“Joan certainly recommended you highly,” I said. Gushingly, one might say.
“Great lady. Met her while coaching one of her colleague’s bestsellers, and I eventually introduced Joan to her husband.”
This information perked me up, for no real rational reason.
He gestured toward me with his fork. “Someone at Hargrave clearly thinks you have bestseller potential, and I’m here to help you fulfill it. So, as nice a diversion as it’s been to be the center of attention myself, we should focus on you.”
“Okay, sure. Just, um, let me get something to pull my hair back with so it’s not falling in my face while you film me.” It was either that or an I-have-to-use-the-bathroom excuse to leave.
I dashed out of the room, making a quick right to retrieve my bra and scan for any other offending under-garments. Then, hoping he was too preoccupied with pie to notice, I hurried past the kitchen/dining room area again to get the clip I’d tossed on my dresser before answering the door. When I moseyed back down the hall, securing my hair in a loose twist as I walked, I found Dylan had rinsed off his plate and unzipped the camcorder case.
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