Envy(53)

“Go on,” he said when she hesitated.

“What if Todd were somehow involved in their breakup?”

Frowning, he thoughtfully scratched his cheek, reminding him that he hadn’t shaved that morning. “Wouldn’t that be too much antagonism too soon? In those first few chapters, I’m trying to establish that these two guys are truly friends. Eventually the friendship is overtaken and then ultimately destroyed by their competitiveness. But if Todd interferes with Roark’s love life, then screws him over with Hadley, that immediately makes him out the villain and Roark the hero.”

“Isn’t that the way it’s supposed to be? I think of them that way.”

“You do?”

“You’re surprised?”

“The story isn’t over yet. By the time you get to the ending, you might change your mind.”

Her eyes probed his, as though trying to see the denouement behind them. “I really don’t have a choice, do I?”

“No.”

“Okay. In the meantime, what do you think of my suggestion about Roark’s love life?”

“I repeat, Maris, give me time.”

She leaned forward eagerly. “You’ve already changed it, haven’t you? There’s more, isn’t there? Same girl?”

“Why don’t you have your navel pierced?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“If you’re going to wear hip-riding skirts and shirts that tie at the waist, why don’t you have—”

“I heard you.”

“Then why?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

“Too bad.”

“The thought of it gives me the willies.”

“A small loop. A tiny diamond stud. It’d be sexy. Er. Sexier.” His eyes moved up from her midsection to her face. “Those glimpses of your belly button are already a major turn-on.”

She squared her shoulders. “Parker, if we’re going to have a professional relationship, you cannot talk to me like that.”

“I can talk to you any damn way I please.”

She gave a stubborn shake of her head. “Not if you want to work with me, you can’t.”

“You’re free to go.”

But she stayed seated on the crate, as he’d known she would. As he’d hoped she would.

Thunder rumbled and rain pelted the roof, but the racket only emphasized the strained silence between them. Parker rolled his chair closer to her until his knees were only inches from hers. “What did you tell your husband?”

“About what?”

“Being here. I assume you called him.”

“I did. I left word that things were going well.”

“Left word?”

“With his secretary.”

“He doesn’t have a cell phone? See, he strikes me as the kind of guy who would have one of those damn things practically glued to his ear.”

“He was having lunch with the editor of our electronic publishing division. I didn’t want to interrupt them. I’ll call him later.”

“As you’re going to bed?”

“Possibly. What difference does it make?”

“I was just wondering if you’ll be wearing a nightie tonight. Or do you always sleep sans raiment like you did last night?”

“Parker—”

“What’ll you talk about?”

“None of your damn business.”

“That good, huh? Or that bad?”

She drew a deep breath and said tightly, “I’ll tell him that I’ve discovered an extremely talented writer who—”

“Please, I’m blushing.”

“Who is also the crudest, rudest, most obnoxious man I’ve ever met.”

He grinned. “Well, that would be the truth.” Then his smile gradually faded. Giving the wheels of his chair a small push, he rolled another inch or two nearer to her. “I bet you won’t tell him I kissed you,” he said in low voice. “I bet you omit that part.”

She stood up hastily, knocking the crate over backward. She tried going around him, but he moved equally fast and used his chair to block her path. “Get out of my way, Parker. I’m going back to the house now.”

“It’s raining.”

“I won’t melt.”

“Melt down, maybe. You’re angry. Or afraid.”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“Then sit back down.” When she failed to move, he motioned toward the door. “Fine. Go. Get drenched. Which will mean making explanations to Mike. It’ll get messy, but if that’s what you want…”

She glanced outside at the downpour, then reluctantly upturned the crate and resumed her seat on it, primly and looking pissed.

“Tell me how you met your husband, Maris.”

“Why?”

“I want to know.”

“What for?”

“Call it creative curiosity.”

“Call it nosiness.”

“You’re right. Euphemisms are a crutch. I’m nosy.”

Gauging her expression, he expected her to clam up and refuse to continue their conversation, but she folded her arms across her middle—no doubt to hide her navel—and said, “Noah came to work at Matherly Press. But long before that, I knew him by reputation as the brains behind a rival publishing house. When he joined us, I was thrilled at the opportunity to be working with him. Over time, however, I realized that my feelings ran much deeper than admiration for a colleague. I was in love with him.