personally she didn’t have anything against the media.
Heck, she had a degree in journalism and was part of the media herself—though working as a food editor on a glossy women’s magazine hardly qualified as hard-core news reporting. Someone had tipped these people off and they were following up the lead. Her journalist colleagues would do the same.
She petted Brutus in an attempt to soothe him. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jerome making his elegant way toward a sleek Jaguar parked nearby.
She felt a little miffed that he hadn’t made any attempt to talk to her again after being so attentive before the church service. But he didn’t turn back, didn’t seem curious at the unexpected media intrusion.
Suspicion shot through her. She remembered his call on his cell phone. Could he be responsible for this melee?
The reporters started throwing questions again. “About the will, Ms. Cartwright? Does it—?”
Tom cut them off. “Ms. Cartwright has no comment,” he repeated. Maddy felt a surge of irritation at the way he seemed to be taking over.
“I can speak for myself,” she hissed to him in an undertone. Then—taking a deep, steadying breath—she spoke to the reporters. “Guys, I know you’re trying to do your job, but this is a funeral. Please, show some respect.”
Grasping Brutus tightly she walked down the final steps from the church and went to walk around them. “I have nothing to say to you. If you’ll excuse me, I have to get to the cemetery.”
There was a rumbling of dissent. “I have no comment,” she said, walking away.
“So why did you have to be so nice to them?” Tom muttered as he strode along beside her, so close his shoulders brushed hers. Too aware of his maleness, she neatly sidestepped away.
“Because I’m not in the habit of being rude to people,” she said between clenched teeth.
“They’ll hound you now.Won’t let you alone.”
“And I’ll keep telling them I have nothing to say.”
“They’ll dig for dirt.”
Maddy felt sick at the implication of his words. She stopped and looked up at him, over Brutus’s head. “There is no dirt to find,” she said, unable to keep her voice steady.
His words were an unpleasant revelation. She’d begun to warm to Tom O’Brien. When it came to rating men, a sense of humor ranked as high as a good butt. Higher even. How could someone who appreciated the humorous satire of Shrek judge her so harshly for something she hadn’t done?
She turned on her heel and walked on, stomach churning with disappointment and anger. She reached her too-old, in-need-of-a-service Honda hatchback.
“Why don’t we go in my car?” he said, gesturing to a recent-model BMW parked a few spaces over.
“We?”
“You. Me. Brutus.”
“Brutus and I are fine, thank you. We don’t need a ride.” She made her voice as chilly as a freshly churned sorbet.
“You do if you want help getting away from that lot,” he said, gesturing at the reporters following them.
“I can manage on my own, thank you. Now if you don’t mind, I don’t want to be late to the cemetery.”
Tom’s voice rose with frustration. “For crying out loud, Maddy, I’m just trying to help here. Protect you. I hadn’t even intended to go to the cemetery. I’ve been away from the office long enough as it is.”
At his tone of voice Brutus whined sympathetically and leaned over to lick Tom’s hand. Maddy expected Tom to snatch his hand away, but with a pained look on his face, he left it there for Brutus’s slobbery ministrations.
“Uh, anyway, isn’t it obvious Brutus wants to be with me?” he said.
“Because you’re his alpha—”
“I didn’t say that,” Tom said. “And for heaven’s sake, keep quiet about that dumb theory in front of these reporters.” He wiped his hand down the side of his trousers. “Now come on, are you getting in the car or not?”
Brutus looked appealingly up at her with his black button eyes and then back to Tom.
Heck, she had a degree in journalism and was part of the media herself—though working as a food editor on a glossy women’s magazine hardly qualified as hard-core news reporting. Someone had tipped these people off and they were following up the lead. Her journalist colleagues would do the same.
She petted Brutus in an attempt to soothe him. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jerome making his elegant way toward a sleek Jaguar parked nearby.
She felt a little miffed that he hadn’t made any attempt to talk to her again after being so attentive before the church service. But he didn’t turn back, didn’t seem curious at the unexpected media intrusion.
Suspicion shot through her. She remembered his call on his cell phone. Could he be responsible for this melee?
The reporters started throwing questions again. “About the will, Ms. Cartwright? Does it—?”
Tom cut them off. “Ms. Cartwright has no comment,” he repeated. Maddy felt a surge of irritation at the way he seemed to be taking over.
“I can speak for myself,” she hissed to him in an undertone. Then—taking a deep, steadying breath—she spoke to the reporters. “Guys, I know you’re trying to do your job, but this is a funeral. Please, show some respect.”
Grasping Brutus tightly she walked down the final steps from the church and went to walk around them. “I have nothing to say to you. If you’ll excuse me, I have to get to the cemetery.”
There was a rumbling of dissent. “I have no comment,” she said, walking away.
“So why did you have to be so nice to them?” Tom muttered as he strode along beside her, so close his shoulders brushed hers. Too aware of his maleness, she neatly sidestepped away.
“Because I’m not in the habit of being rude to people,” she said between clenched teeth.
“They’ll hound you now.Won’t let you alone.”
“And I’ll keep telling them I have nothing to say.”
“They’ll dig for dirt.”
Maddy felt sick at the implication of his words. She stopped and looked up at him, over Brutus’s head. “There is no dirt to find,” she said, unable to keep her voice steady.
His words were an unpleasant revelation. She’d begun to warm to Tom O’Brien. When it came to rating men, a sense of humor ranked as high as a good butt. Higher even. How could someone who appreciated the humorous satire of Shrek judge her so harshly for something she hadn’t done?
She turned on her heel and walked on, stomach churning with disappointment and anger. She reached her too-old, in-need-of-a-service Honda hatchback.
“Why don’t we go in my car?” he said, gesturing to a recent-model BMW parked a few spaces over.
“We?”
“You. Me. Brutus.”
“Brutus and I are fine, thank you. We don’t need a ride.” She made her voice as chilly as a freshly churned sorbet.
“You do if you want help getting away from that lot,” he said, gesturing at the reporters following them.
“I can manage on my own, thank you. Now if you don’t mind, I don’t want to be late to the cemetery.”
Tom’s voice rose with frustration. “For crying out loud, Maddy, I’m just trying to help here. Protect you. I hadn’t even intended to go to the cemetery. I’ve been away from the office long enough as it is.”
At his tone of voice Brutus whined sympathetically and leaned over to lick Tom’s hand. Maddy expected Tom to snatch his hand away, but with a pained look on his face, he left it there for Brutus’s slobbery ministrations.
“Uh, anyway, isn’t it obvious Brutus wants to be with me?” he said.
“Because you’re his alpha—”
“I didn’t say that,” Tom said. “And for heaven’s sake, keep quiet about that dumb theory in front of these reporters.” He wiped his hand down the side of his trousers. “Now come on, are you getting in the car or not?”
Brutus looked appealingly up at her with his black button eyes and then back to Tom.
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