“You need to eat, young lady. You’re a waif, and we don’t want you passing out on us,” she said.
I looked up at Jamie, who shrugged. “She’s right. Up to your room, young lady.”
Susan pulled me toward the door, and I turned and spoke over my shoulder. “Bye, Jamie. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“At least,” he said, grinning.
Walking toward the inn, I took the opportunity to drill Susan.
“Does Jamie ride a motorcycle?”
“No.”
“Is he in a band?”
“Not that I know of.”
“What about rodeo. Does he rodeo?”
She laughed. “Jamie does a great many things around the R.J. Lawson property. He is our resident jack-of-all-trades—you’ll see that for yourself over the next few days. And while I see you’ve picked up on some of his bad boy tendencies, he really is just a sweet, good ol’ boy.” Her smile flattened abruptly as she squared her small frame and looked me right in the eyes. “You should know that he’s like a son to me. He’s experienced great personal loss and betrayal by the people who were supposed to love him. He’s found a home and a family in this place. I hope you don’t come in here looking for some kind of story in all of this. Or maybe you’re looking for a fling? If so, you’re looking in the wrong place,” she said with a perfunctory smile.
“Whoa, Susan. Jamie seems like he can take care of himself,” I said. She shrugged. “Anyway, I was just curious. I have a boyfriend, by the way.”
“Who are you reminding of that fact?”
My eyes began to well up. She was putting me on the spot and embarrassing me, but I held back the tears. I was a professional.
“I’m looking for details for the article, that’s it. I’m supposed to be writing an article on R. J. Lawson and, well . . . you know how that interview went.” I said the last part with a huge lump in my throat.
“I’m sorry, Kate. He acted very inappropriately. That is not what we’re about here, and I’ve asked that he complete the interview via e-mail so you don’t have to go through that all over again on Thursday.”
“What? No! My whole reason for being here is to conduct the interview in person. I won’t get the answers I need if he can calculate all of his responses in an e-mail.”
She tilted her head to the side and then huffed. “That man has a very small role in the operations here.”
I pointed my finger up to the sky. “I knew it! It’s just his big, fat, stupid wallet, isn’t it? Everybody thinks he’s like this genius, but he probably just throws his money at everything.”
She took a deep breath. “I know where you’re headed, Kate. Look, the staff will show you around and let you in on how we run the winery, restaurant, and inn. It’s up to you what goes in that article, but I know by now you’ve heard that R.J. has veto power, so I hope you’ll think twice about how you approach your commentary.”
We entered the large, three-story bed-and-breakfast and went up a small flight of stairs to the first level. I held on to the fine, polished, wooden banister until we reached the landing. She handed me a key. “Your room is here. Your dinner should be up soon. I hope we can all start fresh tomorrow?”
“Yes. I’m looking forward to it,” I said sincerely. I’m going to get a story no matter what.
She smiled and headed down the stairs, shouting back, “You’ll get an itinerary under your door in the morning.”
Wow, an itinerary? This was one carefully organized operation.
I shut the door and leaned against it, surveying the room, then slowly made my way around. It was finely decorated in the same Arts and Crafts style as the lobby. Great taste. It had a Mission-style four-poster bed next to double doors leading out to a small balcony housing two captain’s chairs. The bathroom had a beautiful claw-foot tub, with gold fixtures and ornate tiles running along the walls, framing a porcelain pedestal sink. I collapsed into the feather bed covered in white fluffy pillows and an eyelet duvet and proceeded to type a text to Stephen.
Kate: I’m okay, not that you care.
Stephen: Do you realize how late it is here?
I’d really had a colossal mind-fuck of a day, but I was feeling feisty and decided to go for it.
Kate: Do you love me?
My phone rang instantly.
“What’s going on, sweetie?”
“Do you love me?”
“Of course.”
“Do you know where I’m at and what I’m doing?”
“You’re out of town on an assignment.”
“I’m not in the fucking Secret Service, Stephen. I told you where I was going, but of course you weren’t listening.”
“You’ve been distant.”
“Me?” I said in shock.
He sighed. “Ever since Rose died and you started having that dream, Kate—that bizarre fucking dream—and following that homeless dude around on the train like you worship him. I don’t get what’s going on with you. I wouldn’t blame you for losing your mind for a little while, but this has been going on for months.”
“I . . .”
“No, listen. We’re different, Kate; we always have been. Things have felt wrong for a long time.”
“Hold on. Are you beating me to the punch, you asshole?! You’re trying to break up with me first?”
“Listen . . .”