Through The Leaded Glass (38 page)

At least, that was the thought. And Todd here
was her ticket to both ends. Her employer to handle the
cooking-money end of things and the inspiration for her romance
hero for the literary-money. She could learn what made him tick,
what had made his relationship work, his emotions for his wife, see
what it was about him that made him worthy of being loved and,
voila
! instant romance hero.

Not that she’d tell him. There were limits to
what people would put up with and, because of his reticence with
publicity since his wife died, she was putting hero-inspiration
into that category. If he didn’t go for PR to talk about
his
career, he certainly wouldn’t want to go for it for
hers.

“
Hello in there?” Todd tapped the
table.

Oops
. “Sorry.” A blush blazed its way
upward, warming her skin. “Um, well, I can whip up pretty much
anything you want. What do you have in mind?”

The phone trilled yet again, but Todd ignored
it and shrugged. “I’m not really much of a big eater these days.
Feel free to try out whatever you want to keep yourself
entertained. I usually give most of it to the Grays
anyway.”

“
Grays?”

“
Jasmine and Earl. An older couple
who’ve been with us—me—for years. Earl takes care of the outside of
the house and Jasmine the inside.”

So why exactly was Jolie here collecting an
exorbitant salary? He had a housekeeper, a gardener, and an
answering machine, all with only one person living in the
house.

She didn’t mind earning an honest living, but
this was starting to feel like a handout. To her. And she didn’t do
charity.

Unless… it was the company he was paying for?
Someone to be here all day?

Hmm. That was understandable, given the
circumstances, but still… Didn’t he have family?
Friends?

“
Not very talkative are
you?”

Her
? “Oh. Sorry. Just thinking what’s
for dinner.” She was not about to call his bluff. She knew
all
about keeping up appearances that everything was going
along swimmingly in one’s life. If he wanted to pretend, far be it
from her to call him on it.

“
Come up with anything?”

“
I haven’t made up my mind yet.
I’ll have to go food shopping and see what strikes my
fancy.”

The phone rang again. What was with these
people?

Todd glanced toward the den, home of the
(obviously) super-large-capacity answering machine. He set his fork
down, then wiped his mouth with the cotton napkin.

Nice manners. Nice mouth, too.

She shouldn’t be noticing things like
that.

“
I’ll drive you in. I’ve got to
stop by my offi—my brother’s office and take care of a few
things.”

Nice recovery, but she saw that grimace.
Self-deception must be the order of the day.

“
That’s okay. I’ve got my
car.”

“
No sense wasting gas. I’ll take
you.” He leaned his forearms on the edge of the table and turned
those emerald eyes on her. “So, Jolie Gardener, how’d you end up in
my kitchen?”

She shrugged, going for nonchalant. “Same way
everyone else did. I applied at the agency, put the car in gear,
and here I am.”

“
No. What I meant was, how did you
end up in cooking? And are you always this literal?”

She laughed. He
got
her. “Hey, that
didn’t take you long. Good job.”

“
What are you talking
about?”

She scooched closer to the table and plopped
her chin in her hand. “Well, it’s this test I do. To see how we’ll
get along. If it takes someone too long to get me, it’s going to be
a long assignment. And I don’t mean in terms of time. But if
people, you for instance, get me—my humor—I can tell we’re going to
work well together.”

“
Ah,” he nodded, “getting it” all
the more. “The litmus test of contractee and contractor. I like
it.” He pushed his plate aside. “So, what happens if your client
doesn’t ‘get’ you? Do you ask to be reassigned or do you just stick
it out?”

“
I never quit.”

“
Never?”

“
Never.” If she’d ever let quitting
worm its way into her vocabulary she would’ve been one of those
statistics on the news every night.

“
Sometimes quitting is a good
thing.”

His voice was barely out of whisper range, but
she heard it. Heard the words and beneath them too.

But at least he’d said them.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out why he’d
stopped painting, but maybe those words were a sign he was on the
road to recovery. Perhaps that’s what her exorbitant salary was all
about: having someone with him all day and so he could find some
way to open up. Come back to the world of the living.

Paint again.

Oh, if she could somehow help him regain the
will to pick up a paintbrush, it’d be worth a shot, because for
Todd Best to give up painting was like Michelangelo putting clothes
on the statue of David.

Yep, she was back to nudity again.

“
Um, well, okay, I’ll definitely
take that ride, if you’re still offering.” Inane chatter (or
graciously accepting an offer) was a good way to get her mind off
nudity—his, David’s, or otherwise. “But it’s not going to be a
quick run. I’ll need to meander around the store. An hour at least,
maybe more. Or I could just have the stuff delivered and grab a cab
if you want to leave before me. If not, I hope your car has a good
trunk ‘cause I tend to splurge the first time in a new kitchen. To
make sure I’ve got all the necessities. Okay with you?”

He had a really cute, little quirky look
going. Like she was speaking some foreign language he knew a little
of and he was trying to conjugate the verbs.

“
Aren’t you exhausted yet?” he
asked.

“
Huh?”

