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Jack shrugged. “Go ahead, Miss Ella. I’m all ears.” He knew she wouldn’t stop until she said her piece, she’d been like that from the day he moved in.
“I know you think I’m just some strange old lady with no family or friends, and well, you’d be right about that. I’m coming up on eighty years, and I’m alone. My son hasn’t talked to me in nearly twenty-five years. I have a great grandchild, a little boy who I’ve never met.”
Miss Ella stared down at the half eaten apple in her hands, and Jack noticed that they were trembling. He watched her closely, unsure of what the hell was happening. First off he had no idea she had a son, and secondly, he’d never seen this side of her. She’d been a pain in his butt for years now, but they’d never had a conversation like this.
“I wasn’t always this way,” she said slowly. She glanced up at him, her faded blue eyes glassy. “Everyone has a story, James. Mine’s pretty much done but you have so much time.” Her voice trailed off leaving only silence.
“Miss Ella,” he said gently.
But again she ignored him.
“Do you love that there Donovan James?”
Like a wash of cold water, any empathy he felt fled as soon as he heard her name.
“No.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Jack was done. “This is going to sound harsh Miss Ella, but I don’t particularly care whether you believe me or not.”
“I guess that’s your prerogative,” she said walking over to sink and tossing her apple core into the trash. She mumbled something under her breath, grabbed the rose from her hair and tossed it into the garbage as well.
“Everyone has a story,” she said once more. “Sometimes we need to listen for the words. We need to hear them even if they’re unspoken.” She was quiet for a few moments and then squared her shoulders, before pointing at Coco. “I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your dog out of my gardens.”
She slipped past him, and a few moments later he heard the back door squeak shut.
What. The. Hell. She really was the weirdest old lady he’d ever known.
Jack frowned and reached for the scotch. He planned on finishing the entire bottle, because it was that damned good. It would help him sleep. His PA had him booked on an early flight to New York where Donovan was scheduled to perform on one of the late night shows.
She had no idea he was coming after her. And no it wasn’t about love. It was about retribution. Payback. Balance. There was no love involved. That was long gone. Dead and buried. Lust did not equate love.
He took another sip of scotch and stared into the amber liquid, swirling it around slowly.
That was his story. He had no idea how it was going to end, but he was guessing he was going to find out.
Chapter Twelve
* * *
“And now, let’s talk about your personal life.”
Donovan kept her fake smile in place as she gazed up at the man behind the desk. Not hard to do—she’d been practicing it for years now. She was in a studio taping a segment for Later Tonight with Hugh Dexler, and the ten minute segment was the longest one she’d done in ages. The guy was funny as hell, but he wasn’t following the damn script. She’d made it more than clear that she wasn’t talking about her personal life. This appearance was all about promoting an independent film she’d written music for.
Note to self. Never agree to appear on Hugh’s show again.
Maverick Simon was off stage, and he smiled, giving her the thumbs up because he knew that if she could jump over the desk and strangle Hugh Dexler, she would.
Damn Simons. She couldn’t cut them out of her life if she wanted to. This project was Maverick’s baby, one he was working on with his cousin Beau, and she hadn’t been able to refuse him when he’d asked her to write some music for it. In fact, the songs she’d written for this particular project had pretty much gotten her through the last twelve months.
In a year that had been chaotic at best, this one thing had been her salvation. The fact that the ride was over was unsettling.
And Donovan hated that feeling. She liked to know what was coming around the bend, which was why the whole thing with Jack was so screwed up.
He was a roadblock she couldn’t tangle with.
Shit. Focus.
