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Brad Williams jumped up from the couch and thrust himself between Jemima and the intruder, but it was too late. His photographer had popped off five shots before he even had a chance to put up a hand.
He glanced quickly at Jemima, then scowled at the newcomer, and leaned in close to hiss: “Eddie, what’re you doing? I told Delores I’d get the picture. She promised to do this my way!”
The young man smiled at Jemima, and then replied, through his teeth: “Delores says she gave you until the end of the auction. The auction is over. And so is this story, hot shot. Wrap things up, so we can run it!”
Brad’s eyes widened. “Is Delores here?”
The photographer’s lips pinched into a smug smile.
Brad ran a distracted hand through his hair. “Oh, no. Oh–” He grabbed the man’s arm. “Is she outside now?”
“She called me from the parking deck. She’s on her way up.”
Brad frowned, looked down at the floor, and then hissed: “Go out and stall her for me!”
“Why?”
“Just do it. Or next week I’ll write a series called ‘500 uses for pig dung’ and send you out to Duluth for a 10-page spread!” He shoved the man’s shoulder, and the photographer crashed against the door, shot him an evil look, and left.
Then he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and turned back to Jemima.
Her green eyes were two big question marks. “Who was that? Why did he take my picture when I told you I–”
Brad ignored her. He sat down quickly on the couch and punched the button on the phone. Maybe he could get Jemima out of there before Delores arrived and picked her brain like a mad scientist.
“Hello, Margot? This is Brad Williams.” He looked up at Jemima and tried to smile reassuringly. “Miss King has to go now, but she wanted to leave by a private exit.
“You understand – she doesn’t want to be approached by the curious. Yes. Yes, I’ll be happy to. No, we’re in something of a hurry.”
The secretary’s voice buzzed faintly. “Really?” He looked at another door on the opposite end of the room. “Clever! And thanks, gorgeous. I owe you.”
He put the phone down with a clatter and rose. “Well, that just about wraps it up, doesn’t it, Duchess?” he said brightly, his eyes on the door. “There’s a private exit, so you don’t have to talk to anyone else.”
Jemima frowned at him. “What’s going on? You told me–”
Brad took her arm, pulled her smoothly to her feet, and propelled her across the room to the alternate doorway. He opened it and gave her just enough of a nudge to send her through.
The sound of the other door opening gave him just enough time to shut the door behind her, and lean against it, before the door to the outer hallway opened, and Delores Watkins walked in.
Brad crossed his arms. “Well, Delores – I didn’t expect you here! How was the air traffic coming down Main Street?”
The older woman ignored him. She put her camera down on a small table and looked around. “Where’s the girl?”
Brad shrugged. “You just missed her.”
Delores’ mouth thinned to an annoyed line. “Hmm... I wanted to get a juicy angle to pull in the millennials. Something about her love life. If she has one.”
Brad raised his brows in mock regret. “Yeah, that’s a shame. I just sent her back to 1845.”
Delores gave him a narrow look. “On the Ledger expense account, I suppose.”
Brad shrugged again, and smiled.
“Well, since she’s gone, make yourself useful. What was the final sale price for the letter?”
Brad’s smiled deepened. “One million six.”
Delores nodded, and seemed mollified. “Good. Your story is ready to go, and now we have the photos. But I’d like to do a follow-up, if the story does well. And after what it’s cost us – it had better do well.”
Brad felt rotation in the small of his back. The doorknob behind him was turning. He leaned against it and laughed loudly.
“Trust me, Delores. Who loves you?”
Delores raised her heavily-lined brows and snorted. “The better question would be: who delivers? It had better be you, golden boy, if you want to grow up to be a real reporter.”
“It can’t miss, D. Fifty says a million hits before it’s all over.”
Delores shook her head and turned to the door. “You don’t have fifty, Diamond Jim.”
On this crushing parting shot, she departed.
He closed his eyes and slumped against the door, but the knob began digging into his lower back again. He turned and opened it.
Jemima stood in the opening, hands on hips. Her lovely eyes were bright with indignation.
“Why did you lie to that woman?” she demanded. “And why did you lie to me? You said you weren’t going to take my picture!”
Brad stepped through the doorway, closed the door behind him, and ushered her down a narrow hall. “Trust me, if you knew Delores, you would understand instantly. And I didn’t take your picture. That was my morally deficient colleague, without my knowledge or consent.” He opened a door at the far end, which opened out to face a private elevator.
He pressed a button, and then turned to face her. “When I see him again, I’ll object in the strongest possible terms.”
The elevator doors opened, and he nudged her into the elevator. “I just talked to Margot Juniper, and she says that Brinkley’s will transfer the money to the bank account you gave them within 30 days. It will be one million six, less any applicable taxes, and of course, Brinkley’s fees.”
To his relief, this intelligence had the effect of silencing Jemima’s objections. She frowned, looked worried, and began to chew a pink fingernail.
The elevator took them down to the garage level, and the door slid open soundlessly. They were in a glass-walled bay facing the parking deck.
He turned back to her. “Just stay here and I’ll bring the truck around. That way, no one will see you walking out.”
“Why are you scared that someone will see me?” Jemima objected. “I’m not hiding from anyone!”
“Of course not,” he smiled, over his shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”
He walked quickly through the underground garage, weaving between cars and looking over his shoulder. The word was out now, and–
He slowed down, cursing under his breath. Sure enough, there was a gang of older reporters waiting for him around the white truck.
He looked down at the floor; but when he looked up again, he had firmly adjusted his game face and was smiling broadly. He sauntered out into the light, hands in pockets.
“Well, well! Am I throwing a party?”
Five hungry faces turned toward him. “There he is! Where’s your little friend, junior? The Amish princess?”
“Oh, now, that’s a sad story, friends. She left me for a guy with a beard.” He fumbled in his pockets for the keys. “She said I wasn’t hot enough.”
“Come on, now, Brad. What happened to her? We’d like to get acquainted.”
“She beat it back to the green hill country. Though I did my best to get her to run away with me.”
They laughed. “Your sugar momma?”
“My insurance plan.”
The reporters laughed again. “Too bad, Brad! Care to give the rest of us a shot?”
“You’re on your own. I suggest you find some dungarees from the Civil War.”
Another reporter leaned in and jabbed him in the chest. “You know where she lives. Come on now, tell us.”
Brad smiled up into the other man’s eyes. “I know where she used to live. With a million bucks in her bank account, I don’t think she’s going back to the farm. She did say something about going to a hotel, though.”
“Which hotel?”
“Where? Here?”
Brad slid into the truck and closed the door behind him. He leaned out of the window. “I don’t know. I’m off to indulge my grief. Anybody wanna loan me a twenty?”
They waved him away. “As if! Get out of here.”
Brad cranked the truck and pulled away slowly. As soon as he had straightened the truck, rounded the corner, and the last reporter had faded from the rearview, he turned the truck sharply and made a beeline back to the private landing.
Jemima was still standing there patiently, and to his relief, she was alone. He leaned over and pushed the door open.
She hesitated again, bit her lip, and then slid in.
