“It’s not difficult to be organized,” I said, nudging at my list with the tip of my matching pen.
“What’s first?” he asked, leaning forward to read the list upside-down. “Explanation?”
I cleared my throat. “Um, yes, I thought I’d start with an explanation of what the festival is and what would be expected of you.”
He nodded and took a sip of his beer. “Sounds good.” He sat back in his seat, a half-smile on his lips, watching me intently.
I couldn’t concentrate with him staring at me that way, so I twirled the end of my ponytail with my fingers and grabbed my pen to check off each item as I mentioned it. I cleared my throat and tried to sound professional and with-it. “The Jane Austen Festival and Games in Bath happens annually, usually in September. There are several days of lectures, workshops, and discussions. This year there’s a competition, too.”
“A who-can-be-the-most-Jane-Austeny competition?” he asked.
“Something like that,” I replied, deciding ‘Jane-Austeny’ should definitely be an adjective in the English language. “Which is why I need you.”
“I’m supposed to be like Mr. Austen?” he asked, taking another sip of beer. The residual foam on his lip was so unexpectedly sexy it made me momentarily forget that he’d just said “Mr. Austen.”
“There is no Mr. Austen. Jane never married, she— Well, I mean Jane’s father was Mr. Austen, but—”
Jeremy reached out and put a hand on mine. Sparks rushed up my arm and I swallowed. He was touching me. What? Why? I couldn’t think. “I know,” he said, in a slow easy voice. “I was teasing you.”
“Oh.” I raised my brows and pulled my hand out from under his and placed it in my lap, rubbing the spot he’d touched. “Oh, okay, I—”
He winced a little. “You don’t joke about Jane Austen, do you?”
Did anyone? I tapped the end of my pen against the page and slowly shook my head back and forth. “Not really.” Oh, great, my crazy flag was flying.
“I can tell. Okay, so you’re going as Elizabeth Bennet and I’ll be Mr. Darcy, right?”
That made me smile. “Yes, exactly.”
“From Pride and Prejudice,” he continued.
More enthusiastic nodding from me, while I tried to squelch the ridic smile that popped to my lips.
“Which was written in 1813 before Emma and after Sense and Sensibility,” he said.
My eyes opened as wide as tea saucers. P&P was technically written in the late seventeen hundreds, and published in 1813, but only a pedantic nerd would point that out. I was simply impressed he’d gotten his general facts right. “Yes, how did you...?”
“I Googled it last night and read the Cliffs notes,” he admitted with a knee-weakening grin, his glass arrested halfway to his firmly molded lips.
Uh-oh. I was in trouble. Thinking of his lips as “firmly molded” spelled such big trouble. “You Googled it? To learn about it?” That surprised me—surprised me and pleased me an absurd amount.
“Of course I did,” he said.
“Why?”
“Are you joking? You have a freakin’ Ph.D. on the subject. I didn’t want to come off like a complete dumbass—sorry—idiot.”
Was there anything cuter than the words freakin’ and Ph.D. being used together?
“Besides,” he continued. “I’m not sure I’ve got this job. I want you to know I take it seriously.”
There was that word again. Job. Another reminder that sexy smiles and shirts that smell like cologne I wanted to slowly lick off his warm neck were not why we were here.
“I see,” I forced myself to say, sitting up straighter and clearing my throat. I needed to start acting more like an employer and less like a hormoned-up teenager. The man was here for a job interview, and I was leering at him like some bad cliché from the fifties, only a weird, inverted, female version. “So, the competition portion spans the course of the weekend,” I said. “We’d arrive in Bath on Wednesday. The competition is Thursday through Sunday. We’d leave on Monday.”
“Yep, Luke told me that part. My schedule is clear after this Friday.”
I nodded. That’s right. Jeremy was unemployed. Definitely not on my Future Husband Checklist. I redirected my gaze back to my other list, the one I was reading from. “During the next two weeks we need to have your wardrobe made, teach you how to speak and act like a Regency gentleman, how to play whist, how to act out a scene from Pride and Prejudice, and how to dance.”
