the wedding.”
The sentiment may not help, but it was true. He’d been a couple months shy of making a huge mistake.
Jack laughed and squeezed her hand as his eyes refocused on hers. “There it is. The silver lining I’ve been searching for all morning. Thank you, love.”
Her phone rang before she had a chance to reply. She jogged to the couch where she’d tossed it earlier and checked the screen. Dad? Odd timing for him. She reentered the kitchen and excused herself to take the call. “Hi, Dad.” She added a pinch of inquiry to the greeting.
“Quinnie, my girl. When were you going to tell us you’d met someone?”
The gears turned but failed to catch. Her brows snapped together. “What?”
“The man in the picture. Blake called here at the most ungodly hour last night to tell me he’d come across a photograph of you online with some guy. Whatever happened to the nice fellow with the paper store?”
Quinn blew out her cheeks. Oh, man. “Nicholas. Um, Nicholas is fine. He’s doing great. The picture is nothing, really. They’re playing up the angle. The guy is a friend. He’s pretty well known here, and I’m some strange girl no one’s heard of. They’re making a big pile of manure where there isn’t even a cow.”
Jack quirked a brow in her direction. The hint of a smile played on his lips.
“Yeah, I can see you’re confusing people. They’re calling you a Mystery Woman. Unfortunately, that’s not going to be true for long.”
Quinn swallowed in an attempt to get her heart out of her throat. “Why not?”
Douglas coughed politely. “Upset people do irrational things. I intend to give the little prick a piece of my mind after I’m done with you.”
Blake. Like “little prick” could be anyone else. “What, Dad? What did he do?”
He explained and revealed the full depth of the nightmare. “Blake contacted the Web site and identified you. I’m sorry, Quinn. By this time tomorrow, the photograph will have a new heading. But maybe it’s not a bad thing. How’s your readership overseas?”
“My . . . Wait, what? You’re saying he — ”
“Told them you were Clementine Hazel? Yes. I am. He did.”
Her heart plummeted. It took her stomach, lungs, and other internal organs along for the ride. “I have to go.” She ended the call without hearing a word of his protest.
She took her turn staring at the saltshaker on the table until the view blurred from shock. “Blake. Oh, Blake. I’m going to kill you. I should’ve done it after the affair. No one would’ve blamed me.”
Jack leaned back and folded his arms. “What about the tosser?”
“He told them who I am after coming across the photo of us online.” When Jack didn’t seem appropriately scandalized, she clarified. “I’m nobody, obviously. But Clementine Hazel. . . .”
The light dawned across his features as he soaked in the implications.
She nodded. “I have a feeling we’re going to make the news again.”
A moment passed. “So, killing Blake. How do you want it done?”
Chapter 8
Q uinn was torn.
She wanted Jack to leave as much as she wanted him to stay. She craved alone time to come to terms with the consequences of Blake’s strange, asinine behavior. At the same time, she didn’t want to step away from the only person going through the same ordeal she was. They needed to stick together. They needed a game plan.
She needed a drink.
The smart thing would’ve been to kick him out, but he was Jack— her muse, her inspiration. She couldn’t ask him to leave any more than Quentin Tarantino would turn away Uma Thurman.
She excused herself from their sad little huddle to put on real clothes. She traded the lavender velour bottoms for a pair of holey jeans and finger-combed her hair into a messy bun on the top of her head. She’d given up on ever finding her brush.
She returned to the kitchen to find Jack half-hidden behind the pantry door as he rummaged through her shelves.
He peeked around the
The sentiment may not help, but it was true. He’d been a couple months shy of making a huge mistake.
Jack laughed and squeezed her hand as his eyes refocused on hers. “There it is. The silver lining I’ve been searching for all morning. Thank you, love.”
Her phone rang before she had a chance to reply. She jogged to the couch where she’d tossed it earlier and checked the screen. Dad? Odd timing for him. She reentered the kitchen and excused herself to take the call. “Hi, Dad.” She added a pinch of inquiry to the greeting.
“Quinnie, my girl. When were you going to tell us you’d met someone?”
The gears turned but failed to catch. Her brows snapped together. “What?”
“The man in the picture. Blake called here at the most ungodly hour last night to tell me he’d come across a photograph of you online with some guy. Whatever happened to the nice fellow with the paper store?”
Quinn blew out her cheeks. Oh, man. “Nicholas. Um, Nicholas is fine. He’s doing great. The picture is nothing, really. They’re playing up the angle. The guy is a friend. He’s pretty well known here, and I’m some strange girl no one’s heard of. They’re making a big pile of manure where there isn’t even a cow.”
Jack quirked a brow in her direction. The hint of a smile played on his lips.
“Yeah, I can see you’re confusing people. They’re calling you a Mystery Woman. Unfortunately, that’s not going to be true for long.”
Quinn swallowed in an attempt to get her heart out of her throat. “Why not?”
Douglas coughed politely. “Upset people do irrational things. I intend to give the little prick a piece of my mind after I’m done with you.”
Blake. Like “little prick” could be anyone else. “What, Dad? What did he do?”
He explained and revealed the full depth of the nightmare. “Blake contacted the Web site and identified you. I’m sorry, Quinn. By this time tomorrow, the photograph will have a new heading. But maybe it’s not a bad thing. How’s your readership overseas?”
“My . . . Wait, what? You’re saying he — ”
“Told them you were Clementine Hazel? Yes. I am. He did.”
Her heart plummeted. It took her stomach, lungs, and other internal organs along for the ride. “I have to go.” She ended the call without hearing a word of his protest.
She took her turn staring at the saltshaker on the table until the view blurred from shock. “Blake. Oh, Blake. I’m going to kill you. I should’ve done it after the affair. No one would’ve blamed me.”
Jack leaned back and folded his arms. “What about the tosser?”
“He told them who I am after coming across the photo of us online.” When Jack didn’t seem appropriately scandalized, she clarified. “I’m nobody, obviously. But Clementine Hazel. . . .”
The light dawned across his features as he soaked in the implications.
She nodded. “I have a feeling we’re going to make the news again.”
A moment passed. “So, killing Blake. How do you want it done?”
Chapter 8
Q uinn was torn.
She wanted Jack to leave as much as she wanted him to stay. She craved alone time to come to terms with the consequences of Blake’s strange, asinine behavior. At the same time, she didn’t want to step away from the only person going through the same ordeal she was. They needed to stick together. They needed a game plan.
She needed a drink.
The smart thing would’ve been to kick him out, but he was Jack— her muse, her inspiration. She couldn’t ask him to leave any more than Quentin Tarantino would turn away Uma Thurman.
She excused herself from their sad little huddle to put on real clothes. She traded the lavender velour bottoms for a pair of holey jeans and finger-combed her hair into a messy bun on the top of her head. She’d given up on ever finding her brush.
She returned to the kitchen to find Jack half-hidden behind the pantry door as he rummaged through her shelves.
He peeked around the
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