Chapter 7
Seven
SARAH
The walls of the cottage were starting to close in on me.
While I still wasn’t back to full energy, my restlessness kicked up a gear this morning, and I knew if I didn’t get outside for fresh air, I’d lose my mind.
Growing up on a farm, I was used to constant walks in the countryside.
Even working at Ardnoch, sometimes I’d take my lunch break just walking around the grounds to get out of the castle.
I spent my weekends hiking or finding beaches to explore.
Four days I’d lain in this bed while Theo Cavendish took care of me.
He tended to me with cavalier mothering that still shocked me.
I’d learned quickly not to bring it up to him, however, because it made him prickly.
It was like he didn’t want anyone to think he was capable of kindness.
And yet, the complicated bugger got annoyed when I suggested he was looking after me to get his hands on the film rights to my books.
I couldn’t quite work him out. Or how quickly I’d grown comfortable in his presence.
No, comfortable wasn’t the right word. It wasn’t like how I’d felt with Grandpa and Jared.
Every time Theo appeared in my room, I got butterflies, and I never quite knew what to expect from him, so I was always a wee bit on edge.
However, it wasn’t like the way I was with him before.
Or how I was with other strange men. Even around Lachlan Adair, my longtime boss, I turned into a nervous, blushing wreck.
But something about Theo taking care of me had created this intimacy between us. Moreover, other than when I accused him of looking after me for adaptation rights, he never seemed to take offense to anything, so I felt perfectly safe saying whatever was in my head.
Correction: If he wounded me with his arrogant mockery, I felt safe to bite back.
Usually the nervousness won out because I was overthinking being in someone’s presence. But not with Theo.
It didn’t make sense considering how intimidating he could be. As an observer, I’d noted that quite a few people at the estate found the aristocrat overwhelming.
For the last four days, Theo had cooked my meals, forced me to eat what I could, kept me hydrated, and after I showered he’d insisted on brushing my hair like a nursemaid and pleating it so I didn’t have to bother with blow-drying.
The first few days, I’d mostly slept, but yesterday I felt better and insisted he bring me my laptop.
I was still not well enough to write, but I wrote chapter summaries and answered emails.
Theo disappeared, off to who knows where, but was back in the late afternoon. We ate the pasta salad he prepared and made light conversation about Theo’s writer’s block, the script that just wouldn’t come together for him, and the next book in the Juno McLeod series. He didn’t bring up the rights.
After getting up this morning to relieve myself, I was grateful to discover that my limbs were much stronger, and I wasn’t anywhere near as light-headed. I wasn’t a hundred percent back to normal, but I was on the mend. And I needed fresh air.
I said as much to Theo when he arrived from the kitchen with poached eggs on toast and a cup of coffee.
The man had taken to sleeping in the guest room and was an early riser because he was always up, washed, and dressed before I even woke.
When I was well, I was an early bird too. But the flu was making me sleep longer.
“I’m going for a walk on the beach,” I announced once I’d finished breakfast.
“I don’t know if that’s wise.”
“It’s been nearly a week,” I argued. “The worst of my symptoms are gone. Even my stuffy nose is gone, and I’ve only got a wee cough.”
“But you’re still weak.”
“No.” I frowned. “I’m much better this morning.
Look, I’m not asking. I’m going for a walk.
” I threw off the covers and slid out of bed, grabbing my empty breakfast plate.
Hurrying past him, I heard him mutter something under his breath but couldn’t quite make it out.
Then I heard him following me into the kitchen.
I glanced over my shoulder as I put the plate in the sink. “I don’t need an escort.”
“Don’t you?” he murmured silkily as he leaned against the doorframe. He eyed me like a sleepy tiger.
“I’m a grown woman, Cavendish. While I appreciate you taking care of me this week, I don’t need an escort and I don’t need permission to go for a walk. I’m going to the beach. If I don’t get out of this cottage for some fresh sea air, I will scream.”
