Without any effort on his part, the smile on Paxton’s face gained some natural warmth and he said, “It’s me again. I haven’t eaten yet, and I thought perhaps you’d join me for a meal on the company and we could discuss-”

“No. Please remove yourself from my doorstep.” Then Raven Remington closed the door once more. “Well, that was more then just a ‘no’,” Paxton muttered to himself. “It was even a whole sentence, really.” Ever the optimist, he decided to take it as progress. Raising his hand, he pounded on the door again. His smile was somewhat battered, but it was still in place when the door opened for the third time. Mr. Remington reappeared, looking less pleased than ever to find him still there. This time, he didn’t speak but merely arched an eyebrow in question. Paxton supposed that if his speaking a whole sentence was progress, his reverting to complete silence had to be the opposite- but he’s determined not to think of that. Trying to make him smile a little sunnier, he cleared his throat and said, ‘if you don’t like eating out, perhaps I could order something in and-”

“No.” he started to close the door again, but Paxton hadn’t lived in Colorado for five years without learning a trick or two. He quickly stuck his foot forward, managing not to wince as the door banged into it and bounced back open.

Before Mr. Remington could comment on his gorilla tactics, he said, “If you don’t care for takeout, perhaps I could pick up some groceries and cook you something you like.” For good measure he added, “That way we could discuss your fears, and I might be able to alleviate them.”

He stiffened in surprise at his implication. “I am not afraid,’ he said.

“I see.” Paxton allowed a healthy dose of doubt to creep into his voice, more than willing to stoop to manipulation if necessary. Then he waited, foot still in place, hoping that his desperation wasn’t showing but knowing that his calm façade was beginning to slip. The man pursed his lips and took time to considering. His expression made Paxton suspect he was measuring him for a coffin, as if he were considering killing him and planting him in his garden to get him out of his hair. He tried not to think about that possibility too hard. Despite having worked with him for years as Paislee’s assistant,

and now for almost a year as his editor, Paxton didn’t know the man very well. In his less charitable moments, he had considered just what kind of man he might be. Most of his romance authors were female.in fact, every other author under his care was female. Raven Remington, who wrote as luck admire, was the only man. What kind of guy wrote romances? And werewolf romances at that? he had decided it was probably someone crazy dog lover… or someone wired. His expression at the moment was making him lean toward weird. Serial killer-type weird.

“you have no intention of removing yourself, do you?’ he asked at last.

Paxton considered the question. A firm “no” would probably get him inside. But was that what he wanted? Would the man slaughter him? Would he be a headline in the next day’s news if he did get in the door? Cutting off such unproductive and even frightening thoughts, Paxton straightened his shoulders and announced firmly; “Mr. Remington, I flew up here from Colorado. This is important to me. I’m determined to talk to you. I’m your editor.” he emphasized the last word in case he had missed the relevance of the fact. It usually had a certain influence with writers, although Remington had shown no signs of being impressed so far.

he didn’t know what else to say after that, so Paxton simply stood waiting for a response that never came. Heaving a deep sigh, Remington merely turned away and started up his dark hall.

Paxton stared uncertainly at his retreating back. He hadn’t slammed the door in his face this time. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? Was it an invitation to enter? Deciding he was going to take it as one, Paxton hefted his 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. Paxton automatically closed the door behind him to keep the cool air from escaping, then paused to allow his eyes to adjust.

The interior of the house was dark. Raven Remington hadn’t bothered to turn on any light’s. Paxton 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 he stood. He wasn’t sure what the light was from; it was too gray and dim to be from an overhead fixture.