Free Jane Austen Girl by Inglath Cooper

please, this won’t take long.”
    She glanced back at Sebbie, now studying them both through eyes at half-mast, his chin still resting on his paws. “Why don’t I meet you downstairs? Give me a few minutes to change.”
    “Thanks,” he said, taking a step back. “I’d appreciate it.”
    He turned and headed for the elevator while she stood for a moment, noticing the ways in which he favored Darryl Lee. An athlete’s build. Wide shoulders, long legs. And yet, there was a noticeable difference, too. In high school, Darryl Lee’s walk had defined confidence. Bobby Jack’s took it a step further, and she could imagine that he wasn’t used to taking no for an answer.
    Maybe he needed some practice.
     
    DOWNSTAIRS, SHE FOUND HIM waiting for her in a sitting area off the main lobby. Lamplight threw soft shadows across the sofa and chairs arranged in the center of the room. Upon spotting her, he stood, wiping his hands down the front of his blue jeans, as if he were nervous.
    “Please,” he said. “Sit down.”
    She took the chair opposite his corner of the couch, crossed her legs and said, “Mr. Randall, what can I do for you?”
    He studied her for several long moments, until she began to feel uncomfortable under his assessing gaze. “I mean you no disrespect, Ms. McAllister, but this thing you’re doing here tomorrow. I don’t want my daughter to have any part of it.”
    For a moment, Grier had no idea what to say, the disapproval in his tone impossible to miss. And not a little insulting. “How old is your daughter?”
    “Sixteen.”
    “Well, since she’s under eighteen, there’s a consent form. It has to be signed by a parent.”
    “That would be her mother.”
    “Let me guess. Priscilla.”
    “I believe you two met this afternoon.”
    “Yes. We did.”
    “Priscilla thinks this is a good thing for our daughter. I don’t.”
    Grier sat up in her chair, tugging at the collar of her blouse. She suddenly felt as if she’d arrived in Timbell Creek pulling a trailer full of snake oil. “I’m not sure what you’ve been told about the show—”
    “I know enough,” he interrupted. “Andy’s a smart girl. She doesn’t need something like this.”
    “And what exactly is this?”
    “Frankly?”
    “By all means,” she said.
    “Nonsense.”
    She managed a short laugh. “That’s frank.”
    “As I said, I mean no disrespect.”
    “Mr. Randall—”
    “Bobby Jack.”
    “Bobby Jack,” she said, attempting to keep her voice even, “I’m obviously an outsider, but it seems to me that the person you’re disrespecting here is your daughter.”
    Heat flared in his eyes, and she could see that she’d overstepped her boundaries.
    “You know nothing about my daughter,” he said.
    “You’re right. I don’t. And you’re also right that there’s no Nobel Prize waiting for the winner of this contest. But neither is there a bloody death or a one-way ticket to life-is-over-as-you-know-it.”
    He sat for a good minute without responding. Grier determined to wait him out. “I’m not criticizing other people’s choices,” he finally said. “Frankly, I don’t care what other people do. But I do care about my daughter and what happens to her. You’re not here to watch out for her best interest. You’re here to pick some girl who’s going to think she’s won a fairy tale when the ending will not be happily ever after.”
    Despite her best efforts at composure, Grier wilted a little beneath the heat of the words. “And how do you know that?” she asked, her voice not as steady as she would have liked.
    He stood up abruptly and headed for the door. “Because,” he said, turning to glance back at her, “there’s no such thing, Ms. McAllister. And that I know for a fact.”

 
     
    When I look in the mirror, what I see is someone I never wanted to be.
    Andy Randall in a chat room confession
    at LivingSolo.com

CHAPTER EIGHT
     
    Andy sat in front of her computer screen, staring at the