“Dance?” His eyebrows shot up.
Oh, crap. Didn’t I mention the grand ball? “Is dancing a deal-breaker?” I asked.
He scrunched up his nose. “I suppose the Electric Slide isn’t the type of dancing we’re talking about here.”
I tapped my pen some more and slowly shook my head. “No, it’s more like a minuet, a cotillion, a quadrille, and a waltz.”
He nearly spit his beer. “Waltz?” He pounded his fist against his chest.
“Yes, that’s the last dance on the last evening...at the grand ball.”
“Grand ball?”
“Yes.” I was beginning to think about folding up my planner, putting my pen inside the little pen holder, pushing it all back into my bag and getting the hell out of there. Why had I thought this would work?
“And the entire time I’d be dressed like I just stepped out of the early 1800s?”
“Yes.” I closed the planner. Dang it. I knew this had been too good to be true. He was already balking at the requirements.
“Which is how, exactly?” Jeremy asked.
I didn’t need to consult a list, but I did anyway, to make sure I covered everything. I flipped my planner opened again, located the turquoise flag I had stuck to the correct page, and read from the list of wardrobe choices that I’d be speaking to the tailor about. “Boots, breeches, stockings, waistcoat, shirt, overcoat, cravat.”
“Cravat?” Jeremy blew out his breath.
“It’s an old-fashioned tie.”
“Yeah, I Googled that too.”
“You did?” I eyed him carefully.
“Yep.” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking hesitant.
“And what did you think?”
His mouth slowly curved into a grin. “I think I can rock a cravat.”
A wave of relief washed over me. He was into it. Or at least seemed to be. His grin was positively charming. He had slightly curly black hair, which would totally help to rock a cravat. His hair would brush against the back of his collar. Very Byron-esque. Of course, Byron was a dick, but still, the image of Jeremy in breeches and top boots and—I needed to stop thinking about it. I mustn’t get carried away. It was all fine and good to hear that he wouldn’t mind dressing up and dancing, but it was time to see if he was really made of the kind of stuff I was looking for in a partner.
“I’m glad to hear that,” I said, leaning across the table toward him. “Because I’m not just looking for someone to go with, I’m looking for someone who can win with me.”
I was sure he heard the undue emphasis on the word win. I’d never been good at sports. I’d been good at school and grades and anything to do with being smart. And I was a relentless competitor. I leveled my attention on his face. “I’ve got a lot riding on this competition.”
“Competitive, eh?”
I stared him straight in the eye. “You don’t know the half of it.”
He took another drink of his beer and leaned forward to meet my stare. “I think you’ve picked the right partner, Meg Knightley. Because I am, too.”
Chapter 7
“You’re actually into this a little, aren’t you?” I asked after the surge of excitement and adrenaline that flooded my bloodstream had subsided a little. Jeremy was competitive too. Excellent.
He shrugged. “I don’t know much about it. But I’m willing to learn.”
I narrowed my eyes on him. “You’d be competitive even about this?”
“Sure,” he replied. “I’m pretty competitive abo
ut most things. Ask your brother. He’s the only one who can beat me at poker, by the way. Dude’s like Rain Man.”
“Yeah, Luke’s always had a penchant for numbers. But the competition isn’t just whist. And whist is not exactly like playing poker.” I set aside my distaste for the fact that Jeremy obviously liked to play poker. He was Luke’s buddy. Of course he liked to play poker. Strike two against my Future Husband Checklist.
Jeremy pushed his beer glass back and forth between his hands on the table. “My dad always taught me if you’re going to do something, do it right.”
My dad had taught me that if you’re going to roll a joint (which I’d never done), you should start with the right paper. “That’s a great attitude,” I said, pushing away unwanted thoughts about my kooky parent. “I wish all my students thought like that.”
