The Wishing Game(51)
“You weren’t talking. You were trying to intimidate the one person in this game who has a chance of winning. Not that I blame you. Markham called me too. Tempting offer.”
“See?” Dustin said to Lucy. “He’s got a brain.”
“I do have a brain. So does Lucy. A better one than yours, otherwise you wouldn’t be trying to scare her into working with you.”
“I’m a doctor. I was top of my class. I don’t have to listen to this.” Dustin raised his hands and stormed off, saying, “Bye. I’m out of here.”
When he was gone, Hugo turned to Lucy. “What a prince.”
She looked a little dazed. “He seemed nice yesterday, this morning. Wow.”
“Some boys can’t handle losing. What do you call them in the teachers’ lounge? Poor sports? Sore losers?”
Lucy groaned and faced him. “I came to find you,” she said. “I was going to tell you I was sorry for the whole, you know…”
“Calling a man who grew up with a single mum in a moldy council flat a ‘spoiled brat’?”
“Yes, yes, that,” she said sheepishly. “Exactly that. Got a little worked up last night.”
“I deserved it.”
“No, you didn’t. I just…This game is my one chance to get ahead a little.”
“Understood. Completely. Say no more.”
“Thanks.” She nodded, then looked around. It seemed she wanted to say something else but decided against it. He would have paid eight figures if he’d had it to know what she’d been about to say. “Well, I better get back to the house.”
“Let me walk you,” he said. “You need a bodyguard in case anyone else tries to force you to join a multimillion-dollar conspiracy.”
“It’s not as fun as it looks in the movies. Disappointing.”
He led her along the shore toward the house. Sunlight broke apart the morning clouds and danced across the water. The ocean breeze was warm and gentle. Hugo felt a foreign sensation. Happiness? No. Hope? Not that, but something like it.
“I have to say,” Hugo said, “I’m impressed that you would turn down a chance at ten million or more dollars.”
She shook her head. “If he hadn’t been such an asshole, I might have been tempted.”
“Are kindergarten teacher’s aides allowed to say ‘asshole’?”
“I’m off duty. If I were on duty, he’d be a butthole.”
“How’s about a queen mum?”
“Queen mum?”
“Cockney rhyming slang,” he explained. “Rhymes with bum.”
“I’ll remember that. The kids will love it.”
“Just don’t ask me what a Jack and Danny is.” He gave her a wink.
“Now you have to tell me.” She elbowed him gently, which he rather liked.
“I’ll draw you a picture instead.”
“Please do. Then I’ll sell it for millions and buy some new shoes.”
“You’re vastly overestimating my popularity on the secondary market.”
“I’ll sell it for hundreds and buy some new shoes?”
“Now you’re getting closer,” he said and smiled at her. Smiling? Him? Oh, God, he was flirting.
Damn. So much for his vow to stay away from Lucy Hart.
* * *
—
Years ago, one of the Clock Island books had come with a poster folded up in the back. Carefully, Lucy had torn it out and unfolded it, pinned it over her bed. She stared for hours at that poster, the delicately painted girl sitting in the window of a strange stone tower overlooking Clock Island, a raven soaring toward her carrying a note clutched in its talons. The Princess of Clock Island, Book Thirty, cover artwork and illustrations by Hugo Reese.
Lucy loved that book, loved that poster, wanted to be that girl, the princess of Clock Island. She didn’t tell Hugo that from age fourteen to sixteen, she’d slept under his artwork hanging over her bed. Now here she was, strolling on the beach of Clock Island with him like they were old friends. She liked the thought of being friends with Hugo Reese. If things were different—very different…except they weren’t different. Christopher needed her. That was all that mattered.
“Thanks again for rescuing me,” she said, trying to break the suddenly awkward silence.
“You two were arguing outside my studio, and I was attempting to paint. My motives were entirely selfish.”
“Do you live in the cottage, or is that just your studio?”
“Live there. Work there. Hide from work there. Why?”
“Guess I assumed you lived in the house with—”
“No, no, no, no, no.” He raised his hand. “I’ve heard all the rumors, heard all the stupid jokes. Yes, Jack is gay. No, I’m not. Even if I were, the man’s like a father to me, nothing else.”
She laughed. “I didn’t say that. I didn’t say anything about that. It’s just, you know, a very big house.”
“The Big House is a synonym for a prison.”
“It can’t be that bad. It’s beautiful.” They left the beach walkway and took the gravel path that led to the house.
Lucy hesitated before speaking again, not wanting to be rude, but curiosity overcame her.