Time Spell (4 page)

U
GH!
I had complete imagination block. I couldn’t decide where to go or even what kind of story I wanted to research. I had hopped all over the past century and hadn’t seen anything or anyone interesting yet. I flipped through a stack of mail that had been sitting on my desk for a week and then scanned a few more emails.

It had been six weeks since my trip to New York, and I felt the pressure from Raven Publishing to hand in at least some concrete new material. I had bought myself time with the success of
Vegas Star
, but I had also bought myself a whole lot of high expectations from some important people.

Cooper whimpered and laid his head in my lap. Oh, those sad, brown doggy eyes got me every time.

“You know, you’re right, Coop. We need to get out of here and go for a walk.”

I grabbed his leash and we hit the pavement. His nose had picked up the trail of something highly potent in his world, probably a pesky cat. I picked up the pace and jogged after him.

My phone rang a few times before I glanced down to see Jack’s name on the screen. I inhaled, tried to calm the quick rush of adrenaline surging through my body, and answered as sweetly as possible, “Hey, Jack, I’m out with Cooper. Can I give you a call back later?”

Jack Coleman is my unrelenting, but oh-so-attractive editor. I’ve flirted with the idea of an “us” for the past two years, but he never made a move or even hinted that he wanted to ask me out. Yes, I realized it could be completely disastrous to date the one person I completely surrendered to creatively and professionally, but I don’t think I even have a chance.

The last time I asked him to meet me for coffee to talk about new storylines, he all but barked out a
no
and asked me to talk to his assistant about scheduling an office meeting instead.

I’ve taken his hints to heart and have decided to follow the path of the professional high road and leave our contact to a business-only relationship. Even so, it doesn’t stop a girl from some serious daydreaming.

I couldn’t conjure up a more perfect image of Mr. Tall Dark and Ruggedly Handsome for my books. Jack easily stood over six feet tall, had a square jawline, with the slightest dimple in his chin, dark brown eyes, and sun-tinted brown hair that sometimes was a little too overdue for a haircut. He wore his five o’clock shadow well and looked edible in every button-up shirt he wore to the office. My mind tripped over a quick flash of him buried in pages of my manuscript. He sometimes gave me this look when he read something of mine that clicked and registered a deeper meaning for him. He understood my writing and me.

I wasn’t expecting the reaction I got on the other end of the call. His response was jolted me out of my tiny daydreaming session.

“Ivy, this is urgent. Can you meet me in fifteen minutes, sooner if you can? It can’t wait.” I heard an exhale muffled into the receiver of his phone.

“Sure, sure. I’ll be there in fifteen.” I hoped that was quick enough for him. He seemed serious.

I frowned at Cooper, knowing it would be awhile before we’d get to reschedule our walk. Cooper’s nose was still on the trail and was not ready to be dissuaded from his pursuit of that cat.

“I don’t want to meet at the office. Can you come to my place? It’s on the corner of Market and Corinth Avenue. It’s a brick ranch—one story, 1207 Cor—”

I interrupted, “Oh yeah, I know where it is.”
Great.
I smacked my forehead, cringing at how I had let that slip. Now he knows I’ve done extracurricular research on more than Las Vegas diamond thieves.

“Um.” An awkward silence followed. “Ivy, just get over here and I’ll explain or I’m hoping
you
will.” He hung up and I looked down at the dark screen in my hand.

This entire call was weird. He always wanted to meet in the office and usually scheduled our meetings with extensive advanced planning. For a moment, I let the idea skip through my mind that maybe this wasn’t a meeting about publishing dates or pressure from the board for new material; maybe it was more personal. Although as quickly as it skipped in, I pushed the idea right back out. This was Jack, and he barely smiled at me—of course the call was business-related.

I looked at my running shoes and legs, and decided it wasn’t a bad idea to change out of my yoga pants. I could spare five minutes for a wardrobe switch and make it to his house on time.

I corralled Cooper in the house and made a dash for my closet. For the most part, I revel in how normal I can be and blend into the world like a regular girl, but there are times when magic is necessary for a quick fashion crisis. This was most definitely one of those times.

In college, I always had to do things the slow human way so my roommates wouldn’t notice my skills. The discovery that I was a witch would only lead to questions or fear. I didn’t want either. I enjoyed my current solitude in the little bungalow on Southern Avenue, and the freedom it gave me to spell away whenever the occasion arose such as this one, when these yoga pants had to go.

A quick glance over my shoulder in the foyer mirror told me I’d found the right blend of cute, casual, and sexy for an impromptu meeting with my off-limits boss. I’m glad I had discovered Francesca’s Boutique for outfits like this one. I snuck in as many shopping trips as I could between work travel, and the girls at Francesca’s had started pulling things from the racks for me in my size. Being a mini-celebrity had its perks. The girl in the mirror smiled back at me. I loved my perfected
Glamour Spell
. I grabbed my keys off the hook and rushed to meet Jack.

