"No." He started to close the door again, but Kate hadn't lived in New York for five years without learning a trick or two. She quickly stuck her foot forward, managing not to wince as the door banged into it and bounced back open.
Before Mr. Argeneau could comment on her guerilla tactics, she said, "If you don't care for takeout, perhaps I could pick up some groceries and cook you something you like." For good measure she added, "That way we could discuss your fears, and I might be able to alleviate them."
He stiffened in surprise at her implication. "I am not afraid," he said.
"I see." Kate allowed a healthy dose of doubt to creep into her voice, more than willing to stoop to manipulation if necessary. Then she waited, foot still in place, hoping that her desperation wasn't showing but knowing that her calm fa?ade was beginning to slip.
The man pursed his lips and took his time considering. His expression made Kate suspect he was measuring her for a coffin, as if he were considering killing her and planting her in his garden to get her out of his hair. She tried not to think about that possibility too hard. Despite having worked with him for years as Edwin's assistant, and now for almost a year as his editor, Kate didn't know the man very well. In her less charitable moments, she had considered just what kind of man he might be. Most of her romance authors were female. In fact, every other author under her care was female. Lucern Argeneau, who wrote as Luke Amirault, was the only man. What kind of guy wrote romances? And vampire romances at that? She had decided it was probably someone gay… or someone weird. His expression at the moment was making her lean toward weird. Serial-killer-type weird.
"You have no intention of removing yourself, do you?" he asked at last.
Kate considered the question. A firm "no" would probably get her inside. But was that what she wanted? Would the man slaughter her? Would she be a headline in the next day's news if she did get in the door?
Cutting off such unproductive and even frightening thoughts, Kate straightened her shoulders and announced firmly; "Mr. Argeneau, I flew up here from New York. This is important to me. I'm determined to talk to you. I'm your editor." She emphasized the last word in case he had missed the relevance of that fact. It usually had a certain influence with writers, although Argeneau had shown no signs of being impressed so far.
She didn't know what else to say after that, so Kate simply stood waiting for a response that never came. Heaving a deep sigh, Argeneau merely turned away and started up his dark hall.
Kate stared uncertainly at his retreating back. He hadn't slammed the door in her face this time. That was a good sign, wasn't it? Was it an invitation to enter? Deciding she was going to take it as one, Kate hefted her small suitcase and overnight bag and stepped inside. It was a late-summer evening, cooler than it had been earlier in the day, but still hot. In comparison, stepping into the house was like stepping into a refrigerator. Kate automatically closed the door behind her to keep the cool air from escaping, then paused to allow her eyes to adjust.
The interior of the house was dark. Lucern Argeneau hadn't bothered to turn on any lights. Kate couldn't see much of anything except a square of dim light outlining what appeared to be a door at the end of the long hall in which she stood. She wasn't sure what the light was from; it was too gray and dim to be from an overhead fixture. Kate wasn't even sure that going to that light would bring her to Lucern Argeneau's side, but it was the only source of light she could see, and she was quite sure that it was in the direction he'd taken when walking away.
Setting her bags down by the door, Kate started carefully forward, heading for that square of light, which suddenly seemed so far away. She had no idea if the way was clear or not—she hadn't really looked around before closing the door—but she hoped there was nothing to trip over along the way. If there was, she would certainly find it.
Lucern paused in the center of his kitchen and peered around in the illumination of the nightlight. He wasn't quite sure what to do. He never had guests, or at least hadn't had them for hundreds of years. What did one do with them, exactly? After an inner debate, he moved to the stove, grabbed the teakettle that sat on the burner, and took it to the sink to fill with water. After setting it on the stove and cranking the dial to high, he found the teapot, some tea bags and a full sugar bowl. He set it all haphazardly on a tray.
He would offer Kate C. Leever a cup of tea. Once that was done, so was she.