“Of course,” she said, as if it was something she did all the time.

As the car glided along, Liv couldn’t feel any bumps on the road. The car made a soothing shushing sound, and the cream leather seats were so soft she wanted to stroke them. When she side-glanced at Ted, she couldn’t imagine him and Essie ever eating breakfast together or reading or kissing. He seemed a very manicured choice for the author.

“So, you’re writing an article about the publishing industry?” he prompted.

“Um, yes.” She stumbled a little. “I understand no one knows it like you do.” She thought her flattery might please him, but he gazed out of the window as if bored.

Ted tapped the gold sovereign ring on his middle finger against the glass. “Have you seen all the bloody buildings going up around here?” he said wearily. “The entire city is a construction site. There are too many new apartments, too many cars on the roads and even too many books these days. Or do I sound like an old man?”

“Is there such a thing as too many books?” Liv said.

“Possibly so. Did you know 180,000 books are published in the UK alone each year? How can debut authors hope to have their work seen?”

Liv nodded. “The average person reads a book a month,” she said. “I’m more of a one-a-week person. It’s a bit of an addiction.”

He twitched an eyebrow. “And your favorite writer?”

She couldn’t lie. “Essie Starling.”

“Ah,” he said, his face not giving anything away. “I see.”

As they continued their drive around the outskirts of the city, Ted began to open up, telling Liv about his worries for the closure of libraries and bookstores, and the rise of reading on smartphones and iPads. He was an interesting man, speaking for fifteen minutes before he halted and stared at her. “Don’t you want to write any of this down?” he said.

Liv was so in awe of him she’d forgotten she was supposed to be conducting an interview. Her heart tripped, and she fumbled in her bag. Her fingers ran over a lipstick and a packet of chewing gum before she realized she’d left her pad and pen in her other bag. She only calmed a little when she felt the striped tie. “Please carry on,” she said firmly. “I have a very good memory.”

He studied her for too long, his eyes glinting. The tendons in his neck stretched like latex. “You’re not actually a journalist, are you?” he snapped. “I’ve met enough of them in my time to realize that.”

Liv’s throat tightened. She felt like she’d tripped at the top of a steep hill and was trying to keep her footing. “I...um...”

“Please don’t insult me by lying. Or shall I stop the car right here?”