“Besides, it might be fun,” Jeremy added.
I nearly spit my Sprite. “Fun?” I choked.
He tilted his head to the side and gave me a curious smile. “Yeah, don’t you think it’s fun?”
My cheeks heated. “Of course I do, but I’m an unholy history nerd. I didn’t think you would think it’s fun.”
His face clouded for a second. “Why not?”
Uh-oh. “I don’t know. You’re a construction worker. You—”
“Correction, I’m temporarily a construction worker, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like history or have an appreciation of literature.”
“No, of course not.” Crap. I’d offended him. Luke was right. I was a judgey snob.
“You’re judging a book by its cover,” Jeremy continued.
I shrugged. “Covers are covers for a reason.”
“Wow.”
“Wow what?” My earlobes burned. I pushed my straw around my Sprite glass.
“I’ve never heard anyone disagree with that saying.”
I shrugged again. “We all judge each other and everything around us all of the time.”
He gave me a skeptical look and drained his glass. “You might.”
“You don’t?” I crossed my arms over my chest and returned his skeptical look.
“I try not to. For example, I thought nothing of the fact that you just used the word ‘penchant.’”
I took a sip of Sprite. “Mentioning it proves that you thought something about it. Admit it. You judge. Everyone does.”
He tilted his head to the side and contemplated me. “Fine. Go ahead and tell me what else you think about me...judging from my cover alone.”
I laughed and shook my head. “Oh, no way. I’m not falling for that.”
“Falling for what?” The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled.
“I’ve been known to be a little too blunt at times. I should never tell anyone what I think about them from looks alone.”
He pushed back against the seat with a delighted smile. “Now you have to tell me.”
“What if I hurt your feelings?” Danger. Danger. Danger.
“My feelings?” He rolled his eyes. “I’m a grown man. I can handle it.”
“Really?” I wrinkled my nose.
“Really.”
All right. He asked for it. “Fine.” I eyed him up and down, at least the part I could see above the table. “I’d say you are a little too used to getting your own way based on your looks. Getting a few too many phone numbers slipped in the back pocket of your jeans, and doing what you want in life. You probably didn’t get great grades in school, and you don’t think rules apply to you, which is why you’re more interested in starting your own business than getting a real job. Unless, of course, you’re a felon, though Luke assures me you’re not.”
Jeremy’s eyes narrowed, but the hint of a smile still lingered on his lips. Hopefully I hadn’t pissed him off too much.
“I’m not a felon,” he replied simply.
“I believe you,” I said.
“Thanks for that, I guess. What do you mean by ‘doing what I want in life’?”
I shrugged again. “You know, leaving a mess for someone else to clean up, being a little too casual with other people’s feelings, not following rules, and maybe—”
“Changing careers at the age of thirty?” he offered.
My mouth dropped open. “You did that too?”
“Yeah, Luke and I made a pact.”
Oh great. He was flaky too. Strike three against the Future Husband Checklist. “Well, it just proves my point.”
“What point?”
“I’m sure you did something stoic and responsible before, and you quit to...what? Be a construction worker?”
He grinned and shook his head at me. “Something like that.”
I shrugged. “See?”
His eyes narrowed on me. “You’re never wrong, are you?”
Another shrug. “Rarely.” Sorry, but the truth was the truth. I’d spent my career battling sexist men for a place at their tables, and I wasn’t about to start pretending I wasn’t smart and capable now.
However, I needed to back out of this conversation immediately. Jeremy didn’t look hurt or pissed, but he was probably both. Men tended to have big, tender egos. Even Harrison did. He once asked me to edit a chapter of the history book he’d been writing, and didn’t speak to me for nearly two weeks after I let ‘er rip. And handsome men were worse. They were taught that the world revolved around them, so any little fragile nick to their egos was sure to end in a temper. My mom pointing out my father’s gambling debts never failed to set him off in a passive-aggressive mood for days at a time.
