Georgie loved Nick. He really did. Deep down, Georgie was convinced that Nick cared. Even if the guy could be a selfish bastard.
When things in the end had been bad with Marjorie, Nick had told him to take as much time as he needed, at full salary no less. No questions asked. And when insurance had only paid so much, Nick had made sure the difference was covered. He’d claimed that the cable-channel accountants had negotiated with Georgie’s secondary insurance, but later Georgie had found out that Nick had covered the lot out of his own pocket. When Georgie had tried to thank him, Nick had brushed him off, putting his generosity down to a moment of weakness after an amazing and highly alcoholic meal at Per Se in Hell’s Kitchen.
That was so Nick—reluctant to admit he had a good heart, embarrassed when somebody discovered the truth. The problem was, he just needed to accept that good heart himself. And who knew, maybe the librarian?
Georgie shuffled away from their conversation so as not to appear to be eavesdropping. “Clyde. Watch the boom,” he said to the English soundman as he leaned against the table. “Scratch one of these babies, and who knows how much insurance will cover.”
“Bloody hell, as if I’ve ever had any accidents over the years,” Clyde argued.
“Well, there was that time at the dim-sum place in Chinese Taipei,” Georgie reminded him.
Larry laughed. “All those shelves. All those dishes.”
Clyde gave him a rueful stare. “Thanks for reminding me.”
Georgie chuckled. Then he felt his BlackBerry vibrate in his pants pocket. He fished it out and answered. “De Meglio here.”
“Georgie, it’s Mimi, Mimi Lodge. We met yesterday at Hoagie Palace?”
As if he didn’t know who Mimi Lodge was. That was like saying he’d never heard of CNN or 60 Minutes. “Mimi, what’s up? You looking for Nick? We’re almost done here.”
“Actually it’s you I was looking for.” She ran through the situation with Vivian and the need for discretion.
Georgie nodded along with her story. One thing about Mimi, you could tell she was a pro. She certainly didn’t bury the lead. The news about Pierre Renard was certain to go viral.
“So you need a crew?” he asked.
“No, they have one of those satellite studios at the university. You know, the kind they use to interview experts on Public Television?”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. It’s got a fake skyline of Grantham in the background or scholarly looking tomes on walnut shelves.”
“Exactly.”
“So why do you need me?”
“I need an experienced producer. We’re doing this live.”
“When?”
“Around six o’clock. On tonight’s evening news.”
He mentally ran through their shooting schedule.
“Are you in or are you out?” she prompted.
“You need to ask? I’ll just need to slip away from things here, which shouldn’t be a big problem. We have a local organic farm to do at noon. That should run until fourish—no way beyond that. Nick can only look at lettuce and peas for so long, though. I think there may be animals. Whatever, the usual slop. And then we don’t film again until lunch tomorrow—some swank new restaurant that Vivian mentioned yesterday. So it must be all right.”
“Then we’re set. Great to have you onboard. Just to confirm—you’re staying at the Grantham Inn, right?”
“Yup.”
“Then why don’t I pick you up at five. One thing, Georgie. About this—tell no one. And I mean no one.”
“Boy Scouts oath, and by the way, that’s genuine. I actually was an Eagle Scout.”
“Which is why I knew who to call. Be prepared.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“THE BEST SOLUTION IS FOR you to come to my house,” Penelope suggested after considerable thought. They were still standing next to each other in the conference room of the Rare Book Library. Georgie was engrossed in a phone call while Clyde and Larry were packing up. The shaded windows, muted carpeting and temperature-controlled environment provided a hermetically sealed cocoon from the outside world.
“Your house?” Nick repeated. His eyes lit up. Any thoughts of waiting for Amara to call back vanished. All his attention was drawn to Penelope’s pouty lips and swanlike neck, her skin exposed to the wide neckline of the striped shirt beneath her lab coat. He practically sighed. Last night he’d found himself fantasizing about that lab coat… .
But then reality hit.
He glanced down at his watch just to confirm what he already knew. “Only problem is we still have another shoot after this—at some organic farm. Apparently they have the happiest pigs in the county.”
“I didn’t mean now.” Penelope looked aghast. “Naturally I have to work the rest of the day. And besides, your daughter isn’t even here.”
“My daughter?” Had he completely jumped to the wrong conclusions?
“I was talking about dinner—with you and your daughter, of course.”
“Of course.” Dummy, he chastised himself.
“And then I’ll make up the foldout bed in the study.”
“The foldout bed?” He didn’t quite follow.
“Naturally I don’t propose that we sleep together.”
“Naturally.” Had he just received a put-down?
“I mean, your daughter needs her space.”
The lightbulb suddenly went off. “Of course. Amara clearly needs her space.”
“If she sleeps in the study downstairs, she’ll also have her own bathroom. Privacy in the bathroom is very important at that age for a girl.”
“I believe you.”
“And this won’t be a problem for your crew or Mr. De Meglio—Georgie—if you’re occupied elsewhere?” She pointed to the others.
“Georgie?” Nick called out.