“
Well, if your mouth is moving that
fast, I can only imagine your brain has to work twice as hard to
coordinate all those thoughts.”

His smile had taken the sting from his words,
but still, they rankled. Yes, she was a talker. Sometimes it was
scads better than silence. Or her thoughts.

“
You’d be amazed.” She stood to
clear the table but Todd beat her to it, picking up his plate and
heading to the sink.

Boy, was he tall. She wasn’t used to feeling
dwarfed around guys, since five-ten was no slouch in the height
department, but with him…

It was such a screaming shame that the guy had
pretty much every attribute in tall, dark, and gorgeous one could
want. Except the dark part was dark blond. But it’d do. If she were
wanting.

Which she most definitely was not. She’d
learned her lesson. Falling for the guy who paid her salary—and
greeted her naked—was not a good idea. Not to mention, a sure-fire
way to disrupt the fictional exposé of his life she was working on,
thereby derailing the perfectly planned path her life was about to
take.

The phone rang again. Jolie glanced at it with
raised eyebrows. “Are you sure you don’t want me to answer
that?”

Todd’s steps faltered.
Not again
. He
ran a hand through his hair again. He wasn’t ready to deal with
this. Not yet.

Not today.

Fuck it. He tossed his plate into the sink,
half-hoping to hear it shatter. At least it’d give him something to
focus on instead of the goddamned phone.

“
I’m sure. Let’s go, Jolie. I’ll
take care of the dishes when we get back.”

“
Um, well, okay. If you’re sure. I
mean, it is my job—”

“
And it’s my house. Dishes can
sit.”

He held out a hand to her. The faster they got
out of here, the faster he didn’t have to deal.

Then the doorbell chimed. Now what? He dropped
his hand and spun on his heel toward the foyer. “I’ll get this
while you hang up your apron and get your purse.”

He yanked on the brass handle, then
immediately tried to shut the door when he saw who was on the other
side, but Lizette was quick.

Too quick, dammit.

The news anchorwoman shoved a microphone in
his face and her foot in the door, the cameraman’s red light
blinking like a distress signal behind her.

“
Mr. Best, if you could give our
viewers an idea of what today means—”

“
No comment. All publicity is to go
through the office.” He stepped out of the line of filming and
tried to maneuver her foot back through the door. He didn’t want to
do bodily harm, but he could be persuaded to change his
mind.

“
They gave me the same
response.”

“
Then that’s your answer. No
comment.” He closed the door enough to trap her foot and let her
know he meant business. Luckily, she knew when enough was enough
and retreated.

He shut the door, sliding the deadbolt home,
then rested his head against the doorframe.

The phone rang again.

He was going to lose it. His stomach was
churning, acid backing up into his throat. He wanted to scream,
beat his head against the mahogany door, rip down walls…something.
Anything to end this charade of normalcy that he was barely hanging
on to.

He should have bought a new bottle of Beam
last night, not just pulled out the remnants of another night’s
misery. He could’ve spent the day in a stupor, fading in and out on
his sofa, and letting this whole fucking day just pass him
by.

“
Are you okay?”

Jolie.

He sighed. He’d forgotten she was
here.

He cleared his throat and pushed off the door,
turning to face her. The phone rang again.

He had to get out of the house. “Yeah, I’m all
right.” He took another breath. He would be all right; that was the
sad irony of it. “How do you feel about a duck and run?”

“
Duck and run?”

“
My car’s inside the garage. You’re
going to want to duck your head to avoid making tonight’s
news.”

“
I am?”

Poor thing was looking at him like a deer in
the headlights. Or maybe like a sane person staring at a crazy one.
He grabbed her hand and headed toward the garage door. “You are. Or
you’ll find yourself the object of intense media scrutiny. That
reporter, and others like her, will hound you for information about
me.”

“
What could I possibly tell
them?”

Exactly
.

He stopped, his grip tightening as she swung
around to face him. His fingers clenched around hers. “Nothing,
Jolie. You’re to tell them absolutely nothing. No matter how much
anyone offers you for my life story these days, or any snippets
about how I live, don’t tell them a damn thing.” He opened the
garage door.

“
The last thing I need or want is
for my life to be an open book.”

About the Author

Judi Fennell has had her nose in a book and
her head in some celestial realm all her life, including those
early years when her mom would exhort her to “get outside!” instead
of watching
Bewitched
or
I Dream of Jeannie
on
television. So she did—right into Dad’s hammock with her Nancy Drew
books.

These days she’s more likely to have her nose
in her laptop and her head (and the rest of her) at a favorite
writing spot, but she’s still reading either her latest manuscript
or friends’ books.

PRISM and Golden Leaf Award winner, and
best-selling author, Judi is the author of tongue-in-cheek,
light-hearted romantic comedies.

Check out her website at
www.JudiFennell.com
for
excerpts, deleted scenes, reviews, and contests, as well as the
chance to dive into a whole new world!

Other books by Judi
Fennell:

The Tritone Trilogy

In Over Her Head

Wild Blue Under

Catch of a Lifetime