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Gretchen kept her too-fake smile pinned to her face. “I wanted to ask you about that. I’ve had a bit of a setback and need a few more weeks to hit my deadline. Is that going to be a problem?”
He frowned slightly, then shrugged. “I’ll run it past our boss and see what he says.”
Gretchen paused, surprised. He wasn’t making sense. “Our? What do you mean?”
The editor grinned. “I’m sure you can wrangle an extension out of him.” He gave her a lewd wink. “Just do what you do best.”
She took a step backward, appalled. “What are you talking about?”
“Hunter? It’s obvious you’re sleeping with him.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
For the first time, her editor looked puzzled. “Hunter’s the owner of Bellefleur Publishing. It was his idea for this project, and he insisted you work on it.”
Her jaw dropped. “I . . .” She paused, flabbergasted. She didn’t know what to say to that.
This new publisher that had requested her specifically . . . was set up by Hunter? Bellefleur? The floral name should have tipped her off, since he loved roses so much. The contract offered specifically to her with no logic behind it.
But why? It didn’t make sense.
She needed to talk to Hunter right away. Giving the editor a tight smile, she excused herself, wished him a good night, and then hurried back to the formal dining room, where she’d last seen Hunter.
He wasn’t there.
Heavy with dread, Gretchen calmly walked to the north wing and headed for Hunter’s rooms. She headed for his office and turned the doorknob.
It was locked.
He didn’t want her in there. Well, damn it, she wanted to talk to him. Gretchen knocked, hating how embarrassingly awkward it felt to wait for him to deign to let her in. All the while, she kept thinking about what the editor had said.
I’m sure you can wrangle an extension out of him.
She felt dirty at the thought. She knocked on the door, ignoring the twist in her gut.
A long, interminable moment passed before the door opened. Hunter glanced at her, his face rigid, and then turned away, walking back to the large desk in the center of his office. He hadn’t spoken a word to her.
Gretchen followed him in, unsure of how to begin the conversation. Apologize for Daphne’s behavior? Explain the sarcastic conversation he’d overheard between her and Kat that made her look bad?
But she kept coming back to something else, instead. “Why does my editor think that if I ask you for an extension, I’ll get one?”
Hunter looked up from his computer screen, then flicked his gaze away again as if she were unimportant. He began to type once more. “He has a big mouth. It seems to be a trend with our dinner guests.”
“Daphne’s not herself.” Gretchen moved toward his desk, wishing that he’d stop typing for just a minute and look at her, really look at her. “She’s under a conservatorship because she can’t seem to stay out of drugs and alcohol. Audrey’s spent half her life cleaning up Daphne’s messes.”
“I don’t give a shit about your sister,” Hunter said coldly. “Is that what you came in here to talk about? I’m busy.”
She flinched. “You overheard me talking to Kat, didn’t you? You can’t possibly think all that is true.”
“What part’s not true? You weren’t exactly refuting her claims.”
“I would never sleep with you just to get to your wallet. I’m a little hurt that you think I would.”
“What am I supposed to think, Gretchen? Your sister proclaims to our dinner party that you enjoy the company of men. Quite a few men, it seems.”
“So I was a little loose in my teenage years. So what?”
“And that you’re sleeping with an ugly man for money. And you don’t deny it.” He stopped typing and gave her an icy look. “And I find you having the exact same conversation with your agent, and again, you don’t deny it. Exactly what am I supposed to think?”