The producer pocketed his phone and trotted over. “You rang?”
“You and Larry and Clyde are capable of finding your own way for dinner tonight, right?”
“Actually I was just about to tell you that I have other plans, too.”
Nick lifted his eyebrows. “Que pasa, kimosabe?”
“I’m meeting Mimi Lodge.”
Nick whistled. “Mimi Lodge?”
Georgie shook his head. “It’s not what you’re thinking—whatever you’re thinking. All I can say is, watch the nightly news broadcast this evening.”
“A new war has broken out in Grantham that she needs to cover?” Nick asked only in jest.
“You’re surprisingly close. But my lips are sealed,” Georgie answered.
“Okay, so go. Go chase the Pulitzer. Meanwhile, the dynamic duo here.” He turned to Larry and Clyde.
“Don’t worry about us, boss,” Larry said with a shake of his head. He pulled a baseball cap out of his jeans pocket and set it on his head. In brazen defiance to Nick’s loyalties to the Yankees, it had a Boston Red Sox logo.
Clyde sidled over. “We heard mention of beer kegs earlier in your conversation.” He waggled his eyebrows at Penelope.
Nick wasn’t sure which one he should fire first.
“You were eavesdropping?” Penelope asked incredulously.
“Guilty as charged. Take me away, fair lady, I implore you.” Clyde held out his wrists to Penelope as if waiting for her to handcuff him.
Penelope covered her mouth.
Nick growled, “Listen, you two losers, just don’t let your imbibing get in the way of work tomorrow.”
“Like you’ve never functioned on a hangover?” Larry asked. He adjusted his cap. He was clearly feeling feisty.
“All right, all right,” he conceded. “As long as we stick to tomorrow’s schedule.” Nick was fe
eling generous. After all, she might not have invited him into her bed, but she had invited him into her house—for dinner. Almost as good.
Nick turned back to Penelope. “So it looks as if I’ll be able to accept your gracious invitation after all. If the meal is anything like the food I had the other night at Justin and Lilah’s, I will be more than content.”
“Uh, yes. That’s very kind, if I understand the metaphor correctly.”
“Speaking of pigs—this time not metaphorically—is it true you make your own ’nduja? Justin and Lilah told me when I was at their place. Ever since then I’ve had a craving for it.”
“Really?” She opened her eyes wide.
“I’ve been known to like things spicy.”
She looked at him askance. “So I gathered.” She paused. “Tell me, the ’nduja? Is that all you’ve been craving?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Nick saw the others leave the room. He smiled. “Actually, no.” He wet his lips. “I have been craving you. Let me ask you. Do you believe in love at first sight? Instant infatuation?”
“I believe that when two people meet there’s a possibility for an immediate chemical reaction characterized by elevated levels of dopamine, causing the symptoms of a racing heart and sweaty palms,” she answered. “Norepinephrine can also produce intense energy and elation.”
“So, I gather that’s a kind of yes. You agree there can be this euphoria, a sense of excitement?”
“Mr. Rheinhardt, I may not relate socially to most people, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have normal biological urges.”
“Toward me?”
“Most definitely.”
“In which case, call me Nick. I think we’ve definitely advanced to a first-name basis. So that’s settled.”
“Not quite.”
“Not quite?” He felt heartbroken. Forget his elevated cholesterol levels. These sudden mood swings were going to be the death of him.
“I agree that there appears to be a definite chemical-biological reaction going on between us. Nevertheless, from an ethical standpoint, I have a problem.”
“I’m not married, if that’s what concerns you.”
“Through research into your background, I already know the details of your personal life—or as much as is available on the web. Besides, if someone had asked me to form an opinion from our limited contact to date, I would have hazarded the opinion that you do not appear to be a person who engages in long-term monogamous relations.”
“I agree that I haven’t been the most mature person in my relationships, but in my defense…”
Penelope cut him off. “I’m not concerned about your inabilities to commit.”
“You’re not?” Back came a sense of elation, followed inexplicably by a bruised ego. “You’re not?”
“No, not at all. I’m not sure I believe in the possibility of a long-term relationship myself—biologically speaking. No, my concerns are far more immediate. Your daughter.”
“My daughter? Yes, privacy could be an issue with her around, but I’m sure we could figure something out.”
“The logistics are not what concern me. It’s your relationship, or rather lack thereof.”
“I’ve already confessed to being a lousy father. Though, I don’t think that failure inhibits my performance in bed. At least, I hope not.”
She smiled. “I like your sense of humor. I understand it—most of the time. No, I’m not talking about your abilities to please a partner in bed.”
“That’s a relief.”
“It’s more complicated than that. I find myself drawn to you but reluctant to go any further—”
Nick closed and opened his eyes as if he’d just tasted something extremely tart.
“Because,” Penelope continued, “I am troubled by your lack of trust in your daughter.”
“You want me to trust someone who’s just been kicked out of school?” Nick pressed his hand to his T-shirt.
