Unraveled by Him Read Online Free Page A

dead.
    Leaving me standing there like a lemon, holding the receiver and shaking from head to foot with anger.
    Losing Lady Georgiana must have driven Robert Hartwell out of his mind. And now I’m a victim of his insanity.
    After all, why would he make such a bizarre demand of me? A prank? A cruel sense of humor?
    But he’s a man who, six years after he lost his wife, still only wears black and is in deep-dish mourning for her, the documentary claimed.
    So it’s hardly likely that he’s in the mood to crack jokes or play pranks.
    Or is it?
    I guess I’ll never know.
    And I hate, hate, hate not knowing . . .
    Even when I was a small child visiting Disneyland, I ran straight up to Mickey Mouse and tried to pull off his mask, just because I so desperately wanted to discover who or what was hiding behind it. But I never did.
    Just as I’ll never discover why Robert Hartwell made such a bizarre demand of me.
    And I won’t get Unraveled back from him either. Or stop him from outing me as the author of Unraveled and destroying my career as a ghostwriter. Worse than any of that, there’s no way I’ll get to ghost his blockbuster autobiography now.
    So do I forget that I ever heard the name Robert Hartwell and let the chips fall where they may?
    Or do I?
    Now that I’m feeling calmer, I realize that if I want to remain true to myself and live up to my favorite saying, the motto that has always governed my actions and my life—“It’s better to regret doing something than to regret not doing it”—there is only one solution.
    So I swallow my pride and press redial.
    To my relief, Mary Ellen, and not her boss, picks up the phone.
    “Mr. Hartwell informed me that you would be calling again, Miss Stone, and asked me to reconfirm your meeting with him here at Hartwell Castle tomorrow afternoon at four thirty,” she says.
    Robert Hartwell’s arrogance is monumental. I loathe and despise him already.

Chapter Two
    Three in the morning and I’ve just finished Googling Robert Hartwell and finding out as much as I can about him. Some of the information is startling, some shocking, all of it fascinating. But the big surprise for me is that after hours of reading about her legendary life, I’m now well and truly captivated by Lady Georgiana, as well.
    And as I drift off to sleep, my last thought is, Lindy was right. Lady Georgiana really was an incredible, wonderful, once in a lifetime woman .
    Four hours later, and I awake screaming, just as I’ve done many nights as far back as I can remember. It’s always the same; I’m in a deep sleep, then the terror strikes, and afterward the frustration that no matter how hard I try, I can never manage to recall what exactly happened during my nightmare.
    I go downstairs and grab a Kit Kat. Then I notice that the red light on my landline is flashing. And as traumatized as I still am by my nightmare, when I listen to the message—“Miranda, darling, this is your grandpa. I was elated by your message regarding your prospective meeting with Mr. Hartwell. Please call me the second you wake up”—I can’t stop myself from smiling. However many times I’ve explained it to him, Grandpa still can’t seem to understand that the moment I hear his distinctive voice on the answering machine, I know it’s him.
    I go to bed again but set my alarm for eight, planning to call Grandpa at nine, as he’s always wide awake by then. But he calls again when I’m in the shower and leaves another message: “Miranda, darling, this is your grandpa, again. As you are meeting with Mr. Hartwell this afternoon, I checked his chart again and made a fascinating discovery. It transpires that he and I have an interesting astrological link.”
    Great. Robert Hartwell is making insane demands of me, and now Grandpa thinks he’s going to become his best buddy!
    Then again, I guess there’s no reason why not. After all, he was Lady Georgiana’s astrologer once upon a time, wasn’t he?
    So when I call