than you, ol’boy. When did Christie leave?”

“About ten minutes ago. Your timing was perfect.”

“Happy to oblige.”

“You know, she actually asked if they were friends of yours.”

“Who?”

“That’s what I asked. And she said, ‘Those people waiting for him.’ ”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Never heard of Gatsby. But who the hell cares? She f*cks like she invented it.”

Roark crossed to the window and opened it. “Smells like sex in here.”

“Oh, before I forget, our favorite professor called and left you a message.”

“Hadley?”

“Said he has a conflict at eight, so he bumped your appointment up to nine o’clock Tuesday morning.”

“Fine by me. I won’t have to get up so early.”

Todd yawned and turned toward the wall. “Thanks again for Christie. She was something else. G’night.”





Chapter 5


Following the meeting that she and Noah had been required to attend, Maris went home from the office alone.

There was a moment, while she was getting mail from their box, that she was tempted to ask the night-duty doorman if he had noticed what time Noah had come in that morning, but she couldn’t think of a way to ask without embarrassing both of them, especially herself.

She had a Thai dinner delivered. As she ate, she reviewed the revisions an author had made to her manuscript, signed off on them, and marked the manuscript ready to go to a copy editor.

She checked her calendar one final time to make certain that she and her assistant hadn’t overlooked an appointment that needed to be rescheduled. She had blocked out the remainder of the week for her trip to Georgia, which might be a tad optimistic considering that the author hadn’t been notified of her pending visit.

But in this instance, begging forgiveness was preferable to asking permission. She had to be assertive. With him, her approach must be proactive and aggressive. Timidity wouldn’t make a dent. Rearranging her busy schedule and making travel arrangements had cemented her determination to go and see him whether or not he was agreeable.

Having put off for as long as possible the unpleasant chore of alerting him to her arrival, she dialed the number that had appeared on her caller ID machine that morning. The telephone rang four times before it was answered.

“Yeah?”

“This is Maris Matherly-Reed.”

“Jesus.”

“No, Maris Matherly-Reed.”

He said nothing to that, not even a cranky What do you want? although his hostile silence spoke volumes.

“I was thinking…” She halted. Wrong tack. Give him no outs, Maris, not even wiggle room. “I’m coming to St. Anne Island to see you,” she declared.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I was speaking English, wasn’t I? Which part didn’t you understand?”

After a moment, he made a gruff sound that could have passed for a laugh. “That’s two. You’re on a roll tonight.”

“Well, I try.”

“So you’re coming to St. Anne.”

“Yes, I am.”

“I gotta warn you, it’s different from what you’re used to. Folks like you—”

“Folks like me?”

“—usually vacation on the more developed islands. Hilton Head. St. Simons. Amelia.”

“This isn’t a vacation trip.”

“No?”

“I’m coming to talk to you.”

“We’ve talked.”

“Not face-to-face.”

“What’ve we got to talk about? The flora and fauna of Georgia’s sea islands?”

“Your book.”

“I’ve already told you that my book isn’t for sale.”

“You also told me that there is no book. Which is it?” She had trapped him. His stony silence indicated that he knew it. “I’ll be arriving tomorrow evening.”

“It’s your money.”

“Could you recommend a—” She was talking to a dead line. He’d hung up on her. Stubbornly she dialed him back.

“Yeah?”

“I was asking if you could recommend a hotel in Savannah?”

When he hung up on her again, Maris laughed. As her father had said, he was protesting too loudly and too much. Little did Mr. P.M.E. know that the more he balked, the more determined she became.