Theo smirked. “Someone woke up on the fiery side of the bed this morning.”
I grimaced. “Don’t be patronizing. This is my cottage. And in my cottage exists a gynarchy.”
He grinned and it was much too attractive. “It’s pronounced gai-nah-ki and your use of it is a little clumsy, darling.”
Of course, his vocabulary was better than the average person’s. “Are you mansplaining a word that literally means a government ruled by a woman?”
“I wouldn’t say mansplaining. I am curious as to where you came about such a colorful vocabulary?”
I shrugged as I brushed past him. “I like words.”
“Where are you going?”
“To get washed and dressed and then to the beach.”
“Well then, I guess we’re going to the beach.”
I turned at the entrance to the bathroom to look at him. “You don’t need to come along.”
Theo stared me down in that intense, assessing way of his that would have made me squirm just a week ago. “If you’re well enough to take a walk on the beach, you’re well enough to discuss business. And we do have business to discuss, little mouse.”
The car ride to the beach was short and silent. Theo seemed to follow my lead as we made our way down onto Gairloch Beach. It wasn’t a huge stretch of sand, but I was happy to walk the length of it a few times over to enjoy the sea breeze.
It was much colder than it had been just a week ago, but I welcomed the chilly prickle on my skin as we strode on the compacted sand near the water.
The skies were a moody gray above, and the sea, if not rough, was marginally choppy.
It rushed a little aggressively at the shore, and the rhythmic sound relaxed me.
However, it did not distract me from noticing Theo’s attention.
I could feel him staring down at me as we walked.
I wasn’t a tiny woman at five foot six, but a good eight inches shorter than Cavendish.
He strolled at my side, and when I finally turned to look at him, our eyes locked. I knew he was staring at me.
My cheeks flushed at the intensity of his gaze. Did I have something on my face? “What is it?”
“You look much better,” he stated factually. “Even with no makeup, you’re rather beautiful, little mouse.”
I flushed, though he’d commented with as much emotion as a robot. Embarrassed and annoyed by how contradictory he was, I huffed, “Are you trying to flatter the adaptation rights out of me now?”
Theo’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “No. I’m just shocked at how attractive you are. Usually, one notices someone as attractive as you. It must go unnoticed because you skitter about like a frightened mouse, trying to stay invisible.”
The comment stung. Badly. I looked away, staring at the water, refusing to respond to his mockery.
After a minute or so, Theo spoke again. “I didn’t intend to insult you.”
I turned back to him, drawing to a stop.
“No, I think you very much intended to insult me.” And I didn’t understand him at all.
Before he could respond, I resumed walking.
The breeze blew through my hair and whispered over my skin.
Needing a moment, I halted, turning toward the water.
Then I closed my eyes, hands in my coat pockets, and just enjoyed the feel of nature all around me.
Nothing but the sound of the water and the seagulls crying in the skies.
My legs still felt a wee bit wobbly, but I definitely had more energy than before.
I knew that I’d recovered so well because Theo had been a pushy nurse, making sure I ate (even when I didn’t want to) and drank plenty of fluids.
How could he go from being so casually kind and caring to being a complete and utter wanker?
I couldn’t even enjoy that he thought me beautiful because it was a backhanded compliment.
The man was so frustrating.
Shoving thoughts of him away, I tried to focus on being on this stunning beach. Opening my eyes, I watched the water ripple a little more wildly than usual.
I felt Theo at my side, staring out at the water too.
After a while, he spoke again. “I’ll give you one thing, little mouse. You never deblaterate, and it’s rather refreshing.”
Deblaterate. To prattle, blab, babble. “I’ve never been much for prattling or small talk.”
He laughed, eyeing me as if I were a new species of human. “You’re very interesting, aren’t you, Sarah? Or should I say S. M. Brodie?”
Another wave of flutters shook my belly, and I didn’t know if it was because he’d used my name instead of that horrible pet name or because it was now hitting me that Theo, my number one choice, was here to write the screenplay of Hollow Grave.