He lived in an older part of town where I envisioned summers filled with children dashing through yard sprinklers, Christmas wreaths hung on every door during the holidays, and neighbors waving at each other on their sunset strolls down the sidewalk. The problem with the vision was that all of that had happened thirty years ago, and now the houses were unkempt, lonely, and laughter-free. Tall oaks towered over the streets and yards filled with memories of what used to be.

I pulled up behind Jack’s Jeep parked in his gravel drive and noticed fishing poles hanging out of the back window. I didn’t know much about what Jack did when he wasn’t working at the office or hounding me for rewrites, but I guessed he spent a lot of time outside. Even in cold winter months, he still looked tan and he was always in shape. During our meetings, I couldn’t help but notice how his buttoned-up shirts lightly clung to his arms. Obviously, the man worked out a lot. I waited for the song to fade out on the radio before I pulled the keys from the ignition.

The house looked dark and the shutters were closed. If he hadn’t just asked for this meeting, I would guess Jack wasn’t home.

My witchy instincts started to tingle. I relied on my instincts like birds trusted their feathers to help them fly. It was as if a string tugged on my senses, alerting me to a change in the energy. Usually, it wasn’t a good change. Sometimes it felt like my nerves were on fire trying to sort through the awareness.

I surveyed the surrounding houses. Jack’s square yard was manicured, but there were no flowers or pots to greet guests. I wondered if he had guests, especially female guests. I felt my eyes narrow at the thought.
Geez, Ivy, this is a business meeting
. I calmed my unnecessary pangs of jealousy.

It was the beginning of spring in Sullen’s Grove, but chilly winter evenings were hesitant to retreat. Smoke curled from the chimney. I straightened my cream-colored jacket and pulled the low V-neckline of my T-shirt down so it was at just the right dip. I was especially pleased I had bought these leather boots as I swung my legs out of the car and hit the gravel. My jeans were the right amount of snug, I thought, as I pushed my phone into my back pocket.

I scanned the desolate street again. It was hard to ignore the witchy tingle. It was getting stronger, but before I could ring the doorbell, the door jerked open just enough for an arm to reach toward the porch, grab hold, and pull me into a dark hallway.

As my eyes adjusted to the lack of light, my nose inhaled an aroma mixed with the faint scent of leather, bourbon, and Jack’s cologne. My mind flashed forward to what it would be like to spend time in this house with Jack and to smell that wonderful Jack-smell every day, but I snapped-to in a blink when I heard his voice.

His hand gripped around my upper arm, cutting off the circulation from my shoulder. My heart raced and my breath quickened as he leaned closer. I searched his eyes for an explanation, but all I saw was fear.

“Ivy, I need to know who you are. It’s time you tell me the truth about you and your books, and you don’t have much time.”

I
REFUSED
to blink or to turn away from his radiating glare. Maybe it was the crispness in his voice, or the death grip he had on my arm, but my legs locked in rebellion.

“What is going on?” I tried to wriggle from his hold, but with a fierce grip on my arm, he pulled me toward the living room. If the circumstances had been anything but this, I would have oohed and awed over the book-covered walls and the stone-stacked fireplace complete with a glowing fire. I had imagined so many times what the inside of Jack’s house would look like and the image always held piles of books, scattered manuscripts, and this same fireplace. There was no doubt this wasn’t playing out like my daydreams.

Lying across the coffee table was a manila package with a handwritten note perched on top. I couldn’t quite make out what was scribbled on the paper.

“Ivy, you need to tell me what’s going on. Who are you?” His tone had softened, but his eyes had not. He released my arm.

“Why don’t
you
tell me what’s going on? What are you talking about?” I massaged my arm where his hand had been. I had never seen him like this before. I guessed we were skipping the usual pleasantries today. “Why are you acting like this? Did we get some bad press about
Vegas Star
or my new book? Because if that’s it, just tell everyone I’m working on it. Really, I’m working on trying to put something together. It’s only been a few weeks, and I just can’t turn out books like a news article. It takes time. You know that.” I kept rambling, not knowing what was happening. Why was he looking at me like I was sprouting horns?

Unsure if I should sit or stand, I opted to sit, hoping it would lessen my fidgeting tendencies. I nestled myself in the closest chair I could find and looked at my riding boots. I felt silly for worrying about impressing Jack with a new outfit. Obviously, he wasn’t going there.

“What is it? What is so serious that we couldn’t meet at the office?” I huffed.

That should put him in his place. He was always concerned about our professional relationship; I just turned this right back on him.

The creeping realization that this was not a business meeting was impossible to ignore. My witchy instincts were on high alert with every passing second. Nothing about this was normal.

He paced toward the fire and propped both hands on his hips. He ran his hands through his hair and turned to face me. His five o’clock shadow was dark enough to cover the soft cleft on his chin. It gave him a simultaneous rough and sexy look.