Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“That’s a jewel of an idea, a diamond in the rough, my boy!” cried Mr. Philips. Mr. Hill nodded approvingly.
Elizabeth, like the others around the table, eyed Mr. Hill’s nephew, Tim Hudgins.
Nice kid when he isn’t staring at his phone.
She sighed and glanced at her own phone.
There were three voicemails and six texts, and Mr. Philips would not stop talking.
She had rarely sat through a longer, duller ideas meeting.
Sparked by the success of the sports book, Elizabeth had already rushed through production of a calendar using some of its photos and snippets of text.
Currently, she was sifting through a growing number of proposals from public relations firms and agents hoping for inclusion in a second volume.
Exciting as that was, she was having a hard time focusing on the writing she really cared about.
Kelleton Press, which now had seen eight chapters and a full outline of A Cold Decade: Blacklisted in America, was prepared to hand her a contract once she delivered more of her work, but she had little besides chapter notes, character sketches, and stores of research.
After becoming immersed in the profiles of various Hollywood figures who’d had their careers ruined or derailed after becoming ensnared in the investigations, Elizabeth had gone on a writing binge.
But then she’d been distracted by Jane’s wedding and by all the wonderful happenings in her life revolving around a certain Mr. Darcy.
The growing demands on her at work, and the newfound respect she’d earned there, didn’t seem as exciting as she might have thought a few months ago.
That night, Darcy came home late from a dinner meeting, exhausted and hoarse, to find Elizabeth sitting in the middle of the living room floor, her open laptop in front of her, papers scattered in organized piles around her, and a yellow highlighter behind one ear.
The left ear, he noted, the one especially sensitive to his attentions.
He gave her a soft smile and, noting her concentration, headed off to change.
When he walked into their bedroom, he stopped, as had become his habit, to survey all things Elizabeth: her hairbrush on the dresser, a magazine and writing journal on her nightstand, a pair of her socks on the floor.
After three weeks of living together, he should be accustomed to her presence, her body warming his bed every morning and every night, but the newness and the wonder hadn’t worn off.
When he returned to the living room, clad in a T-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms, the half-dozen stacks had been reduced to three file folders, the laptop was closed, and Elizabeth had disappeared.
He found her in the kitchen making hot chocolate in the small saucepan she’d brought with her rather than using the French-made machine he owned that was supposed to make preparing cocoa easy and perfect.
He’d noticed she liked the calming rhythm of stirring things in her little saucepan and never used measuring spoons when she cooked or baked.
Her comfortable domesticity surprised and pleased him.
Seeing the highlighter still nestled in place, Darcy moved behind her and put his arms loosely about her waist.
“Did it go well? Did the other guys agree to the delay?” she asked.
“You mean, was it worth missing dinner with you?” He leaned in and kissed her neck. “Nothing is worth that, but yes, we’ll revisit the agreement in three months.”
“Yay you, Mr. Big Stuff.” She giggled softly as his lips roamed and found her ear.
“Do you have any idea how endearingly sexy you look with a yellow highlighter stuck in your hair?” he whispered. “All those college boys missed their shot.” He carefully removed the marker with his teeth while she laughed.
Elizabeth poured the chocolate into two mugs then turned around slowly in his arms. “None had your aim.” She plucked the marker from his mouth and pulled him down for a long, slow kiss, her fingers playing in the soft, sensitive spots behind his ears.
He sighed and his hands tightened on her back as she felt his control slipping.
He leaned in closer, his hips pushing against her waist and his hand moving under her sweater.
She felt him smile through his kiss when he realized she wasn’t wearing a bra.
A slow ache began to burn in her, but she stilled her hands and pulled slightly away. “Will,” she murmured, breathing hard.
“Hmm?”
“Let’s drink our cocoa.”
He looked at her, eyes darkened by desire but with distraction and disappointment on his face. “Sure.”
“I need to talk to you about something.”
She saw his look of apprehension and immediately caught his hand. “Not about us. About work and money and all that yucky adult stuff.”
“All right,” he said slowly. “Can we do it in bed? I’m knackered.”
They put the pot in the sink, filled the cat bowls, turned off the lights, and carried their mugs to the bedroom. He got into bed and leaned against the headboard.
“So what is it?” he asked, sipping his chocolate. “Don’t we have enough work and enough money?”
