Ali practically floated into Amarillo Sour. Despite the awkward way she and James had left things, an idea had been brewing in her head ever since. It had started once she’d gone home that night and caught a late-night airing of the interview he’d recorded weeks before. Not sure whether or not to trust her alcohol- and lust-addled mind, she’d jotted the idea down in her notes app.
When she’d looked at it the following morning with fresh eyes, she’d loved it even more. In between editing sessions—and doing her best not to imagine James without his shirt—Ali had expanded and developed the idea until it had become a relatively concrete concept.
Though it had maybe been a bit presumptuous, she’d invited Kyle out for coffee. This time when she’d given him her elevator pitch, he’d actually said it was an “intriguing concept.” He’d suggested they both “sleep on it” and “get together again soon” to “go over the details.”
That was all business lingo and buzzwords. Still, the way he’d said them told her she’d truly stumbled onto a solid idea.
Of course, it completely depended upon the cooperation of a certain someone who had a history of being contrary.
Never mind that she couldn’t look at him for longer than three seconds without wanting to throw herself into his arms and rip off whatever T-shirt he happened to be wearing that day.
Still, they’d proven they made a good team. He’d told her she made his work better. This new idea would take that partnership to a new level. Plus, it might give them both everything they most wanted.
She didn’t even give James a chance to say hello before she dropped into the seat next to him and asked, “Would you still jump at the chance to go back to England sooner rather than later?”
“You found a loophole in the contract?”
She shot Sidney a grin of appreciation when she slid her usual drink across the bar. “Not exactly. I’m pretty sure you’d still be under contract with the university, but you wouldn’t be in Lincoln. At least not for long.”
“I see.” He nodded, but he didn’t ask any questions.
It appeared she was going to have to do the asking and the telling.
She took a deep breath, ordering herself not to ramble away at top speed in her excitement. If this was going to work, she needed James to get on board. And if she wanted to guarantee that happened, she’d have to make certain he understood what she was pitching. Perfectly.
“Here’s my idea: I think we should make a TV show. Together. Based on your book.”
Actually, that summed it up pretty neatly. At least enough to pique his interest.
He opened his mouth to speak but promptly shut it again. Instead of launching into a series of questions that she thought were due, James studied her in silence. Despite her impatience to get on with this idea now that she had it, she needed to give him time to process. While he might be taking longer than she would’ve anticipated, she supposed he was allowed to take however much time he needed.
Finally, he spoke. “You’re saying we should make a TV show.”
“That’s right.”
“Based on my book?”
Now he was getting it. “Exactly.”
He shook his head again. “I’m not certain I follow.”
Then why didn’t he just ask? She took a breath, willing herself not to lose patience. “What do you want to know?”
Mouth open, he shifted his jaw while he glanced at the ceiling, looking like he was trying to name every British ruler as far back as he could go.
Then his eyes met hers again, squinting. “How?”
She gave him the rest of her elevator pitch. “Using the research for your book—which is sure to be another best seller—we make a serialized documentary. Each episode will focus on one theme in the book.”
“With you so far.”
“We’ll film on location—which will take time—and run out most of your contract.”
She hesitated a moment. This next part was the one that made her a bit nervous because she didn’t know how he’d take it. “I figure we can write it together.”
He gave a short nod. “That would make sense.”
She couldn’t help grinning in relief.
“So you see, it’s perfect really,” she said. “Both of us get what we wanted.”
He nodded again, either to let her know he’d heard the pitch or because he was still deep in thought processing what she’d told him. Now that she’d said it out loud for a second time that day, it sounded even better than when the idea had sprung into her head.
“And do you think they’ll go for it?” he asked.
“The network?”
“And your mother.”
“I bumped into Kyle, and he said it was a good idea. One we should develop more and bring back for an official pitch in another week.”
Her fingers tingled with anticipation just imagining the possibility of getting to work on something that was sure to draw wide interest. “I haven’t talked to my mom yet. I wanted to make sure you were on board—that it was a possibility—before I said anything. But she’s so obsessed with raising the department’s profile and landing big donors, I’m sure she’ll jump at an opportunity like this.”
“That’s a fair point.” His jaw twitched, and his eyes once again took on a far-off look.
Her fingers tapped on the bar as she waited for him to process. Again. Though she’d become pretty good at reading him during their many long days over the past weeks, she couldn’t quite suss out what was on his mind now. Just what did he think about all of this?
She couldn’t wait any longer. Grabbing his hands, she turned in her seat to face him. “First impressions. Go.”
“First impressions, this is crazy.”
“Aren’t most of the best ideas?”
His lip twitched with a barely suppressed grin. “That’s my second impression. It’s a really good idea.”
“So you’ll consider it?”
He let out a yelp. “You’re going to break my fingers.”
She released her hold and glanced down at his hands. The backs still had imprints from her fingers. “My bad.”
