Paris Is Always a Good Idea - Jenn McKinlay Page 0,29

Great.

“Martin,” he said.

“Knightley,” I replied, immediately irritated. “What’s wrong? Was there an insult you forgot to zing me with?”

“This from the woman who said I was an overgrown frat boy.”

“You called me as sexy as leftovers.”

His grin was rueful. It made him look endearing. And he scratched the scruff of closely trimmed beard that covered his jaw, adding to the charm.

“Admittedly, that was . . . inaccurate,” he said. His gaze met mine, and I wondered what he was thinking. “Honestly, I’m calling to see if you’re okay after Aidan’s news. Are you?”

I gave my phone side-eye. “Jason Knightley, expressing concern for me? I’m touched.”

I sank slowly onto the edge of the bed. My heart rate was slowing, so that was something. Still, I was suspicious. What was Knightley’s angle?

“Yeah, well.” He glanced away, out the windows of his office, and then turned back. His eyes met mine, and I could see they were clouded with concern. “I know Aidan is a mentor to you, like me, and I’m just—shit, I’m struggling a bit with the news, and I thought maybe you were, too.”

I was surprised. I hadn’t expected this level of honesty from Jason. He’d always seemed like the sort of guy’s guy who buried anything that involved real emotions down deep, preferably six feet under and with a weighty headstone.

“I’m worried,” I said. “I mean, lung cancer is one of the big baddies.”

“But he’s only stage two.”

“Which is better than three or four.”

“But worse than one.”

“Right. I thought about canceling my trip and coming back, but I suspect Aidan didn’t tell me before I left because he didn’t want me to change my plans for him,” I said. “I’m feeling conflicted.”

“I thought you might be,” he said. “I mean, it’s Aidan, our hard-core lettuce eater. He’s supposed to outlive us all.”

I smiled. “He has always seemed like a force of nature.”

We were both quiet for a moment. I was full of thoughts about Aidan, and I suspected Jason was, too.

“Is that why you texted me earlier?” I asked. “To tell me about the change with the Severin ask?”

“I thought a warning might be in order,” he said. “But now that I know you think I’m handsome and charming—”

“Shut up,” I said. My words lacked heat, and I was thankful for the dim lighting, hoping it hid the blush I could feel heating my face.

He chuckled, and an awkward silence echoed between us, becoming more uncomfortable with each second. I didn’t want to admit how worried I was, and I suspected Knightley didn’t either.

“I’ll keep an eye on him for you,” he said. It was the first time I could ever remember him offering to do anything for me. “If there’s any change in his condition, I’ll let you know immediately. Wait, where are you exactly?”

I had to admit I was pleasantly surprised by his thoughtfulness. “Thank you,” I said. “I’m staying in a cottage in Finn’s Hollow, Ireland.”

“Ireland, huh?”

“Yeah.”

I bent over to grab the blanket that had landed on the floor. I dropped the spread onto the bed and pushed my hair out of my face with my free hand. I glanced at the phone and saw Jason watching me. The look in his eyes was one I didn’t recognize.

“Hey, Martin, I’ve never seen you with your hair down before,” he said. “You should wear it like that more often.”

I lifted one eyebrow, feeling annoyed. Next he’d be telling me I ought to smile more. “Because how I wear my hair matters why? Am I more ‘likable’ with my hair loose?”

His lips twitched as if he was trying to control a smile. “Um, no, actually. You’re still as lovable as a feral cat, but I gotta tell ya, Martin, the hair down . . .”

“What about it?” I glowered.

“It’s dead sexy,” he said. He gave me a little finger wave and a wink. “Until tomorrow.”

The call ended, and I stared at my phone. What a jackass.

Okay, that wasn’t fair. He had been decent and called me to see if I was okay after Aidan’s news. So perhaps he wasn’t 100 percent jackass—more like 75 percent, with the remaining 25 percent being a cubbyhole in his soul that housed his compassion and empathy. If I got lucky, I’d have to deal with only the 25 percent for the next few months. In the meantime, I absolutely planned to ignore the part of me that had been just the teeniest, tiniest bit flattered that he’d noticed my hair and called