Page 56 of Married in Michigan

“You do!”

He holds up both hands palms out. “There are no cameras, Makayla. I swear—on my honor as a Marine Recon.”

“Then how?”

“A magician never reveals his secrets.” He smirks. “Suffice it to say my nickname in my squad was Spooky.” He laughs. “Or, more frequently, ‘goddammit, Liam, you spooky fucking bastard!’”

I restrain a grin. “Well just be careful. You may be a spooky hard-ass Marine, but I was raised in Detroit. Spook me at your own risk.”

Liam just winks. “Look at this way—I only prank those I like.”

“What do you do to people you don’t like?” I ask.

Liam’s face goes scary. “They disappear.” I blink, hoping he’s joking but not sure…until he cackles, face breaking into a grin. “I’m kidding, Jesus. You think I just go around killing people I don’t like?”

I shrug broadly. “How the hell am I supposed to know?”

“I was a Marine Recon, not an assassin.” A pause. “I know a couple, though. Nice fellas, just don’t get on their bad side.” He winks at me again.

“Such a joker, you are,” I say with wry amusement.

He heads for the door. “For real though, it was a joke. I’m not spying on

you; there are no hidden cameras. Sort of a welcome to the club initiation.”

“You coulda just said ‘welcome to the club.’”

A shrug and a wave. “Nah. Where’s the fun in that?”

And then I’m alone yet again; passing by his study, I see Paxton still working, the screen reflected in his glasses, a loud, fast, constant clacking of the keys punctuated by an occasional pause.

I pace around the penthouse for a while, examining artwork, poking through the kitchen, sitting on the couch and leafing through magazines…

I begin to realize that my biggest problem with this whole situation won’t be Paxton, but…boredom.

14

Iended up borrowing a book from Paxton’s office—I had expected his library to be full of dry, stuffy, Ivy League-education crusty bullshit, but instead, I’d found a dizzying variety of subjects and genres: histories and biographies, psychology and self-help, classic literature ranging fromThe OdysseytoCatcher in the Rye, political treatises from Ancient Greece and Rome, as well as autobiographies from modern politicians like Madeleine Albright and Bill Clinton and Barack Obama, and genre fiction of all kinds, ranging from sci-fi and fantasy to historical fiction and even a few romances. I was, honestly, amazed.

While I perused his bookshelves, Paxton remained at his desk typing, thinking, and typing, a focused expression on his handsome face. Eventually, when I pulled out a biography on Rockefeller and stood flicking through the pages, he sat back in his chair, poking at his teeth with the arm of his glasses.

“That’s a wonderful biography,” he said. “One of the best around on Rockefeller.”

I gestured at the shelves. “How many of these have you read?”

He frowned slightly. “Well…all of them.”

I blinked—there were thousands of books here. “All of them?”

He nodded. “That’s why they’re here: I love books, real books. I buy them, read them, put them on the shelf. Sometimes I read them more than once, but not often—only if it’s really good. But yes, I’ve read every book on this shelf at least once.” He indicated the small table next to the deep, reclining armchair under the lamp; stacked in piles on the table were at least a dozen books, hardcovers and paperbacks, fiction and nonfiction. “That’s my T-B-R pile.”

“To be read?” I guessed.

A nod. “Yep. I like to pick at things. I’ll read a few chapters of a novel, a few chapters of a biography, back and forth. There’s always a lot of hurry up and wait in Congress, too, and while a lot of my colleagues like to waste it pretending to look busy sending a flurry of emails, I prefer to keep a book or three in my briefcase.”

“So when do you do your emails, in that case?”

He indicated his laptop. “I keep working hours, and I divide it into chunks. My working hours today include emails, some topical research on the agenda of things I’m discussing with my colleagues tomorrow morning, and a few other odds and ends. But once I’m done here, I’m done. I don’t send any more emails, and I don’t read them, either. Keeps me sane, or I’d be a hamster on a wheel…like so many of my colleagues on the Hill.”