The Bachelor Chronicles. Lissa Manley
faded and her eyebrow fell. Scrunched? A tick? That wasn’t the effect she’d been going for. “Uh, no, not at all. I have something in my eye.” She made a big show of rolling her eyes around.
“Need a tissue?” he asked, his tone appropriately serious.
She held up her hand. “No, I’m fine.”
When she looked nervously back at him, he was studying his menu, a ghost of a smile hovering on his mouth. Her hopes sank again. She’d come here dressed like this to turn him on, not make him laugh. What had she been thinking? She knew better than to try to be something she wasn’t, and this was hardly her. Plus, he was talking like he wasn’t going to grant her the interview. Had she made a fool of herself for nothing?
She slanted another quick glance at him. When he looked up, he caught her gaze with his heart-stopping, cocoa eyes. Then he smiled, flashing even, white teeth, and her blood warmed. He was just as gorgeous as she remembered, hang him. It would be ten times easier dealing with a man who didn’t have the uncanny ability to turn her on by simply sitting there looking good. Horrified, she grabbed her menu and pretended to study it. The waiter arrived and they ordered, though she doubted she could eat a bite.
Despite the chaos whirling around inside of her like a child’s toy top, it was time to get down to business. The direct approach seemed the way to go. Besides, she was too hot, bothered and worried for any more small talk.
She pushed up her glasses and opened her mouth to ask, once again, for his cooperation, but the words never made it past her lips.
Jared’s pager trilled, and he looked down to his waist. “Sorry,” he said, turning the device off. “I’ll be right back.” He excused himself, and Erin sat at the table alone, her stomach tied in knots, vaguely wondering why he didn’t carry a cell phone.
Then her thoughts snagged on how busy Jared undoubtedly was. He would probably get called away on business and she’d lose the interview and she’d end up begging in the streets.
Sharp memories of her childhood rose in her, memories of the months she and her mother had spent on the razor edge of homelessness, the wolves of debt clawing at their door. Her breath left her in a rush. She couldn’t live like that again. But she’d blown the interview a second time, and she hadn’t uttered a word. Her crazy scheme had backfired and now he thought she was a scrunch-faced, tick-eyed fool in spike heels and a miniskirt.
A few tense minutes later, Jared returned from the front desk, his face neutral. No smile. No frown. Nothing.
Thoroughly deflated, Erin forced words past the tight lump in her throat. “No interview, right?”
He nodded tersely. “Right.”
Her shoulders slumped. She pressed a hand to the base of her throat, fighting off tears.
“Hey, are you all right?” He sat back down.
She bit back a rueful laugh. He didn’t really care whether or not she was okay. While keeping her heart safe from betrayal was necessary, it also left her alone with no one to turn to when things got tough.
“I’m fine,” she whispered, lying.
And then she distinctly heard a wolf howling in the distance.
As a chill ran up her spine, she forced herself to look at Jared. His expression was still blank. He wasn’t going to help her out.
Worse yet, she’d gone about getting this interview all wrong, stupidly alienating Jared from the start. Now she’d lost not only the best interview opportunity she’d had in months, but the chance to win the byline and bonus that could turn her life around.
Where did that leave her? Two steps closer to losing her home and everything she’d worked so hard for in the past two years.
And that was too darn close for comfort.
Erin’s expression had fallen at Jared’s news. Quite surprisingly he regretted he had to cancel the interview. It was probably because of how good she looked in that short skirt, tight top and heels, but he veered away from the thought, as if it had fangs. This wasn’t the time or the place to let his hormones take over, even though she looked so good he wanted to reach under the table and see how short her skirt really was.
But business was business, and his was demanding attention. A vague sense of relief trickled through him. Now he could forget about this infernal interview, Allison would stay safe, and he could get away from Erin and the attraction that always seemed to take over every time he laid eyes on her.
He ignored the niggling voice in the back of his head, the one that sounded like Mark Phillips, chanting an ominous reminder about publicity. Canceling the interview couldn’t be helped.
Erin looked up at him with those beautiful, grass-green eyes, now glassy with moisture. Oh, man. Near tears, she didn’t look dangerous or like a cutthroat reporter. A heart-breaker, yes, but not a ruthless journalist.
Damn.
Was he being foolish and petty and overprotective of Allison? No thunderbolts would shoot from the sky and strike him dead if he gave the interview and suffered through one measly date. He was letting his past experience with the press cloud his normally clear judgment, and when it came to his business, he considered that akin to sinning. And he did feel guilty that Erin might lose her job if she didn’t get this interview. She’d been as tenacious as a dog with a bone.
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