“What’s that?”
So many times, her senses had picked up on the presence of Maxwell Black without having to see him. But of course they would fail to alert her now.
She turned in her chair, wincing as she met his stare. “It’s about Reed…”
His jaw tightened. “What were you going to do with it?”
He was right to ask that question. “I don’t know.” She couldn’t lie to him. “It’s not very good. I would want to leave it out even if it was. I just…” She didn’t want to betray Maxwell. Doing so would mean she was no better than the saboteur.
“You just…?” he prompted.
“I need to protect Reed,” she admitted.
“Did you think I didn’t know your real reason for coming here?” A little light seemed to leave his eyes.
“I didn’t throw it out, though, because I couldn’t—I can’t…” Caroline skimmed the article. “But I don’t think we should run it. Yes, it might remind everyone of the fire, but besides that, it’s… tired. Nothing Mr. Pip wrote in here is new.”
With a steady gaze, Max reached out one hand. “Give it to me.”
She handed it over without any protest, though she still felt the need to explain. “I wouldn’t… I—”
Max tore the story in half, and then tore what was left in half two more times.
He stepped around the table and, holding his arm out, opened his hand. Small pieces of paper fluttered downward, into a wastebin below.
“I trust your judgement. If you say it’s old news, it’s old news.”
“You didn’t have to—”
“I said, I trust your judgement.” His stare burned, making her warm at first, and then hot, reminding her of their celebration the night before. A celebration she wouldn’t mind repeating. But this was work.
This was business. Or was it?
“Why?” She needed to know.
“It’s old news. But also, it would hurt you. It’s not worth it.”
His words ought to be enough, so why was she disappointed? Her mother’s words replayed in her head. “Do you love him?”
Did she? “Thank you,” she said.
Was that part of what had kept her from hiding the article from him and then tossing it out?
“Did you see this one about the missing frigate? It was carrying nearly a million pounds of tea. I was thinking to put it on the front page.”
Max nodded. “Definitely.”
Caroline didn’t see Max again until after the first galley was made, and even then, they couldn’t really talk. Those who’d stayed to proof worked silently.
Occasionally, she’d feel Maxwell watching her from behind the page he was reading. She did her best to ignore it—ignore him. Not because she wanted to, but because seeing the spark in his eyes sent bolts of heat racing through her veins. He’d admitted that she distracted him and now she understood.
She stopped reading and fanned her hand in front of her face.
Because, good heavens! When he stared at her like that, she could hardly remember her own name, let alone pay attention to what she was reading.
“Looks good.” Maxwell pushed his chair out. “Just those two errors.”
Again, just like every other time they’d proofed initial galleys, mistakes were far and few between. The compositors quickly made the corrections and a second galley was made.
