LEAD ME ON by Julie Ortolon (find a book to read TXT) 📕

“What do we do?”

Adrian’s cheeks puffed as he let out a heavy sigh. “Hope Marguerite’s magic is firmly on our side?”

Allison remembered what she’d said to Scott Lawrence: A charm only works if you believe. Unfortunately, life had taught her that blind faith too often led to shattering heartbreak.

Morning arrived much too early after a night of tossing and turning and worrying over money, but that didn’t mean Allison could sleep in. By six o’clock, she and the others were in the kitchen, preparing for “Show Time,” as Adrian liked to call it.

As B and Bs grew in popularity, so grew the expectations of guests. With the former chef of Chez Lafitte manning the stove, the Pearl Island Inn was more than up for the challenge. Mouthwatering pastries, fluffy soufflés, and poached eggs drenched in hollandaise were served alongside fresh fruit, homemade yogurt, and their own toasted granola.

At seven o’clock the first two guests had already come downstairs.

“Good morning,” Allison greeted the couple cheerfully as she swept into the dining room with a wicker basket of pastries. Chance and Rory followed with silver trays to fill the serving stands on the sideboard. “I hope y’all slept well.”

“Reasonably well,” Colonel Grubbs, a retired army officer, answered as he took a seat beside his wife at the long table. “Considering Elsie forgot to pack my pillow.”

“Oh, Arthur, stop complaining.” His wife gave him an indulgent smile before turning to Allison. “I’m afraid my husband’s never been much of a morning person.”

Alli saw Rory and Chance exchange glances and roll their eyes. One thing they’d all learned about running a bed and breakfast was that innkeepers met a lot of people, from the delightful ones to the ones who took a bit more patience. With Colonel and Mrs. Grubbs, they had one of each.

“What do you two have planned for today?” Alli asked the couple as she took up a pitcher of fresh squeezed orange juice.

“We were thinking about the Texas Seaport Museum,” Mrs. Grubbs answered.

“Oh, you’ll like that,” Rory said. “The Elissa is a beautiful old sailing ship that’s been fully restored and the museum’s display on smuggling is fascinating.” As Rory, a former tour guide, launched into a list of other things to do down by the pier, the phone in the office rang.

“I’ll get it,” Alli said. With orange juice pitcher in hand, she headed for the office and reached the desk just before the answering machine would have picked up the call. “Pearl Island Inn. Allison speaking.”

“Well, now there’s a disgustingly chipper voice for so early in the day,” a deep voice grumbled.

“Sorry.” Alli smiled. “I forgot it was before the chipper hour. How may I help you?”

“Run away with me to Tahiti?”

She laughed, wondering who the caller was. “I’m afraid that will have to wait until after I finish serving breakfast.”

“Darn! Well, if you won’t run away with me, how about patching me through to Scott Lawrence’s room?”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, either.”

“Don’t tell me—the son of a bitch beat me to Tahiti.”

“No.” Her laughter grew. “We don’t have phones in the rooms.”

“No phones in the rooms? Man, no wonder he picked your inn. The jerk must be doing handsprings.”

“Would you like me to give him a message?” Setting aside the pitcher, she reached for a pen and piece of paper.

“Sure. Why not? I’ll give it a shot. Not that I expect it to do any good, but tell him Hugh called. As in Hugh Ashton. His agent in New York, in case he’s forgotten the name. While I almost admire the way he’s turned avoiding me into an art form, we do have some business to discuss. So, tell him I would appreciate him actually returning one of my calls sometime before Y3K. Got that?”

His agent! Calling from New York! “Y-yes, sir. Absolutely.”

“Great. Now what did you say your name was?”

“Allison. Allison St. Claire.”

“Allison, eh? Pretty name. Pretty voice. I don’t suppose you have a face to match, do you?”

“Excuse me?” She couldn’t believe she was talking to Scott Lawrence’s literary agent.

“Are you good-looking?”

Why on earth would he ask that? Rattled, she grasped for a way to handle the situation, to seem sophisticated rather than awestruck. An image of her aunt, the Incomparable Vivian, star of the stage on Broadway, rose in her mind. How would Aunt Viv handle a flirtatious caller? Alli tossed her head to help get into character and pitched her voice low enough to sound husky. “Devastatingly gorgeous, darling.”

“Oh, be still my heart. So, what do you think of Scott?”

Confusion nearly made her break character. Why would he flirt with her, then ask her what she thought about another man? “I think he’s a brilliant writer, of course.”

“No, what do you think about him?”

“Not bad on the eyes, I suppose. If you like the tall, dark, and deadly type.”

Hugh Ashton’s laughter boomed forth, rich and full like a man with a bawdy sense of humor who sorely needed a chance to laugh more often. “Allison, I like you. Please tell me you’re not married?”

“Why? Are you proposing?”

“No, just being nosy.”

“In that case, I’m single.”

“Involved?”

“I...” Some of her initial wonder dimmed to caution. What an odd conversation. “I need to go.”

“Wait! The message. Tell Scott his editor agreed to another extension on the proposal, but she needs a title suggestion and a short blurb about the premise and setting so they can start on the cover concept. Tell him to fax me something. Anything. Got it?”

She nodded as she wrote. “Yes, I have it.”

“Good. Then bye for now, love. I’m sure we’ll be talking again soon.”

After disconnecting, Alli stared at the phone. She’d just talked to a real, live literary agent, and he wanted her to play go-between for him and Scott Lawrence!

Celebrities normally didn’t intimidate her—her family tree boasted too many stars of the stage for that—but Scott was fast proving to be an exception. Perhaps because he didn’t just act