Finding Mr. Write (Business of Love #5) - Ali Parker Page 0,59
but it didn’t put me at ease.
“I’m on the clock,” I said. “I’m sorry but I don’t have any breaks left.”
“That’s fine, I can ask you questions while you work,” Kelly said.
“I don’t think—”
“Can you tell me how you know the author, W. Parker?” Kelly asked.
I blinked.
The journalist pulled a notebook out of the bag hanging off her shoulder. There was a pen tucked in the spine of the notebook. She pulled it out and held it over the page while staring expectantly at me.
“Can you tell me how you know W. Parker?” Kelly asked again.
“Um,” I stammered. “I can’t do this right now. I’m working and I’m new at this job and this is really unprofessional for me to indulge this on the clock.”
“It’ll only take a few minutes,” Kelly insisted. “How do you know W. Parker?”
Frustrated, I shot her a dark look. “I don’t know him, okay? Where did you get that anyway?”
Kelly’s eyes lit up. She scrawled something on her page. “Him?”
Oh. Fuck. “What?” I asked sharply.
“You said him. Nobody knows whether Parker is a man or a woman.”
“I don’t either. I just assumed he is. I always have.”
Oh God, she’s on to me. How could you be so stupid? Don’t let it out of the bag! Don’t let it out of the bag!
Kelly’s eyes slid back and forth between mine as she considered my words. She thought I was lying. I could tell clear as day by the expression on her face that she didn’t believe a word I’d just said.
“Do you have an intimate relationship with Mr. Parker?” Kelly asked.
“No.”
“Plutonic?”
“I don’t know what that is, so no.”
Kelly arched an eyebrow. “Have you been to his home?”
“I need you to leave,” I said. “This is inappropriate. I’ve made it clear I don’t want to speak with you and you’re blatantly ignoring my requests. Get out of our store.”
Kelly tapped her pen on the top of the spine. Then, to my surprise, she smiled. “These are all just innocent questions. Readers want to know who Mr. Parker is. They’re already going to be delighted to learn he is in fact, a he.”
Callie, who’d been busy with customers, perked up at Wes’s name. She lifted her head and looked over at us. “Oh, are you two opening up about your relationship?” she asked innocently.
Kelly’s pen scribbled across her page.
“There is no relationship,” I said.
Callie rolled her eyes and laughed at me. “Oh, come on now, Briar. You’ve been seeing him for a couple weeks and we all know how well it’s going.”
“Callie,” I said firmly. “Stop.”
This was bad. This was really, really, really bad.
How could I have been so foolish? I never should have told Callie about Wes and me. He wanted his privacy for a reason and now here I was, bringing the rats like Kelly Green up out of the woodwork to hunt him down and plaster his name all over her magazine for publicity and copy sales.
“I would like you to leave,” I told Kelly once more.
“And I would like my latte,” Kelly said.
“Callie will have it for you on the other side of the bar.”
Callie seemed to have picked up on the tension now. She came over to us with the skinny hazelnut latte in hand and set it down for Kelly. “Here you go,” she said. “Sorry, Briar, did I overstep?”
“You’re fine,” I said. “We’re not talking about this right now. Ms. Green was about to leave.”
“It’s Mrs. actually,” Kelly said.
A pulse started at my temple and I could have sworn my eye twitched. “I don’t care.”
“You’re hiding something,” Kelly said.
“I’m a small town girl just trying to make it in New York City. Nothing more. I don’t know anything about W. Parker. Even if I did, I wouldn’t tell a vulture like you.”
Callie grabbed my elbow. “Briar.”
I pulled my arm free. “You said I had the right to refuse service. Well, I’m refusing it. Please don’t come back here, Mrs. Green. You’ve made me very uncomfortable and continuously ignored my request to leave the store. I won’t be talking to you about anything.”
“Please, Briar, just hear me out,” Kelly pressed. “There is a lot to gain from sitting down and having a conversation with me. I can make things—”
“I don’t care,” I hissed. “Get out!”
Kelly drummed her nails in three rapid successions on the counter.
“Fine,” I growled.
With a string of muttered curses, I tore my apron off, threw it down on the counter, and stormed out from behind the bar. Callie called