Page 23 of The Most Wonderful Crime of the Year
Maggie was the least famous, least successful, least charismatic author at the table, so she looked at Ethan, willing him to tell another story or show off his abs, but he stayed silent for the first time in his hot guy life and Maggie felt personally betrayed.
“Lovely,” the duchess said dryly, then drained her glass of wine.
“Speaking of which”—Eleanor pushed back from the table and reached for her cane—“you must excuse me. I’ve written five hundred words before bed everyday for fifty years. I’m afraid tonight cannot be an exception. If you need anything, James or Cecilia will see to you.”
She was almost to the door when she stopped and lingered for a moment, looking over the assembled group. There were people who were related to her and people who worked for her and people who wanted to be her (Maggie. Maggie wanted to be her.) But as Eleanor took in the people at the table, Maggie realized that not a single one of them had introduced themselves as Eleanor Ashley’s friend.
She’d written nearly a hundred books. She was wealthy and famous and powerful. But she was also an old woman with a bum leg and a drafty mansion.
And she was alone.
So perhaps she was a little bit like Maggie after all.
Chapter Seventeen
Jet lag might not have been “the silent killer” but that didn’t mean it wasn’t brutal, or so Maggie thought as she tossed and turned three hours later, utterly exhausted but totally unable to sleep. The clock read nine minutes to midnight when she finally climbed out of bed and stepped into the chilly corridor. The halls were dark and empty, but lights burned in the sconces like a trail of breadcrumbs in the night.
She was halfway down the stairs when—
“I told you not to sleep after a red-eye.”
Maggie jumped and almost screamed. Her heart was beating a million miles an hour as she looked down at Ethan, who was sprawled across the bottom step like a sentry, standing guard but falling down on the job at the same time because Ethan always managed to be everything. All at once.
Cool but hot. Formal but relaxed. Intimidating but totally approachable. Even his smile managed to be self-deprecating but just a little bit smug at the same time.
“So what’s your excuse, Mr. Post Red-Eye Protocol Man.”
“Worst. Superhero. Ever.”
She didn’t smile. But he did. Just to spite her. She watched him look down at her T-shirt then mouth the words as he readno, i don’t put my enemies in my novels. my enemies aren’t that interesting.When Ethan laughed, he got those little crinkles around his eyes that make hot guys even hotter and Maggie wished they were at the top of the stairs just so she could give him a push.
“Maybe I’m waiting for Santa,” he told her.
“You’re early.”
She watched him sprawl across the steps like a cat in the sun, utterly at home in someone else’s mansion. So comfortable in his skin and the world and his place. So sure thatpeople would always adore him because people always had.
“Oh, I like to be prepared.”
“Why? Are you a Boy Scout as well as a Navy SEAL and an Army Ranger and a CIA operative and... Oh yeah.”Seriously?“International assassin?” Maggie stepped over his outstretched leg, then headed for the library, desperate for silence and solace and something to read. “Good night, Ethan.”
“Why don’t you like me?” Ethan’s voice was flat in the dim, chilly air.
“I don’t know you,” Maggie tossed over her shoulder, not even slowing down and far too tired to argue.
“We’ve known each other for five years.” He darted in front of her and forced her to stop.
“And for four and a half of them you couldn’t have picked me out of a lineup.”
“I...” It was like he heard the words but didn’t understand them. “We’ve crossed paths a dozen times.”
“And every one of those timesyou thought my name wasMarcie.”
It should have felt victorious, the way the smile slid off his face. He looked like she’d just ripped off a mask and announced she was an alien. A hologram. A ghost. It was like he didn’t know her at all. Which... he didn’t know her! At all! But, evidently, that was news to Ethan, who tried to rally. “We’ve been together pretty much nonstop for twenty-four hours, so—”
“So I haven’t been with a man! I’ve been with a social media feed.” And then she couldn’t help herself—she dropped her voice to a very Ethan-like tone. “Look at me, I’m charming on an airplane. Ooh. I’m hot in a limo. Hey! I’m quippy over... What?” she snapped when he gave her his cockiest grin.
“So what you’re saying is... you think I’m hot?” He arched an eyebrow and Maggie couldn’t stop herself. She burst through the library doors.
