Chapter 9

Everything in Taylor went numb and her knees almost gave out. Mike’s eyes never left her face, as if he was daring her to say something. So she did.

“You son of a bitch,” she snapped, tossing a glance at Tom Levinson before storming from the room. “Excuse me.” She ran up the stairs and made her way to the kitchen to grab her satchel and was about to exit the room when she heard both men coming up behind her. Turning, she gave them an icy stare. “Is this some sort of joke?”

Tom stepped forward first. “Ms. Scott, there is no joke here. Mike Greene is actually Jonathan Wade. It’s his pen name. Surely you’re aware that authors use those.”

She gave him a disgusted look. “Of course I’m aware of that. But if that was the case, then why go through all the nonsense? Why not say who he is, let me come in here and get the interview, and go? Why did I have to be here for two weeks? Why did you have me believe I was going to be meeting two different people?” She wouldn’t even look at Mike at this point. She couldn’t. Betrayal made her feel sick.

Tom looked nervously from Taylor to Mike, unsure of how to answer her question. “Maybe I didn’t know if you could be trusted,” Mike said, his voice cold and unlike anything Taylor had heard from him all week.

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you,” she snapped. “I’m the one who can’t be trusted? I’m not the one who lied!”

“I don’t see it that way,” he said with a shrug.

“Really? You don’t see how you utterly misrepresented everything that’s happened since I arrived here?”

Tom stepped between them. “Why don’t we all sit down and have some lunch and discuss this calmly? I think you’ve both come a long way into this process, and it would benefit everyone to see it through to the end.”

She wanted to argue, or at least tell the lawyer to mind his own damn business. She wanted to yell and scream—not just at Mike, but at herself. How could she have been so blind? So naive? She was a journalist, for crying out loud! What did that say for her as a reporter? How could she move forward without second-guessing herself time and time again?

As much as Taylor wanted to flee, her curiosity got the better of her. She’d invested too much time and had to see this through. And as much as she’d resented Tom a moment ago, Taylor realized she was secretly glad for his presence. No doubt if it had been solely her and Mike, she’d be hurling insults and accusations, professionalism thrown out the window. The three of them sat down at the large kitchen table that was now laden with food, and it didn’t take a genius to know that Mike had done all of it—as he had since her arrival.

Silence stretched uncomfortably and her head began to spin as she tried to come to grips with what was going on. Glancing at Mike, she noted that his expression held a touch of contempt and she wanted to smack that look right off his face. How dare he play the injured party! For a full week, he’d led her to believe he was someone he wasn’t, and in the process, made her look like a fool. And worse, now she was forced to stay here and carry out this farce of an interview. If she didn’t, she’d be the laughingstock of the journalism world and probably be out of a job, too!

Deciding to be the more mature party at the table, she took her napkin and placed it in her lap. She looked at Mike, her gaze narrowing. “Are we officially going on the record as of now? Do I need to get my recorder?”

“Why don’t we try to get through lunch before the interview starts,” Tom answered for him.

It miffed her a bit, but she shrugged and helped herself to a fresh-baked roll and some salad. The two men waited for her to serve herself before doing the same, and she feared that lunch might go on in this state of hostile silence, when someone’s phone rang. “I’m afraid that’s mine,” Tom said as he stood. Taking his phone from his briefcase, he strode from the room.

“Was lunch necessary? Couldn’t we start the damn interview?”

Without missing a beat, Mike shrugged and took a forkful of pasta salad. “Everyone needs to eat, Taylor. I figured we might as well start with this so we could have the entire afternoon to work.”

“Oh, so we’re going to work? You’re going to do an interview?”

He looked at her as if he didn’t understand the question. “Of course I’m going to do the interview. Why would you think I wouldn’t?”

Now it was her turn to look at him as if she didn’t understand. “Seriously? You lied to me about who you are. That contract is kind of a joke now. For all I know, this was all some sort of game for you to get me up here and then take the interview away.”

“I wouldn’t do that, Taylor,” he said, his voice deadly serious. “I’m a man of my word.”

She rolled her eyes and was about to respond when Tom walked back into the room. “I’m so sorry, but I have a difficult client I need to deal with.” He quickly gathered his briefcase and belongings and looked at Taylor apologetically. “Thank you for signing the paperwork, and if you or your office have any questions, please feel free to call me.” He left and the front door closed with a final thud, leaving Taylor and Mike sitting alone in the kitchen.

Calculated.

Orchestrated.

