Darcy was on her feet, halfway across the room. She said, “I ha
ve to tell you why I came.”
Will stayed seated and waited for the axe to drop. He hadn’t forgotten how beautiful she was, but with her hair all wild, stalking about the room like a caged cat, he briefly considered getting nervous. But he was entirely too turned on to think rationally, and he couldn’t blame it on the head kicking.
“You have to know why I came before you say anything else.”
He picked up the teapot and poured. Maybe that might bring her back to the table. “You could drink your tea.”
She waved a hand, annoyed with his distraction.
“I came to ask you to do an interview with me.” She made a stop gesture as if she was sure he was going to interrupt. How could she not know he’d do anything for her? Ah yeah, that’s right, because he’d gone psycho, one minute denying she existed for him, the next issuing public declarations of love. There were galahs in the paddock smarter than he was on his good days about this woman.
“At some point, you need to make yourself available for a profile. After everything that’s happened.” Again with the hand. She was tied in knots about this.
“There is a strong appetite for information on you. You’ll get continual requests for interviews, and as soon as you decide to come out of hiding—”
“Assuming I do.”
She inclined her head in agreement. “Assuming you do, you’ll be door-stopped until you give something up.”
“Ah-huh. Aileen says that too.”
“Oh. Ah, I’m suggesting if you do an interview with me, it will go some way to closing the issue off.”
“Not just reigniting it?”
“Not if it’s done carefully. Not if we close the loops. I can help you do that.”
He sat forward, elbows on knees. He wanted to go to her, but she clearly needed her space. “Okay.”
She stopped pacing about. “Okay, what?”
“Okay, when do you want to do it? Can I have time to prepare? I’m not ready to leave here yet.”
“Will, you understand what I’m saying?”
“Dull. Even dumb at times, but no permanent brain damage, at least I hope not.”
“I don’t get it.” Her hands went to her hips. If she wasn’t a grown-up she’d have stamped her foot.
“What’s not to get?” He stood, but kept the table between them. “This is a sensible thing for me to do. I trust you to help me through it, and I owe you one, professionally speaking.”
All the colour fled from Darcy’s face, she plumped down on the sofa.
He stepped out from the table. “Darcy, what’s wrong?”
She looked stricken. “I have a problem.”
“Am I your problem?”
She looked miserable. “Yes.”
“I get it.”
“No you don’t.” She shook her head violently. “I need you to know I came here to convince you to do this profile because I’m desperate. The network thinks I fudged the interview about you.”
“They’re right, you did.”