Page 40 of The Bodyguard's Fall

“No bodies,” I said again. “It’s a family-friendly romance.”

“You wrote family crime dramas on the same channel. Were there no bodies?”

“That’s different. People don’t want bodies in their romance.”

We both sat, chewing on waffle fries, with that statement hovering in the air.

“At least…not dead ones,” I added, somewhat painfully.

“Okay, fine. What if we pull a page from your book? She’s out walking, and she feels somebody watching her and⁠—”

“No stalking.”

He let out an exasperated sigh. “Did she specifically say no stalking?”

“No, but it’s in the same category. People watching this channel don’t want to be thinking about falling in love when a potential crazy person could jump out at any second. Trust me, it ruins the vibe.”

“No. It will raise the ante. It doesn’t have to be stalking, but think about it. If she’s hiding from something while falling in love at the same time? It’s a no-brainer. It will be double the viewers, guaranteed. Guys will actually want to watch it with their girlfriends. Everybody wins.”

I opened my mouth to say something when it slowly closed again—my mind busy calculating the risk. The problem was, I liked what he was saying. I understood it. It wasn’t groundbreaking. There were lots of romance movies out there combining suspense and dead bodies with romance, but it was definitely darker than the very specific happy-go-lucky vision Elaine had painted me. I didn’t want to like the idea. Tate Walker had no right to waltz in and take over my screenplay. And he was looking a little too self-satisfied for my taste.

“You like it.” I could hear the smile in his voice.

I kept intensely focused on taking a long drink of my Dr. Pepper.

“Why a librarian? That’s the most boring occupation ever.”

I looked at him in outrage.

“Why don’t you make it something cool?” he added, enjoying my obvious distress.

“It is cool. And you’ve got to know your audience. It’s a dream job for a lot of people. Me included. But either way, I have no time for anything cooler.”

“Why?”

“I’ve only got six weeks to write this thing. It’s got to be something I’m already familiar with.”

I was awaiting his reply, ready to go to battle, when Tate’s gaze narrowed to something past my shoulder. I followed his line of sight until I spotted a man who’d just strode through the door. He had a medium build and light-brown hair and seemed like he was searching the room, looking for something. Or someone. On the outside, he seemed pretty average. It was the brown pants and wrinkled yellow shirt that had me clutching my napkin tightly in my fist.

He finally turned toward us and waved, coming immediately in our direction.

I let out a sigh. It wasn’t Leroy.

And he hadn’t been waving at us. Other than the clothes, he didn’t look that much like him when he got closer. He joined the woman and two kids eating in the booth next to us, who both squealed for their daddy. I turned back around to face Tate. His eyes were already on mine.

We ate in silence while I waited for my heartbeat to slow. I hated that my palms were sweaty. I hated what Leroy had done to me. I hated that normal interactions that most people wouldn’t notice, I now had to think twice about.

I also hated this broken silence between us. So I attempted to fill it with the one thing that always came to mind each time I thought I’d spotted Leroy.

“When I was in college, I took this film class, and the only thing I remember from the whole class is this Alfred Hitchcock quote, where he said: ‘There is no terror in the bang, only in the anticipation of it.’ I can’t speak for the actual bang, but some days, I’m ready to prance through the streets and let him find me and get it over with—whatever it is. The waiting for something to happen is torture.”

“What would you do if you saw him?” Tate had finished his burger and was leaning back in his booth, studying me in a way that made me feel hot and itchy.

“What?”

He motioned to the man behind me, who I could hear happily chatting with his toddler. “If that had been him, what would you have done?”

“Is this a trick question?” I asked, eyeing him warily.