“There’s just one problem with this idea of yours,” he said, shaking out his hands. “Kind of a big one that I’m surprised you hadn’t already considered.”
“Which is?”
He turned his glass of whiskey around on the bar making circles on the marred wood surface. “I’m not a presenter. I don’t know the first thing about being a TV personality.”
Maybe not in an official capacity, but he had to know he was a natural on screen. He seemed completely at ease in front of the camera.
“Have you ever watched one of your interviews?” she asked.
“I tried. I only made it through a couple of questions before I turned it off.”
“Why?”
He grimaced. “It was just too . . . weird. Every time I tried to watch . . . I could feel my skin crawling.”
That wasn’t a wholly unique experience. At least that was the impression she had from some of the movie stars she’d basically stalked at her last job. Okay, he wouldn’t—couldn’t—watch himself on screen. That was fine. He didn’t have to watch the program to be on it.
“Then you’ll just have to trust my director’s eye to tell you that you’re good,” she said. “It’s the same when you’re in front of a class. You aren’t just spouting off facts. You’re telling a story.”
She covered his hands again impulsively and squeezed. He winced and glanced away, but not before she caught the flush of his cheeks. Somehow the professor’s blush only made him more endearing.
“Couldn’t you find someone who’s a proper presenter to do it?”
“Probably. But a proper presenter can’t wear the heck out of a leather jacket quite the same way.”
She paused a moment then to admire the way he was wearing it today. James might have said he wanted to keep it professional. That didn’t mean she couldn’t look. “Besides, a random presenter won’t have your knowledge.”
“Couldn’t you consult a reliable search engine then?” He gestured to her phone. “You’ll find loads of information on the Internet.”
“But my phone doesn’t speak with a British accent.”
“Actually, if you go into your phone and change the settings, you’ll find—”
“I know I can change the settings on my phone. And Kyle could get all of this information from Google.”
“Then why do they need me? Because of the accent and . . .” He stared down at himself. “Because of my jacket?”
“That and . . .”
How could she put this so he’d get it? How could she make him understand why he—and no one else, not even Google—had to go on camera?
She could start with the truth, she supposed. “You care.”
“It’s my job to care.”
“It’s more than that.”
She paused to consider her words carefully. “When some people talk about history, they’re reading facts out of a book. But when you do it, you tell a story. You talk like you know the people. Not just where they lived and what they did, but who they were. How they lived. Why they lived.”
Suddenly feeling uncomfortable with herself, she took a swig of James’s drink and winced. She wasn’t sure she’d ever develop a taste for it.
“When you talk about history, it comes alive. And you make people care as much as you do.”
She’d said it all. If she could spin a yarn half as well as he did, she’d have already convinced him. James leaned back in his seat and stared at her.
“I’m not sure I’ve ever received a course evaluation quite so glowing,” he said ruefully.
“Your classes are always packed. It’s not just because the students think you’re a stud.”
Now his ears turned an interesting shade of pink. “Come off it.”
“I mean, it doesn’t hurt. But so much of your appeal comes from your passion. That’s what makes you so attractive.”
“Here I thought it was because of the leather jackets and jeans.”
“Don’t forget your accent.” She met his gaze, trying not to grin at how flushed he’d become. The man seriously couldn’t take a compliment. That only made him all the more adorable.
“So . . .” She cleared her throat and forced a sober expression. “What do you say?”
On a sigh, he shook his head. “I can’t believe I’m letting you talk me into this.”
“Excellent!” Without thinking, she threw her arms around him. “You won’t regret it.”
They had a hit on their hands. She was sure of it.
He hesitated a moment but lifted his hands to her back sending a delightful shiver down her spine while pulling her closer. “I’m not saying yes. But I will consider it.”
“That’s good enough for me.” She gave him one more squeeze and pulled back.
His hands tightened, holding her in place. “On one condition.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Go on.”
“Has your mother mentioned this Renaissance festival the department is holding over the weekend?”
“The fundraiser?”
The idea had started a few years back as a one-off madrigal dinner. After repeatedly selling out, the idea had morphed into a giant spectacle. A fun one, but a spectacle all the same.
And it was always all hands on deck. Suddenly his question took on new meaning. “Don’t tell me you got roped into it.”
He sighed like he’d been tasked with solving the world’s problems, which was answer enough. The expression on his face was more akin to someone facing the gallows than someone who’d most likely been talked into running a booth.
“It’s Becca’s pet project,” he said.
Now his dread made sense. She couldn’t blame the guy for wanting to bail. After meeting Becca only twice, Ali would prefer not to spend more time with her as well.
Still she was in this to support James, whatever that meant. And if she wanted him to consider her proposal more seriously, she needed to help him in any way she could. Even if it meant playing the village crier at a Renaissance fair.
Actually, that sounded kind of fun.
“What do you need from me?” she asked. “Whatever it is, I’m your girl.”