My life had been a strange mix of dream and nightmare this past year.
I straightened my shoulders and looked him in the eyes.
“Jack Irving’s production company will pay me a minimum of a hundred grand if the TV show gets made.
And an option fee of ￡8000.” I’d learned that an option fee was what a production company paid for the rights to make the TV show or movie.
If they didn’t produce it within eighteen months, they had to pay another fee or the rights would revert to me.
Theo considered this. “Is that for the first book only?”
I nodded.
“And how many copies has the series sold worldwide?”
“At last count, over eight million. The first book alone has sold nearly two million.”
“Christ.” He whistled. “Well done, little mouse.”
I gave him a look and he grinned.
“Fine. When we get back to the cottage, I’ll have my agent, Fern, reach out to your agent with my offer.”
“Which is?”
“Ten-thousand-pound option fee for eighteen months. But I have an idea for incorporating book two into the first season, so I’d want the rights to Hollow Grave and City of Deceit and we’ll work out a percentage that equates to a minimum payout above Jack Irving’s offer if the thing gets made. And with me at the helm, it will.”
He knew that I wanted him to adapt the books and that he had the upper hand, so why hadn’t he lowballed me? “You could have offered just the same.”
He shrugged at the question in my tone. “Yes, I suppose I could have.”
Realizing Theo Cavendish would never explain himself, I decided not to argue about his gentlemanly offer. “Done. I’ll contact my agent when we get back.”
“Who is your agent?”
“Liz Mackle at Mackle & Brown Literary Agency in London.”
“I know Liz. Fern and I have done film rights deals with her before. Excellent.” He started to walk, his brow furrowed in thought, and I hurried after him.
“So, what is this idea of incorporating book two into the first season?” Now that we were really talking about it, my excitement was growing at the idea of seeing Juno’s world on-screen.
“There’s a scene between Juno and the main antagonist, Peter, in City of Deceit. I think it would make an excellent scene in the last episode of the first season.”
I loved that he’d already mapped out the last episode in his head and was hopeful of a second season.
“Is it the scene where she breaks into his house and he comes home?” It was one of my favorite scenes, where Juno begins bending the law and you start to see that Peter is fascinated by her but doesn’t want to harm her.
Yet. There’s an attraction between them that adds a dark and complex layer to their dynamic.
The reader should be part enthralled, part appalled.
Theo’s eyes glittered as he stared at me like I’d surprised him again. “That’s exactly the scene I had in mind.”
It just confirmed he was the right person to do this. To my surprise, we were on the same wavelength. “So … I’d like to be involved in writing the screenplay. How would we do that?”
He considered this. “Usually, darling, I’d tell you to fuck off and let me handle it.”
I flushed in immediate indignation and opened my mouth to protest, but Theo held up a hand with a smirk.
“But I already know that would get me nowhere. Plus … to my complete and utter shock, I think we need your voice in this.”
I harrumphed.
Theo gestured toward the hills behind us where my bungalow stood. “How about I write the screenplay while you work on the next book? At the end of each day, you can look over what I’ve written and provide thoughts. We’ll discuss any changes you want to make together.”
“So, you’ll stay with me?” At my cottage. Writing together.
“Why not?” He exhaled heavily. “This is a good place to write. And there’s another desk in the guest room that I can put beside yours in the living room. You’re not hogging that view to yourself.”
Shaking my head at the continued weirdness of my current situation, I looked away from his handsome face. Stuck in my cottage for a prolonged time with Theo Cavendish. I didn’t know whether to run from or rejoice at his proposition.
“Is that a no?” he drawled.
“I’m just … life is strange. Don’t you think?” I looked back up at him.
He studied me thoughtfully. “Life isn’t strange, little mouse. People are.”
“Nothing stranger than folks,” I murmured. It was something my grandpa used to say.
“So … do we have a deal?”
My stomach flipped wildly, but I tried not to let it show as I replied, “It seems we do.”