Page 3 of Untamed
I’d wanted to say that I didn’t want to be disturbed—I didn’t want Gus knocking on my door when he was done, hoping for a selfie to go along with his autograph.
I couldn’t. I sucked at standing up for myself. I’d just put the Do Not Disturb sign out and hide.
“Thank you for your help, Madison.” I offered up a tired smile. Her grin wavered, and to my horror, her pale blue eyes started to water.
“Oh, Dr. Dunn, I just have to tell you!” Reaching across the counter, she pulled my sweaty hand into hers. I stiffened but could think of no way to extricate myself from the hold. “They said I’m not supposed to tell you, so you won’t worry, but I really think you should know. You know…so you can watch out.”
What?
“Madison.” She was still talking but stopped when I tapped my free hand lightly on the counter. She looked up at me with sad-kitty eyes. “What aren’t you supposed to tell me?”
There was a long pause as she hesitated, and then the words came out in a rush. “This isn’t the first time there’s been vandalism on your door. It’s happened twice before. Nobody’s supposed to tell you about it because you’re not supposed to worry, because when you worry you can’t work.”
Oh, for the love of…
One time. One time in five years had I been unable to do my show, and it was because… Okay, it was because I’d had some anxiety. We’d been waiting to hear if the show was going to be renewed beyond the first year. I’d given up a really good teaching job at a university to get it off the ground, and yes, I’d had some anxiety. One day—one!—I’d had a bit of a meltdown on set. I was still mortified by the memory.
“Who told you I wasn’t supposed to know?” I asked gently.
“I’ve said enough.” Madison winced.
“You’re not going to get in trouble.” That thread of temper that I tended to bury deep down was sparking. I was the one being threatened, but I wasn’t allowed to know what was going on? To hell with that.
“Your producer. The lady who wears…ah…” Madison’s skin flushed pink.
The producer. The lady who wears very little. Margot.
“Thank you, Madison.” This time my smile was genuine. I hesitated, feeling the need to give her something more. “Listen, after I’ve cleaned up, if you want to take a picture together, that would be fine.”
“Really?” The way her eyes widened, it looked as though I’d just told her she was going to meet Harry Styles. “Wait until I show my friends! I have to touch up my makeup!”
She was already grabbing a makeup bag from beneath the desk. She didn’t even notice when I left, crossing the lobby to the hallway where Margot’s room was.
A picture—some days it seemed like that was all anybody wanted from me. Five years ago, people had been interested in talking to me, learning about the show and how I’d gotten into archaeology.
Now? They wanted a picture for their friends to like on Instagram. I got it, but that didn’t mean I had to be happy about it.
“Cari?” My hand was raised to knock on Margot’s door when I heard my name. I turned, finding Nolan Smith, one of the graduate students working on the dig. In his hand he held my water bottle, freshly filled with cold tea and ice. “You left this at the site, and I thought you might want it. Everything okay?”
“Did you know about the vandalism?” He blanched, guilt written all over his face. “You did. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”
“How did you find out?” he asked carefully.
“Because there’s more on my door right now.” I arched an eyebrow. “And I can’t believe you kept this from me.”
“We just didn’t want to worry you.” He studied me, sincerity radiating from insanely blue eyes. “You know I only want the best for you.”
“Right.” Oh, this was awkward. “Um. Thanks for filling up my tea.”
When I took the bottle from him, our fingers brushed, and I couldn’t help but feel a little flip-flop in my belly.
Nolan was hot. A handful of years younger than me, he was tall and leanly muscled, looking exactly like the former high school basketball star that he was—golden-brown hair that flopped boyishly into those blue eyes, and a panty-dropping smile meant that he had more than one of the undergrads at the dig sighing over him.
He’d made me sigh a time or ten, as well. One night a couple of months ago, after a few too many rounds of beer at the bar attached to the crappy motel where we’d been staying, I’d let him kiss me. Okay, okay, I’d had a tequila shooter on top of the beer, been feeling uncharacteristically bold, and I’d kissed him. There might have been a bit of tipsy groping, too. What can I say? I hadn’t been immune to him any more than the undergrads.
Except when we’d kissed… I can’t say I felt nothing. But there hadn’t been any chemistry, either. You know…that inexplicable, stomach-churning, toe-curling, indescribable something that randomly brings two people together?
Nothing. Nada. Nyet.