Those two words played over and over in her head as she focused on her lunch and refused to say another word to Mike. If he thought she was going to be impressed with his secret identity, then he was wrong. If anything, it made her like him even less. When she’d had no idea who Jonathan Wade was, it was safe to consider him to be a man without faults, someone she could almost put on a pedestal. The reality was that Jonathan Wade was someone who’d lied to her, slept with her, and now was going to force her to stay in his presence when he knew she wanted nothing more than to leave.

She wanted to forget about the article.

They ate in silence and when they were done, worked together to clean up. Taylor cursed her stupidity—she wanted to make him do it himself but wasn’t that petty. Once everything was put away, Mike faced her. “Would you rather work in the office, or maybe in the living room?”

She didn’t want to be comfortable—and she certainly didn’t want him to be comfortable either. “The office,” she said simply and walked over to get her recorder and laptop before leaving the room.

Once they were downstairs, Mike took the seat behind his desk and watched as Taylor got herself situated in a chair facing him.

“Do you mind if I record this?” she asked, her tone cool, professional.

“Not at all,” he replied as he sat back in his seat.

Clearing her throat and opening her notepad, she tapped a pencil against it several times before speaking. “For the record, would you mind telling me your name?” She was grateful this wasn’t a video interview. “Your real name,” she prompted.

Meeting her stare, Mike reached across the desk and clicked the off button on her recorder. “Let’s clear the air before we begin, shall we?” he said, his voice strained.

“Please do.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “Since we both know exactly who I am and why I’m here, why don’t you go ahead?” She continued to tap her pencil lightly on her pad as she watched him, daring him to give her an argument.

Taylor noted the look of irritation on Mike’s face but wasn’t prepared for his quick action of stepping around the desk and taking the pencil out of her hand before snapping it in half, throwing the pieces across the room. The gloves were off; it was just a matter of who was going to throw the first punch.

Her first instinct was to yell and scream and tell him how rude she found him and how offensive his behavior had been. Instead, she reached down into her case and retrieved another pencil.

“If you tap that thing, Taylor, so help me…” he said, exasperated.

Hoping her heart—which was threatening to beat itself out of her chest—didn’t show, she feigned indifference and shrugged at him with a bored expression.

“I didn’t mean for things to go the way they did,” he said, taking a deep breath to get his temper under control. “I had planned on telling you when you arrived, but then you recognized me almost immediately and…hell, all that went out the window. I wanted time with you as me, Mike, not as Jonathan Wade.”

Taylor stared at him as he made his way back around the desk to sit down, not trusting her own voice to respond in any way.

“So many times over the years I thought about sitting and talking with you, getting reacquainted with you, but I never did. At first it was because of Eddie, but then afterward, when he married and moved away, I wanted to get my life together before I looked you up.” He ran a hand over his face and watched her for any sign of a response.

He received none.

“Anyway, as the week went on, I found I didn’t want to be Jonathan Wade with you. I didn’t want to share you with anyone. Even if the ‘anyone’ in question was my alter ego. It had been such a long time since I’d been out and relaxed with anyone like I was with you and I was enjoying myself too much to give it up.”

Still she said nothing.

“Then Tom reminded me I was playing a dangerous game. If the author part of me didn’t reveal himself and make an appearance, your magazine would have a field day with me for breach of contract.”

Now she’d had enough. “So, you’re telling me the only reason you decided to be honest here is because of the threat of a lawsuit?” Her voice was much louder than she’d intended. “Do I have that right?”

He nodded his head solemnly. “I’m so sorry, Taylor,” he said in a pleading tone. “I can’t believe how out of hand I let this get.”

Rising from her seat, Taylor began to pace his office, unsure of what she was supposed to be doing at this point. How could she possibly spend another week here and interview this man, knowing exactly who he was and what he’d done? Then again, how could she be the one to back out of such an important assignment? Wasn’t sometimes doing something you found distasteful part of being a professional?

She glared at Mike. How many times had she interviewed people she had no respect for just because it was newsworthy? Too many to count—but she hadn’t slept with any of them! It was a no-win situation and Taylor knew it. She was trapped. She had no choice but to figure out how to write this piece and live with this man for the next five days.

Thinking it through a little further, Taylor realized she’d have to pretend the last week had never happened and she was meeting Jonathan Wade—oh, how she was beginning to hate that name!—for the first time today. It wouldn’t be easy, but there was no other option for her.

Sitting back down and gathering her pad and pencil, she forced herself to look at him. “Fine,” she said coolly. “You’ve said your piece. I’d like us to start this process as if we’d never met before.” She saw the same hurt expression she’d seen in his eyes several days ago before he left her room. “It’s easier that way.” She saw his curt nod. “May I begin taping?” He nodded again.

