What I Did for Love (28 page)

“I wouldn’t even bring it up—”

“Now
that
you’re good at.”

“—if you weren’t so good-looking. Your faults are all character flaws, and since I wouldn’t let you anywhere near my offspring except for an occasional public photo op, that’s not a problem. Granted, by employing your DNA, I’m risking a few damaged chromosomes from your years of excess. But it’s a risk I’m willing to take because, with that one exception, you pretty much represent the male genetic jackpot.”

“I’m weirdly flattered. But…No. Never.”

She dropped back into the pillows. “I knew you’d be too selfish to discuss this. It’s so like you.”

“It isn’t as if you’re asking me to lend you twenty bucks.”

“A good thing, because I’d only have to pay myself back!”

He bent over her and nibbled at her bottom lip. “Would you mind using that gorgeous mouth for something other than idle chit-chat?”

“Stop making fun of my mouth. What’s the big deal? Tell me.”

“The big deal is, I don’t want a kid.”

“Exactly.” She bounced back up. “You won’t have one either.”

“Do you really think it’d be that easy?”

No. It would be messy and unbelievably complicated, but the idea of mixing their genes had been growing more enticing by the day. His looks and—she hated to admit it—his intellect, combined
with her own temperament and discipline would produce the most amazing child, a child she yearned to bear. “It’ll be easier than easy,” she said. “It’s a no-brainer.”

“No-brain is right. Fortunately, the rest of your body makes up for your empty head.”

“Save your energy. I’m out of the mood.”

“I’m sorrier about that than you can imagine.” He rolled on top of her and wedged her legs open with his thighs.

“What are you doing?”

“Reasserting my masculine supremacy.” He captured her wrists and held them over her head. “Sorry, Scoot, but it has to be done.”

He began to push inside her.

“I’m not using birth control!”

“Good try.” He nibbled at her breast. “But futile.”

She didn’t press the point. First, it was a lie. Second, she’d turned into a sex maniac. And third…

She forgot about the third and wrapped her legs around him.

Bram couldn’t believe
it. A baby! Did she really think he’d go along with that harebrained idea. He’d always known he’d never get married, let alone have kids. Men like him weren’t cut out for anything involving self-sacrifice, cooperation, or high-mindedness. What small amounts of those qualities he could muster up had to go into his work. Georgie was the weirdest combination of common sense and wacko bullshit he’d ever known, and she was starting to drive him more than a little crazy.

He waited until after his meeting with Vortex the next afternoon before he called Caitlin with the news. “Brace yourself, sweetheart.
Tree House
has a green light at Vortex. Rory Keene took the deal.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“And here I thought you’d be happy for me.”

“You son of a bitch! That option only had two weeks left.”

“Fifteen days. And look at it this way. Now you can fall asleep at night knowing I won’t let anybody turn your mother’s book into a piece of crap. I’m sure that’ll be a huge comfort.”

“Go screw yourself.” She slammed down the phone.

He glanced toward the second floor. “Excellent idea.”

Between a sinus
headache, a demoralizing meeting with her superiors at Starlight Management, and a speeding ticket on the way to Santa Monica, Laura was having the mother of bad days. She punched the doorbell of Paul York’s two-story Mediterranean town house, which was just four blocks from the Pier, although she couldn’t imagine him ever going there. The deep V-neck of her new sleeveless silk print Escada dress gave her some added ventilation, but she was still hot, and ringlets had begun to form along her hair-line. She began each day looking neat and orderly, but it didn’t take long before she started to unravel—a fleck of mascara under one eye, a bra strap slipping off the other shoulder. She’d scuff a shoe, tear a seam, and no matter how expensive the salon cut, her baby-fine hair always lost its shape as the day went on.

She heard Steely Dan playing inside the house, so she knew someone was home, but he wasn’t answering the bell, just as he hadn’t been answering his phone. She’d been trying to reach him since Georgie had fired her two weeks ago, the day the quarantine had been lifted.

She banged on the door, and when that didn’t work, banged on it again. The tabloids had gone into a frenzy searching out details of the quarantine, but the disclosure of Rory’s presence and the news that Vortex had taken on
Tree House
had cast doubt on the more hysterical accounts of screaming catfights and hedonistic orgies.