I decided the best way to change the subject would be to focus on our business discussion. “About the money, like I said on Saturday, I’ll pay for your expenses and give you five thousand after the competition is over, cash or check. Whatever you want.”
He chuckled. “A check is fine. You didn’t need to fill a suitcase with dollar bills or anything.”
I drummed my nails on the table. “Your choice.”
“Do I get a bonus if we win?”
A bonus? I blinked. I hadn’t thought of such a thing, and I wanted to kick myself. An incentive was a good idea. Especially if Jeremy was in any way shiftless like Luke. I needed to play it cool, though. “How much are you thinking?” I asked, wondering just how much of my savings I was willing to part with.
Jeremy leaned back against the booth and straightened his shoulders. “How about if you pay me four thousand, plus two if we win?”
I narrowed my eyes and folded my hands in front of me. Obviously, that put another thousand dollars on the table, but I liked the idea. “You’d do that?”
“Sure.” He lifted one shoulder.
“Why?” More eye-narrowing on my part.
“Because I enjoy a challenge, plus I think it’ll make me work harder. The saw I want to buy costs a little over five thousand. I’m motivated.”
Okay, so he was probably shiftless, but if we lost, I’d save a thousand dollars. There was really no downside for me. “Fine. If you think it’ll help.”
“One more thing,” he added, a distinctive twinkle in his eye. “If we win, you owe me a favor.”
Wait. What? I scrunched up my nose and tilted my head to the side, thoroughly puzzled. “A favor? What could I possibly...Wait a minute! If you think for one minute that I’m going to come clean your apartment or walk your dog for a year, or—”
“No. No. No.” He laughed. “I was thinking more along the lines of you bailing me out of jail, or pretending to be my date to my sister’s wedding.”
I refused to smile because I was still suspicious. What was this vague ‘favor’ business? “Have you ever had to be bailed out of jail?” I asked.
“No. You?”
“No. Is your sister engaged?”
He sighed. “She’s completely single.”
“So, what sort of favor are you really thinking?” By this time, my Sprite was watered down and I wished I’d ordered wine. Or even better, a beer.
His smile reached his green eyes. “Just
say yes, Meg. I promise I won’t make you clean my toilet or take care of my chinchilla while I’m out of town.”
“You have a chinchilla?”
His lips quirked. “No.”
So, Jeremy was kinda funny, but that didn’t make up for the joblessness and the gambling. “Why should I say yes?”
“I don’t know, for fun? Haven’t you ever done anything just for fun?”
I wanted to say, “Of course I have. Who hasn’t done something just for fun?” but a quick scan of my memory wasn’t unearthing much. I was tired and it had been a long day and I was under a lot of stress, too. My almost fiancé had recently tossed me over for a new Lizzy Bennet. How could I be expected to remember frivolous things like whatever I’d done ‘for fun’ in the past?
“I’m going to Bath for fun,” I finally offered.
Jeremy arched a brow. “I thought you were going for work and to beat your boyfriend in the competition.”
“Yes, but I’ll also be having fun.”
This time he tilted his head and contemplated me. “If you don’t mind me asking, if he chose another woman over you, why are you still with this guy?”
The breath caught in my throat. Did I mind him asking? And what exactly was the proper answer to that question? ‘Harrison dumped me for Lacey Lewis because our boss asked him to,’ sounded positively ridiculous...and far too complicated, actually. I opened my mouth to say something, but thankfully the waitress came back to ask if we wanted refills or to see a menu. I said no to both while Jeremy crossed his arms over his chest and watched me in that assessing yet friendly way of his.
“What?” I asked as the waitress tripped away to get the check.
“You were judging her, weren’t you?”
“No. I wasn’t. I have to get up early for class and need to leave.”
“I’m not talking about how you asked for the check. I’m talking about the way you looked at her.”
I squirmed in my seat a little. “I wasn’t rude.”
Hiring Mr. Darcy Page 6