Taylor began her interview as she had planned it. She couldn’t quite bring herself to meet his eyes but kept her professionalism in check, and for the next several hours, they spoke about his childhood up to when he went to work in the mailroom for a publishing house.

It was impressive the way he openly discussed his past, legal troubles and all. In her experience, most people chose to omit them, but she figured Mike had no choice but to discuss something she already knew. Whatever the reason, she was glad he was being honest.

When she decided they’d done enough for one day, she reached to turn off the recorder. “We’ll start up again tomorrow, if you don’t mind,” she said as she placed her belongings back into her case. “Would after lunch work for you?” There was no way she was going to try to sit through another meal with him, but she kept her tone neutral.

“That would be fine,” he said, his voice void of emotion.

“I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon, then.” With her belongings in hand, she walked to the office door and stopped for a moment, wanting to ask him something, but then thought better of it and left. She climbed the two flights of stairs up to her room with as much dignity as she could find. Chin up, spine straight, she walked. Once inside her room, however, she crumbled.

She turned on the shower, shedding her clothes and stepping in. The hot water scalded her skin, but the sound of it beating against the glass walls muffled her sobs. Betrayed again. Her mother had been right. Once you give your heart to someone—and she realized right then and there that she had given hers to Mike this last week, if not before—it was easily hurt.

Dragging in deep breaths, she sat on the tiled floor. Work would keep her busy and she would truly only have to spend a couple of hours a day with him before she could retreat to her room, but there was only so much time she could spend working. Hopefully, the piece could be completed and emailed to Victoria before she even left the farm.

Taylor’s pessimism taunted her to remember the last time that something had actually gone as she’d planned. Never, it seemed. With any luck, she might get out of this situation and actually survive it.

Right now, it didn’t feel like it.

* * *

Emerging from the shower some time later, her skin was red and her entire body hurt from the emotional cry she’d given in to. Rummaging through her clothes, she found a clean pair of jeans and a sweatshirt to throw on. It surprised Taylor to find that she was hungry.

After drying her hair, she decided to go into town for something to eat. Sure, it would damage her dwindling savings account, but it would be worth it not to chance sitting through an awkward meal with Mike.

After grabbing her purse, she headed down the stairs and out the door to her rental car. As she crossed the yard, she spotted Mike over by the barn and hoped he didn’t hear her leaving. No such luck. As Taylor unlocked the car door, Mike started to jog toward her. Gone was the professional-looking man from the interview—the farmhand was the man who came over.

“Where are you going?” he asked, concern creasing his brow.

“To town to grab something to eat,” she said casually as she climbed into the SUV, avoiding his gaze.

“Taylor, you don’t have to do that. I told you, the kitchen is fully—”

She held up a hand to stop him and then started the car. “I think I’ve taken advantage of Jonathan Wade’s hospitality enough, thank you.” She couldn’t help how she responded to him.

Mike took a step back and conceded defeat. He knew he had her anger coming and he deserved it. With nothing left he could do or say, he could only watch as she pulled away and drove through the trees and down the long driveway. Away from him.

There wasn’t a whole lot more to see or do in town that Taylor hadn’t already done, but it was still somewhat relaxing to wander around and window-shop. Stopping at a small café, she had a simple dinner that consisted of little more than a cup of soup and a salad. Sitting by the window, she watched people walk by and it reminded her of their weekend in Kennebunkport. Feeling disheartened, she forced down the last spoonful of soup, paid her tab, and left.

As Taylor exited the café, she spotted a small bookstore several doors down that they hadn’t stopped in before. It was nice to be inside the cozy yet cluttered space. There were floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, as well as many tables and tall racks of books from every genre. Most of the tables in the center dealt with local topics and she stopped to look through a few of them. A store like this was a treat to her and oddly refreshing.

Walking up and down the aisles, she spotted the section that was dedicated to Jonathan Wade. Without conscious thought, she picked up the latest one. It was the only title she hadn’t been able to get a copy of before leaving New York, and before she knew it, she had it tucked under her arm and was walking toward the front of the store. Along the way she picked up a couple of books on the area to help add a little more local flavor to her article. More receipts to add to her growing reimbursement pile.

Stepping outside with her purchases, she noticed the setting sun and the cooling temperature, and realized there was nothing else she wanted to do. With a sigh, she headed back to her car and resigned herself to going back to the farm, hoping to avoid seeing Mike.

The drive back was short and did nothing to ease her mind. Mentally, she began writing her story. It would be hard for her to write without being able to partake of her usual writing routine. She had become an unfortunate creature of habit and realized that maybe she was too rigid in the way she was living.

