AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I can’t take that chance. Nothing can suggest this isn’t your house, including the bedrooms.”
She walked out. Still carrying his duffel, he followed.
“This isn’t right,” he said. “It’s your home.”
“For the next two days, it’s yours. I’m the maid.”
“What?” He stepped into her path. “No, Daphne. Absolutely not. If you want to stick around, you can be my girlfriend.”
“Can I?” Definite sarcasm there, and he heard his tone and inwardly winced. As Chris Ainsworth, though, he couldn’t let that show. He rolled his shoulders and leaned against the wall. “Sure. They’d buy it. Guy like Zane’s bound to have a girlfriend. Or three.” His lips twitched when he said it, but her look only darkened.
“No, Chris, I’m not playing part of Zane’s harem.”
“I was kidding. You and Zane would be exclusive. You’re a fellow writer he met online, both working on your novels, and you helped him with Edge.”
“I helped him?”
Chris adjusted his lean, warming to his subject. “Helped a lot. He couldn’t have done it without you. You’re like…”
“His muse?”
“Exactly. You’re smart and gorgeous and a great writer, and you inspire him—”
“I inspired him to write my book?” She stepped toward Chris. “Do you know how many men in history have taken credit for books written by their wives and girlfriends? I realize that I’m perpetuating that already, and I don’t feel good about it, but there is no way in hell I’m going to play your girlfriend, your muse, the wannabe writer gazing up at you adoringly, drinking in your every word, dreaming of someday being half as good as you.”
Daphne’s eyes blazed as she moved closer, and he swore he could feel the heat radiating off her. She looked magnificent, strumming with life, fiery and furious.
Furious with you, idiot. Stop mooning. Reverse course or you are going to be sleeping in that lake, possibly at the bottom of it.
“I—I see your point. I’m sor—” That’s not Ainsworth. He lifted one shoulder in a shrug while offering that most nonapologetic of apologies. “I’m sorry if you were offended. I just wanted to be sure you had a role.”
“I do have a role. Caretaker. I clean your house and cook your meals so you can write, and I will do so off camera, because we need to tread very carefully and pray no one I know watches the show and recognizes my house.”
Shit. He hadn’t thought of that. “Good point.”
“An excellent point, which is why I didn’t want…” She shook her head. “I’m playing caretaker because it makes sense. I’m not doing it to be pissy. Let’s just get through this interview, and then we’ll discuss long term how we want to handle the in-person obligations, so we’re on the same page. For now, settle in, maybe go for a walk. I’ll make dinner.”
CHRIS
A walk sounded like a fine plan. Get out of Daphne’s hair and explore her property. That would work so much better if he could get off the porch.
He looked down at Tika, standing in front of him, her fur bristling as she growled.
“I was given permission to leave,” he said. “In fact, right now, I think she’d rather I left.”
Tika just kept growling. Not forcing him back inside, he suspected, but warning him off the property entirely.
Dogs usually liked him. He’d spent the last decade dreaming of a house with a yard so he could get one again. The problem was that in Vancouver, unless you had a few million to spare, you weren’t getting a yard. He’d been looking at the suburbs, weighing his need for a yard and dog against the convenience of a commute he could bike in ten minutes.
Then came the thieving partner and the lawsuits. Now the lawsuit was being settled and his firm looked poised to survive the reversion to single-partner. All thanks to Nia. Well, Nia and Daphne, because without this job he might have been filing for bankruptcy. Now he was recovering his equilibrium and his business, plus he had the income from playing Zane Remington.
The income from playing Zane. Earned as Daphne’s employee. Not a partner in her business. Which meant he damned well shouldn’t be making business decisions for her, like accepting a film interview. Especially when that meant kicking her out of her bedroom for two nights and forcing her to play hostess. Worse? He hadn’t accepted because he truly thought her publisher wouldn’t take no for an answer. He accepted so he could spend time with her and prove himself.
Prove himself? Yeah, as the kind of guy who’d accept an interview on her behalf and then make her sleep in the guest room while playing caretaker to his cut-rate Ernest Hemingway.
“I screwed up,” he told Tika. “But I’m going to make it up to her. I’m giving the best damned interview ever, and then, afterward, I’m going to tell her the truth.”
And upon hearing that heartfelt confession, Tika curled her lip, clearly unimpressed.
