Read Online The Queen of New Beginnings by Erica James - Free Book Online
Authors: Erica James
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James Montgomery had called to invite her to have lunch with him. Oh, yes! The girl was hot. Hot, hot, hot!
• • •
Downstairs, Clayton debated with himself what to do next. Challenge Katya the moment she finished cleaning upstairs—was Katya even her real name?—or wait and see just how much further she would take this charade?
Agitated, he paced the length of the room. Something strange was going here. But what exactly? Why would she pretend to be foreign, go to such lengths to conceal her true identity?
Then it hit him. And the thought chilled him to the bone. She was a journalist! She was pretending to be a Latvian cleaner just so that she could get some kind of a scoop on him.
Now it was his turn to close the door and talk in private. He called Glen. But Glen wasn’t answering his mobile.
What should he do? He raked his hands through his hair. Should he call the police? And say what? If he did get the police involved, it would come out who he was and then he’d have God only knew how many other journalists banging on the door. That was going to happen anyway. Whatever he did he was screwed. Either way—whether he challenged the girl or continued to play along—she was going to write a humiliating piece about him. That was a dead cert.
All he could be grateful for was that he had sussed her before she’d got anything out of him. As things stood, what did she have so far? That he was calling himself Mr. Shannon and was staying in a house in the middle of nowhere. It wasn’t much of a story, was it? But that could be worse for him. No story meant the newspaper would make one up.
One thing was for sure: he had to get rid of her. He would have to do it with good grace. He would have to say something like, “No hard feelings, but I’ve sussed what you’re up to; the show’s over. Please leave me alone.” If he displayed any kind of anger, he would be portrayed as unbalanced. A nut job.
Well guess what, right now, this very minute, he did feel unbalanced!
A knock at the door made him jump. He steadied himself with a deep breath, went to the door and opened it.
There she was staring back at him. As cool as you like. “I go for shopping now,” she said, hitching her bag onto her shoulder. “You have list? I see you have only little shampoo. You want me get you some?”
The sound of her fake bad English was too much. “No,” he said, “I don’t have a list for you and I don’t want any shampoo. But I’ll tell you what I do want, and that’s for you to go.”
“I sorry,” she said, a startled look on her face. “I no understand.”
“I think you understand all too well,” he replied, “so do us both a favour and drop the act. I know you’re no more from Latvia than I am.”
Her face blushed crimson and her gaze wavered. He could see the uncertainty in her eyes; she was weighing up how best to proceed. She readjusted the bag on her shoulder.
“Let me help you,” he said. “I know exactly what you’re really doing here. How about you just get your things and go? I’m sure you’re disappointed you haven’t got the story you hoped for, but I’m equally sure you’ll fill in the blanks where necessary. For the record, which newspaper are you from?”
“Newspaper?” she repeated, her gaze back on his again. “Why do you say that?” But at least she had dropped the fake accent.
“You know what? I’m surprising myself here at just how calm I’m being, but please don’t test my patience any further. I’ll ask you again: which newspaper do you write for?”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. I don’t write for a newspaper.”
“I’m using the term ‘write’ loosely. You put words one after the other and sometimes they even make sense. Sound familiar to you?”
“Um…look, this is getting a bit weird. Do you think we could sit down so I can apologize properly and try and explain why I did what I did?”
“An
• • •
Downstairs, Clayton debated with himself what to do next. Challenge Katya the moment she finished cleaning upstairs—was Katya even her real name?—or wait and see just how much further she would take this charade?
Agitated, he paced the length of the room. Something strange was going here. But what exactly? Why would she pretend to be foreign, go to such lengths to conceal her true identity?
Then it hit him. And the thought chilled him to the bone. She was a journalist! She was pretending to be a Latvian cleaner just so that she could get some kind of a scoop on him.
Now it was his turn to close the door and talk in private. He called Glen. But Glen wasn’t answering his mobile.
What should he do? He raked his hands through his hair. Should he call the police? And say what? If he did get the police involved, it would come out who he was and then he’d have God only knew how many other journalists banging on the door. That was going to happen anyway. Whatever he did he was screwed. Either way—whether he challenged the girl or continued to play along—she was going to write a humiliating piece about him. That was a dead cert.
All he could be grateful for was that he had sussed her before she’d got anything out of him. As things stood, what did she have so far? That he was calling himself Mr. Shannon and was staying in a house in the middle of nowhere. It wasn’t much of a story, was it? But that could be worse for him. No story meant the newspaper would make one up.
One thing was for sure: he had to get rid of her. He would have to do it with good grace. He would have to say something like, “No hard feelings, but I’ve sussed what you’re up to; the show’s over. Please leave me alone.” If he displayed any kind of anger, he would be portrayed as unbalanced. A nut job.
Well guess what, right now, this very minute, he did feel unbalanced!
A knock at the door made him jump. He steadied himself with a deep breath, went to the door and opened it.
There she was staring back at him. As cool as you like. “I go for shopping now,” she said, hitching her bag onto her shoulder. “You have list? I see you have only little shampoo. You want me get you some?”
The sound of her fake bad English was too much. “No,” he said, “I don’t have a list for you and I don’t want any shampoo. But I’ll tell you what I do want, and that’s for you to go.”
“I sorry,” she said, a startled look on her face. “I no understand.”
“I think you understand all too well,” he replied, “so do us both a favour and drop the act. I know you’re no more from Latvia than I am.”
Her face blushed crimson and her gaze wavered. He could see the uncertainty in her eyes; she was weighing up how best to proceed. She readjusted the bag on her shoulder.
“Let me help you,” he said. “I know exactly what you’re really doing here. How about you just get your things and go? I’m sure you’re disappointed you haven’t got the story you hoped for, but I’m equally sure you’ll fill in the blanks where necessary. For the record, which newspaper are you from?”
“Newspaper?” she repeated, her gaze back on his again. “Why do you say that?” But at least she had dropped the fake accent.
“You know what? I’m surprising myself here at just how calm I’m being, but please don’t test my patience any further. I’ll ask you again: which newspaper do you write for?”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. I don’t write for a newspaper.”
“I’m using the term ‘write’ loosely. You put words one after the other and sometimes they even make sense. Sound familiar to you?”
“Um…look, this is getting a bit weird. Do you think we could sit down so I can apologize properly and try and explain why I did what I did?”
“An
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