Stopping the car in the middle of the road less than a mile from the farm, Taylor had a thought. Did she have to do without her routine? If she had to, sure, but maybe she could improvise. Turning the car around, she made the quick drive back into town and picked up a bottle of wine. With a sense of purpose and a little less dread than she’d had thirty minutes ago, she began her journey back to the farm.

Back at the house, Taylor grabbed her books and her wine and went inside. Running up to her room, she changed into comfortable clothes, grabbed her iPod, and went down to the basement where Mike had a few stationary bikes. She could easily get a ride in and then come upstairs, have her glass of wine, and maybe find another picture to meditate on before sitting down with her laptop to write.

Her steps were light and bouncy as she went down the stairs. She noticed the door to Jonathan—no, Mike’s office was closed and Taylor hoped she wouldn’t be distracting him if he was working. Picking a bike, she set the timer for thirty minutes, placed her earbuds in her ears, and began listening to the day’s interview while she rode.

When the timer went off, she felt energized and invigorated. The story was already beginning to form in her mind and, although she didn’t get through much of the interview in the short amount of time, it was enough for her to figure out where she wanted to begin. Taking her towel off the handlebar, she wiped the sweat from her brow and turned to see Mike standing in his office doorway.

“Sorry if I disturbed you,” she said as she dismounted. “You said I could use the gym.” Her tone was defensive.

“You didn’t disturb me,” he said, his voice hoarse. He was watching her intensely, struck nearly speechless by the way her body shone with sweat and how her tank top clung to her breasts. He swallowed hard.

Seeing the direction of his gaze, Taylor picked up the sweatshirt she had discarded five minutes into her ride. “Excuse me,” she said as she gathered the rest of her things. “I have work to do.”

“Taylor, wait.” Walking across the room, he came to stand in front of her. “Are you going to keep ignoring me for the remainder of your time here?”

Honestly? She didn’t know. It was the easiest way to keep her heart intact, but she knew it wasn’t very professional of her. She wasn’t sure which one was more important. Her eyes searched his face, wanting desperately to reach out and touch it, kiss it, but she didn’t have the nerve. There was no way she could possibly open herself up to him again and risk him betraying her again. She could tell Mike was straining his own self-control not to touch her either.

Forcing herself to look away, Taylor whispered, “I have work to do.”

He didn’t stop her this time.

* * *

Taylor stopped in the kitchen on her way up to her room to grab a wineglass and a bottle of water. Once in her room she decided to change her routine and shower again. If nothing else, she would leave this trip being, perhaps, the cleanest person on the planet! Although this time, it wasn’t because she needed to cry or escape her feelings for Mike, but simply to wash the workout off of her.

Wrapped in her robe, she pulled out her laptop, set herself up at the desk Mike had supplied for her room, and poured her glass of wine. Once she got comfortable, the words seemed to write themselves. She was like a woman possessed. Jonathan Wade came to life on the pages, at least the first twenty-two years of his life did.

When she reached the end of the tape and finished interspersing tidbits of quotes and phrases from his library of work, Taylor stood and stretched. Drinking the last of her wine—well, the last of what she’d allowed herself to drink—she looked over at the bedside clock. It was after two in the morning! Padding across the room, she pulled on a pair of silk pajama pants and a tank top to sleep in.

As she pulled the comforter back and got ready to crawl between the sheets, she paused. Though she had just finished the wine, she had finished the bottle of water hours ago and was still thirsty. Taylor tiptoed down to the kitchen to get a glass of something cold to drink, pouring herself a glass of juice before quietly heading back toward the stairs.

“Done working?” came the familiar male voice out of the darkness.

Looking around, Taylor spotted Mike sitting in the darkness of the living room. The moonlight reflected off of the tumbler he held in his hand. She stood frozen at the bottom of the stairs. When she didn’t answer, he rose and lazily walked toward her.

“So? Are you finishing work or were you having trouble sleeping?” His voice was silky and seductive and Taylor wanted nothing more than to lean into him and feel his breath on her face, her throat, anywhere and everywhere on her body. Shaking her head to clear it, she cleared her throat.

“I just finished typing from today’s interview and needed something to drink before I went to sleep.”

He nodded. “I see.” His hand slowly came up to caress her face. Taylor gave in to the need to lean into it and inhaled deeply. She craved contact with this man like she did air. They stood like that for what seemed like an eternity. Taylor felt too tired to stand and had to move away, placing a hand on the railing.

“I…I, um, I need to go to sleep, Mike. I’ll see you after lunch.” She turned and walked up the stairs; he watched her go.

Crawling into the bed, she took one sip of her juice before placing it on the nightstand and turning out the light. Extreme fatigue—mental and physical—claimed her almost instantly.