Chapter Thirty

 

Linda had to admit that he had surprised her by showing up. The second time in two days, now, that he'd done it. He should've kept himself to himself. Both times. But even though she was supposed to be immune to surprises, she'd been getting them fairly consistently since Thursday and it was starting to look like a problem.

"Is this absolutely necessary, Tom?"

He smiles and rubs his three-day growth of beard. "I wonder."

Linda stared for a long time. If it wasn't, then move on. If it was, then get along with it.

"Well, I can see you're not leaving. You want me to flag the waitress down and have her get you something?"

"That would be lovely, thank you."

Linda turned just in time to see the young woman, neon-red hair pulled back into a ponytail, walk out with the look of someone who didn't want to be there. As midnight approached, Linda couldn't blame her. She raised her hand in a half-wave and smiled when the girl nodded at her.

"What's this about? I've still got work to do if this is a social call."

"No, it's about work," he says. Still being evasive. Linda doesn't like it, but she doesn't say anything, just turns her head down and takes a deep drink of water. "You're worried about your fling with Adam getting out."

The point of her pen hovered dangerously close to the paper, threatening to start writing at any moment. Just as soon as she had something to put down. Instead, she rapped the butt of it against the pad, as if it would help to jar the ink free.

"What's your point?"

Tom leans back as the waitress comes up. She reminds Linda immediately of every teenager that she's ever met. There's a bittersweet charm to it; good and bad memories that mingle easily in her mind. "Is everything alright?"

Tom speaks up with his throaty growl. "I'll have a cup of coffee and a plate of french fries."

"Is this a separate check?" The girl's eyes flit from Tom to Linda and back.

"Yes," Linda answers without looking up. The girl walks away without writing anything on her pad, and Tom leans in almost in exact time with it.

"Well, I've been giving your little problem some thought."

"How kind of you." Linda taps her pen again, sitting back but not looking up from her pad. "I'm still not seeing how this is your business."

"I suppose I'm just a good friend," Tom answers, smiling. "Do you think of me as your friend, Linda?"

"No," she answers. Finally she looks up. "I think you're in this for yourself. I think you always are."

"Aren't we all?"

"Oh, I'm not judging you, Tom. You're good at what you do. But I don't believe you're in it for friendship, or for the money, or even to build a reputation. I think you do what you want to do, and when you get tired of doing the job, I think you'll move on."

Tom's lips pinch together, but he can't hide the upward curl at the edge of his mouth.

"Oh, Linda, I didn't know you cared."

She smiles back at him. It slips an instant later back to a sour expression. "What's this got to do with anything? What do you have up your sleeve?"

"I have your solution, Lind. I have the way you get out of the accusation that you're sleeping with Adam. He won't admit it, not if you tell him to keep quiet about it. He's a good guy like that."

"But that doesn't stop rumors from cropping up."

"No, you're right. It doesn't, especially when the rumors are true."

"So there's more to your plan than 'ask nicely,' I assume."

"Damn right there is," he agrees. The redhead sets down a thick ceramic mug filled with brown liquid that smells vaguely like coffee. Tom adds a heaping spoonful of sugar before he even takes a single taste. "Do you want to hear it?"

"I assume you're going to tell me."

"Guess."

"I don't have time for this."

"Oh, don't be a spoil sport. Give it a guess."

"I don't know, run our own television network?"

Tom's smile widens again, showing off his teeth. They've got an unusual sharpness to them, a sort of animal threat that he's unable to quite hide.

"Now there's an idea. No, try again."

"Tom, I'm trying to work—"

"If you were dating someone else, and they assured everyone of their absolute faith in you, then your problems would be solved."

"But I'm not," Linda answers. Her eyes drop back to the page. What a stupid idea. "And I wasn't."

"No?"

Something stirs in the back of her mind, but she can't quite wrap her fingers around it.

"No, Tom. You think I'd be doing anything at all with anyone at all if I was dating someone? You think I'd have been—where I was? No. Don't be an idiot."

"You could start dating someone now."

"What would that matter? Anyone would be able to tell that there was a time lapse, and I could have screwed my way into my position here in that time. Not a solution. I'm working, stop wasting my time. I'm serious, now."

"They wouldn't know if the person you were dating told them a different date for when you started seeing him."

"Why would he do that?" She doesn't look up right away, but Tom's lack of response is unusual enough that finally she has to look up. He raises his eyebrows, confidence oozing out of his every pore.

"I suppose that would depend on what was in it for me."