The lock finally clicked, and there he stood, glowering at her. “What the hell do you want?”

His normally immaculate steel gray hair had misplaced its part,
he was barefoot, and he looked as though he hadn’t shaved in a week. Wrinkled shorts and a faded T-shirt had replaced his normal Hugo Boss. She’d never seen him like this, and something unwelcome stirred inside her.

She pushed hard on the door. “You look like Richard Gere’s corpse.” He automatically stepped back, and she slipped past him into the cool interior, which was dominated by bamboo floors, high ceilings, and bright skylights. “We need to talk.”

“No, we don’t.”

“Just a few minutes,” she said.

“Since we don’t have any more business together, there’s no point.”

“Stop being such a big baby.”

He stared at her, and she realized that even in his faded T-shirt and rumpled shorts he looked more together than she did in her Escada dress and strappy red Taryn Rose pumps. Again that inconvenient stirring…She gave him a grim smile. “I don’t have to kiss your ass anymore. It’s the only bright side of having my career ruined.”

“Yeah, well, sorry about that.” He walked away from her into his living room, a pleasantly decorated space, but without much personality. Comfortable furniture, beige carpet, and white plantation shutters. Apparently he hadn’t let any of the sophisticates he’d dated over the years put her mark on the place.

She located his sound system and turned off the music. “I’ll bet you haven’t talked to her once since this all fell apart.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Really? I’ve been watching you operate for years. If Georgie doesn’t do what Daddy wants, Daddy punishes her by freezing her out.”

“I’ve never done that. You do love to paint me as the villain, don’t you.”

“It doesn’t take much paint.”

“Go away, Laura. We can take care of leftover business by e-mail. We don’t have anything more to say to each other.”

“That’s not quite true.” She dipped in her tote and shoved a script into his hands. “I want you to audition for Howie. You won’t get it, but we need to start somewhere.”

“Audition? What are you talking about?”

“I’ve decided to represent you. You’re a coldhearted prick in your personal life, but you’re also a talented actor, and it’s long past time you got out of Georgie’s hair and focused on a career of your own.”

“Forget it. I did that once, and it didn’t go anywhere.”

“You’re a different person now. I know you’re a little rusty, so I’ve scheduled a couple of sessions with Leah Caldwell, Georgie’s old acting coach.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Your first class is at ten tomorrow. Leah’s going to put you through your paces, so get a good night’s sleep.” She withdrew a set of papers from her tote. “This is my standard agency contract. Look it over while I make some phone calls.” She pulled out her cell. “Oh, and let’s be clear from the start. Your job is to act. My job is to manage your career. You do your work, I’ll do mine, and we’ll see what happens.”

He tossed the script on the coffee table. “I’m not auditioning for anything.”

“Too busy counting up all those Kodak moments with your daughter?”

“You go to hell.” Strong words, but delivered without much emphasis. He dropped into a muted plaid easy chair. “Do you really think I’m a coldhearted prick?”

“I can only judge by what I’ve observed. If you’re not, you’re a damn good actor.”

That stopped her. He was a good actor. She’d been knocked out by his reading of the father in
Tree House
. She couldn’t remember the last time a performance had excited her so much. And wasn’t it
one of life’s great jokes that this performance had come from Paul York?

He’d always seemed so invincible, and watching him with his defenses down threw her off balance. “What’s up with you anyway?”

He stared off at nothing. “It’s funny how life never turns out like you expect.”

“What exactly did you expect?”

He extended the contract toward her. “I’ll read the script and think about it. Then we’ll talk about a contract.”

“No deal. Without a contract, the script and I are leaving together.”

“You think I’m going to sign just like that?”

“Yes. And you know why? Because I’m the only one who’s interested in you.”

“Who says I care?” He slapped the contract on top of the script. “If I wanted to go back into acting, I’d represent myself.”

“The actor who represents himself has a fool for a client.”

“I think that’s ‘lawyer.’”

“The sentiment’s the same. No actor can effectively sing his own praises without looking like an ass.”