“Absolutely. It seems to me that she needs that more than anything. From your brief account of what happened, she acted out of friendship and honor. Those are traits to be commended. And yet you seem to spend most of your time expecting her to go astray. It appears to me that you don’t give her enough credit. True, she acted rashly, but she is seventeen. You, on the other hand, have no excuse. You are thirty-seven, at least according to your website.”
“Unless my mother and father lied to me, I believe that to be true.” He was feeling highly defensive.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to upset you. I can see that I’ve done that, which on the positive side indicates how well I seem to relate to you. And in my defense, I only mention all this because I actually have a very high opinion of your sense of forbearance.”
He looked up. “You do?”
“No one who is not extremely kind and patient would put up with me. Excuse the double negative, but I know that for a fact. I just wanted to point out the potential problems between you and Amara because I don’t want to see either of you hurt. It’s so fragile, you see—that relation between a father and daughter.”
“You mean your reluctance to go to bed with me is because you want to help Amara and me?”
“I suppose that’s one way of putting it. So I guess it’s up to you, isn’t it?” She pulled a pair of white gloves out of the pocket of her lab coat and pulled them on with a snap. Then she turned and carefully gathered up the books and manuscripts she had laid out for the shoot, and placed them carefully on a cart. Then she looked up. “By the way, say hello to Mike.”
“Mike?” Who the hell is Mike?
“The pig farmer you’re visiting? He supplied me with the pork for my ’nduja.”
Nick rolled his eyes. “You’re killing me with this talk of your ’nduja.”
She smiled mysteriously.
Nick stepped forward.
She whirled around. Her shoulder brushed against his chest. She took a sharp intake of breath.
Nick stared at those two different-colored eyes of hers—one blue and innocent, the other green and sultry—and knew he was a goner.
“Just to clarify, tonight?”
“Tonight?” He felt his heart rate skitter around like a pinball.
“We won’t be having ’nduja.”
He hesitated. “Are you speaking metaphorically or literally now?”
“Literally. My parents are not inclined to spicy foods.”
Nick waited for the shoe to drop.
“And they’ll be joining us.”
That’s when the other shoe dropped—metaphorically speaking.
His phone rang.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
AMARA HUNG UP THE PHONE and sighed.
Press ambled over to where she sat on the grass under a large hemlock. He’d taken off his T-shirt and was wiping the sweat off his chest. “Problems?” he asked, standing over her.
Amara gazed upward and gulped. Then she shook her head quickly. “Just the usual. My father said that after they finish up filming at some pig farm, I’m having dinner with him and Penelope and her parents. Then apparently I’m going to sleep at her place instead of bunking with my father.” She shrugged. “I’d rather hang out with you.”
It wasn’t normal for her to be so obvious.
But then there was nothing normal about Press Lodge, as far as she could tell.
Other girls at her school might not have found single-sex education a detriment to their sex life. But it had sure slowed down hers. So at a couple of the dances, Amara had kissed some guys. Mostly it seemed pretty sloppy—too much saliva. And she wasn’t quite sure what to do with her teeth. She’d only gotten her braces off two years ago.
Besides which, when your mother worke
d at the same school and sometimes chaperoned the dances, it was almost impossible to get past first base, no matter how hard you tried.
Only when she was at sleepaway camp last summer had she made it to second—petting on top, that is. There’d been this boy camper from Montreal. His name was Etienne and he was pretty cool. He had a lip ring and wore leather braided bracelets. She had liked him, even if he did quote Sartre in French. The French part wasn’t the problem for Amara. She understood it perfectly well, even when Etienne felt obliged to translate.
No, as she listened, the problem was she never quite got Sartre’s whole existentialist philosophy—that everyone is all alone, living in a world with no larger moral system. Amara was all for independence and not having to rely on other people. But at the same time, she yearned for a sense of cohesion, a comforting moral compass to help her navigate. Most of the time, she felt she was drifting, and she wanted some reassurance that she was doing okay.
But Etienne had said she just didn’t understand Sartre. Amara quickly figured out that he didn’t understand Sartre. Which is why she only let him get to second base.
It’s not that she thought that losing her virginity was so big a deal. She just couldn’t see sharing something so intimate with someone who seemed intellectually pretentious, and, well…maybe not as bright as she was. Even if he did have a cool lip ring.
But Press was different. Press was smart. And he didn’t try to show off about it. When he talked about paleontology and what he wanted to study, it was because he was passionate about it—something she hoped she’d be one day. And Press was kind. He let her tag along and didn’t make her feel as though she was younger or not worth talking to just because she hadn’t gone to college yet. And Press was…well… Press was also incredibly hot.
He was going to be the one, she decided. Her first. Because he looked as though he knew what to do with his teeth, and probably other parts of his body. He was worth it.
She watched while he finished wiping the sweat off his chest and tucking the shirt in the back waistband of his shorts.
“Why would you rather hang out with me? Penelope’s great. And besides, she’s an amazing cook,” he replied to her announcement. He seemed totally clueless to her thoughts. “Anyway, I couldn’t make it tonight.”
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