Maybe I was stupid for listening to him, much less trusting him, but honestly, I didn't know what else to do. It's not like I had a better idea.
Still, the longer this went on, the more foolish I felt. Maybe I was making too much of Nicky's antics. After all, it's not like he'd assaulted me or anything.
Jack returned his attention to the door. "Don't worry. He'll be back."
At this, I had to scoff. "That's seven, you know."
"Seven what?"
"Seven times you've told me not to worry."
"You were counting?"
Going for a joke, I said, "Yeah, and I can spell, too."
His gaze shifted once again in my direction. From the look on his face, he didn't see the humor.
I cleared my throat."I just mean, I can countandspell. Get it?"
He looked back to the door. "Don't worry. I got it."
Under my breath, I muttered, "Eight."
As far as the spelling thing, for some stupid reason, I couldn't let it go. "I mean, I probably don't spell as well asyoudo, since you're a bestselling author and all." I tried to laugh. "But hey, I can spell 'cat' with the best of them."
Cat? Good grief.Here I was three years into an English degree, andthiswas the best I could do?
He said, "I'll keep that in mind."
Damn it.I was making a total ass of myself. Even calling him "bestselling" – it was a massive understatement. He was, after all, Jack Ward – the guy who'd sold so many books, they could probably encircle the Earth several times over.
The guy was a billionaire, and not only from his books. According to my sister, he'd also made a fortune on all of the merchandise related to his novels – which featured a breathtaking blend of sword and sorcery along with old fashioned kings and castles.
His fictional world was brutal – but surprisingly just – in a head-lopping sort of way.
Maybe that explained it – his stubborn chivalry or whatever this was. I mean, he didn'thaveto be sitting here, dealing with a problem that wasn't even his own.
Still, he was making me just a little bit crazy.
Unable to stop myself, I said, "And just so you know, I can spell more than cat. Actually, I'm getting a degree in English lit."
In theory, anyway.I was twenty-four years old. I should've already graduated. But until just last year, I'd been attending only part-time, scratching out credits whenever I could.
Jack was silent for a long moment before saying, "Do me a favor."
I almost winced.Oh, God.He was going to tell me to shut up. All things considered, that probably wasn't such a terrible idea.Still, how humiliating would that be?
Bracing myself, I asked, "What kind of favor?"
"Find me a pencil."
I did a double-take. "What, why?"
"Just do it," he said. "Please."
"I'm not even sure I have one," I admitted. "Will a pen work?"
"No. But I need it now, okay?"
