wheel, he leaned on the driver’s door.
“Sorry if my Lincoln stories upset you.”
“Upset me? Why would they upset me? You’re the one who served time, not me.”
Had he stepped back because of her curt tone, or the smug expression that no doubt accompanied it? You’ve become a cold, heartless woman.
“You never were one to beat around the bush, were you?”
“It’s a confusing waste of time, and unnecessarily hard on the shrubbery.”
One side of his mouth lifted in a wry smile. “It’s been good, seeing you. Even better knowing you don’t hate my guts.”
She’d tried hating him, but the good times they’d shared made it impossible. “Harboring ill feelings...another waste of time.”
Oh, aren’t you the philosopher tonight!
“Uh-huh,” he said. And after a moment, “So...once we get Stan’s approval, we’ll have those flyers printed up?”
“We’re not waiting for his approval. He insisted that we meet and make some plans, and we did far more than that. I’ll print the flyer and email you a copy. Once you’ve made contact with your reporter pals, let me know, so we can work out a good time for interviews and whatnot.”
He leaned a forearm on the car’s roof. “I’ll have them get in touch with you.”
“With me? But you’re their go-to guy...”
“Why would they want to feature this ugly ol’ mug when they could film your pretty face?”
Grateful for the darkness that hid her blush, Maleah buckled her seat belt.
“Good work tonight,” she said, reaching for the door handle.
He took the hint and stood back. “How long will it take you to get home from here?”
“Now? Half an hour.”
Ian nodded as she shut the door.
“Good. Drive safely now, hear?”
Maleah aimed the SUV toward South Caroline. With any luck, the traffic lights would be on her side and she really would be home in thirty minutes.
If it took longer, she wouldn’t complain. She’d always done her best thinking behind the wheel, and the meeting with Ian had given her a lot to think about. How to explain to her family that she’d work with “that bum Ian Sylvestry” until the night of the gala, for starters. And how he’d parlayed life as an ex-con into respectable relationships with the media...something she’d hadn’t accomplished in her years with Washburne. At least, not to the degree Ian had.
On the other hand, she hadn’t yet seen proof that he could arrange the interviews. For all she knew, the promise was all part of a well-rehearsed act. If so, would Stan place the blame where it belonged? Because one thing Maleah didn’t need at this point in the gala’s schedule was another reason to resent him.
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