She was right, and he knew it, but he wasn’t quite ready to concede. “You’ve got an answer for everything.”

“That’s because good agents know what they’re doing, and I intend to be a much better agent for you than I ever was for Georgie.”

He rubbed a thumb over his knuckles. “You should have spoken up.”

“I did—more than once—but then you’d frown at me and—presto, chango!—I’d remember my mortgage, and there went my courage.”

“People should fight for what they believe in.”

“You’re absolutely right.” She jabbed her finger toward the contract. “So what’s it going to be, Paul? Are you going to sit around
feeling sorry for yourself, or do you have the guts to jump into a brand-new game?”

“I haven’t acted in nearly thirty years. I haven’t even thought about it.”

“Hollywood loves talented fresh faces.”

“Not so fresh.”

“Trust me. Your wrinkles are in all the right places.” She gave him her tough-girl look so he didn’t take her comment as the blathering of a menopausal female who hadn’t been on a real date in longer than she could remember. “It’s hard for me to believe an actor with your talent has never thought about getting back to work.”

“Georgie’s career had to come first.”

She felt a stab of sympathy for him. What had it been like to possess so much talent and do nothing with it? “Georgie doesn’t need you now,” she said more gently. “At least not for career advice.”

He snatched the contract out of her hands. “Go make your phone calls, damn it. I’ll look it over.”

“Good idea.” She stepped out onto the sundeck. Shady and sheltered, it was a great space for entertaining, but it held only a pair of unmatched metal chairs. She found it odd that someone so polished didn’t have more of a social life. She flipped open her phone and checked her office voice mail, then had a lengthy conversation with her father, who’d retired in Phoenix. As they spoke, she forced herself not to spy on Paul through the windows. Next, she called her sister in Milwaukee, but her six-year-old niece answered the phone and launched into a story about a new kitten.

Paul came out onto the sundeck, and Laura broke into her niece’s monologue. “He’s an amazing actor. Hardly anyone knows that he trained at Juilliard Drama. He also did some really interesting off-Broadway work before he put his career on hold to raise Georgie.”

“Who’s Julie Yard, Aunt Laura?”

Laura tugged on her hair. “You have no idea how hard I’ve worked to convince him that he needs to start focusing on himself. As soon
as you hear him read, you’ll understand why I’m so excited about representing him.”

“You’re acting weird,” the small voice replied. “I’m calling Mom.
Mom!
”

“Great. I’ll give you a ring next week.” Laura flipped her phone closed. “That went better than I expected.” A drop of perspiration slithered between her breasts.

“Bullshit. You were talking to your voice mail.”

“Or my niece in Milwaukee,” she said, cocky as could be. “Or Brian Glazer’s office. How I do my job isn’t your business. Only the results I get.”

He waved the contract in front of her. “Just because I signed this damned thing doesn’t mean I’m going to auditions. It only means I’ll read the script.”

Had she really convinced him? She could hardly believe it. “It means you’ll go where I tell you.” She snatched up the contract and headed back inside, hoping he was following her. “This isn’t going to be easy, so you’d better start giving yourself one of those lectures you used to give Georgie about how rejection is part of the business and not to take it personally. It’ll be interesting to see if you’re as tough as she is.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“More than you can imagine.” She picked up her things. “Call me as soon as you finish the script. Oh, and I intend to advance your career by trading on Georgie’s good name.”

He flushed, angry. “You can’t do that.”

“Sure I can. She fired us, remember?” As she reached the front door, she stopped and turned back to him. “If I were you, I’d give her a call today instead of freezing her out.”

“Yeah. Because your ideas have worked so well in the past.”

“Just a suggestion.” She let herself out and headed for her car. She wanted to kick up her heels with excitement. She’d crossed her first hurdle, and now all she needed to do was find him work.

As she backed out of his driveway, she reminded herself that getting Paul a job wasn’t the only difficult task she faced. She also had to put her condo on the market, trade in her Benz for something cheaper, cancel her vacation in Maui, and stay out of Barneys. All potentially very depressing.

But for right now…She turned up the radio, bobbed her head, and sang her heart out.