Elizabeth, curled up in the newly reupholstered armchair, gave him a look. “We both have enough work and you have as much money as Croesus. But we haven’t really talked about finances. I know you own this place and there’s no rent, but there’s taxes and fees and building upkeep, and all.”
“We already agreed you’d cover the groceries. And we eat a lot. Every day, at least.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “It’s not equal; you know that. I’m barely putting a dent in my paycheck. It’s not right. I feel guilty.”
“Well, I could fire Mrs. Reynolds, and you could take on the cleaning and the laundry and the cooking and such.” He looked at her, his face grave and inscrutable, but his gray eyes were twinkling.
“Fitzwilliam Darcy, you are a very bad man for even making such a joke. Just for that, I should do your laundry, shrink your boxers, and send you off to the office speaking in falsetto.”
He sipped his cocoa and looked at her with a pained expression. “Darling, I think we’d both suffer if my bits were pinched and bruised.”
She shook her head. “With all the use your ‘bits’ are getting, I’m surprised you haven’t complained of bruising before.” As his face fell into disbelief, she added, “Perhaps I should give your bits a few days off to clear your head and all.”
He remained silent, finished his chocolate, and placed the mug on the nightstand. Even in the dim light, Elizabeth could see he was blushing.
“Now, as I was saying, I really don’t feel right about things. I need to contribute more.”
“I think,” he said carefully, “that you are contributing to this household in the degree proportionate to your income.” He frowned at her raised eyebrows. “Look, did you and Jane go halves on everything, right down the center?”
“No, she paid a little more because she had the larger room and a bigger closet.”
“Did she make more money too?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then, it’s simple. I make more than you. There is no rent to pay. So if we each pay a proportion of our earnings toward our shared lifestyle, it wouldn’t be fifty-fifty or even seventy-thirty, would it?”
“No.” She squinted at him.
“Sweetheart, if the weekly or monthly outlay is bothering you, how would it be if you put the savings into a rainy day fund and invested it?”
“It’s about us and equity, not provisions for my old age.”
“All right.” He shrugged. “Vacation fund. I’ll have the mileage and the funds to get us wherever we want to go. You put away the money to have comfy beds and hot meals and loads of touristy fun when we get there.”
Elizabeth sipped the last of her chocolate, her brow furrowed in thought. His suggestion wasn’t perfect, nor was it equal, but it made her feel better.
“You are quite the all-in-one package, Mr. Darcy. Not only do you have a well-stocked pantry and fantastic bathroom amenities, you’re charming, sexy, cute, rich, and vexingly strategic.
” She looked at him, his face red and apparently biting back laughter.
“However,” she continued, “I don’t think you learned the charming part at business school.
I find it hard to believe you never met a woman smart enough to snatch you up. ”
“Oh, but I did. I’m bloody well snatched now. Is it a plan?”
Elizabeth set aside her mug and crawled onto the bed.
“It’s a smart plan: you playing to all my weaknesses.
” She straddled him and leaned down. “You’re one of them, you know.
So is chocolate, and I have to tell you, sweetie, I love you scruffy, but you have this little chocolate mustache that needs some attending to.
” She kissed him, and pulled back a bit, her eyes sparkling with mirth. “Nope, there’s a bit more over here…”
He smiled and flipped her over on her back. “I’d best check you too.”
Half an hour later, with all chocolate cleaned up, and all of Darcy’s bits checked and tested for damage, a naked Elizabeth was curled up in his arms. “So, I talked to Mr. Philips today about working at home two days a week. Working here if that’s okay.”
“Of course it’s okay. It’s your home too.” He turned and caressed her face. “I love the idea. What prompted it?”
“Getting to the office from here has been difficult, and it’s going to be harder come winter.”
“I know. I’m sorry about that. Rudy will drive you.”
She considered the idea. “That would be sweet. I could use the travel time for working on my book.”
“Did he agree to a home office?”
“Yes, right away.” She was still surprised at the alacrity with which her boss had greeted the idea. “I’m going to work here Tuesdays and Fridays. Assuming you were joking about firing the poor woman, Mrs. Reynolds isn’t here those days, and it’s useful if we’re leaving for the weekend.”
He laughed. “Splendid idea,” he said, before kissing the parts of her that she knew he found even more splendid.