Lovers and Liars (39 page)

“Damn!” He slammed his own receiver down. He couldn’t believe that cunt Mary was so crazy. And for a brief moment he felt regret—because, God, she sure had been a prime piece of tail.

But no one,
no one
, tucks with a Glassman. With what was his. And Belinda might be a rebel, but she was his, dammit, his flesh and blood, his daughter, and one day the mother of his grandson. Fucking with Belinda was like fucking with him. The challenge couldn’t be more direct. He grabbed his phone book and dialed Mary’s number.

There was no answer.

What the fuck. He should take care of this in person anyway.

72

H
is phone rang and it was, unbelievably, Majoriis’s secretary. “Please hold,” she told him.

Jack started to sweat. Then Ted was on, with a falsely jovial hello.

“Hello, Ted,” Jack managed in as calm a tone as he could. “You can’t deny something’s going on. Last week you were personally taking my calls—and now I have to wait two days to get through to you?”

“Jack, sweetheart, relax.
Relax!
I’ve had some major problems with a film on location in Brazil.
Major!
The two leads were having a hot and heavy affair—offscreen—which made for some fucking fantastic dailies. Now we want to shoot the major scene, and they act like they’re worst enemies, not—”

“Ted.”

“I mean, half the crew has food poisoning and I may have to fly down there and take Rob Dere by the balls and start squeezing. As for Barbara Sa—”

“Ted, I don’t give a shit about some fucking film in Brazil. I had to find out about
Berenger
from a goddamn reporter, for chrissake! You think my own damn studio could call me and tell me what’s going on?” He was trying not to shout.

“Jack, baby, everything’s under control. Everything’s looking great. You have nothing—
nothing
—to worry about, I promise you.”

“Then
Berenger
is being released?”

“Uh, at a future date, most probably.”

“What is this shit?” Jack gave in and yelled. “And what about
Outrage
?” Then, to make matters worse, he heard a buzz on Majoriis’s intercom, his secretary telling him George Masters was there.

“Jack, gotta super important meeting. I’ll get back to you. Don’t wor—”

“No, Ted,” Jack said. “I’ve been trying to reach you for two days, not counting the times I tried to reach you over the holidays—a feat only a wizard could have managed. Meet me for a drink, lunch, breakfast.
We need to talk!”

“Christ!” Majoriis said. “Okay, tomorrow, Polo Lounge, at one.” He hung up.

“Thank you,” Jack said to the empty line before slamming down the phone. He was standing, and he paced angrily around his office. No way Price could have ruined that film. No way he could not have made it into a beautiful thing. Not with a super script, great cast, good crew, and Price himself.

Majoriis had better not stand him up tomorrow.

One thing about this town: When you’re hot, you’re hot. It’s ass-kissing all the way. And when it stops, you most definitely know your ass is no longer being kissed. There was no doubt. January in L.A. was cool, but this was an arctic chill. He was being avoided like a leper, treated like a loser—not like a multi-million-dollar hot property. Motherfucker.

Glassman.

Always back to him.

He was North-Star now. If he wanted
Berenger
released in one month, it would be done. He had enough power to make it happen. And the same was true for the resumption of
Outrage’s
production. And if he didn’t want it released …

Would the man really take a loss of eight million dollars just because of him?

After all these years?

And there was still the biggest question of them all—why? Why?

Jack’s heart said yes—Glassman was after him. His
head said no—be cool, this isn’t happening; it isn’t how it feels.

He thought of
her
.

And became even more angry.

He should be laughing. It was so ironic that of all the women in the world, of all the prime tail, he would fuck
her
.

Fuck her like there was no tomorrow, he thought, and automatically he was remembering every detail. To his increasing anger and dismay, he grew uncontrollably hard. He slammed his fist into the desk, and the pain was welcome.

He was no longer interested.

She wasn’t even his type.

Did she have any idea how many millions of women would die to sleep with him?

Not hundreds.

Millions.

It was still unbelievable that she had walked out on him—not once, not twice, but three times, if you included the shoot in Tucson.

Belinda Glassman.

Like father, like daughter.

He was a bastard, she was a bitch.

Used to getting her own way. She really thought she was better than him. He burned—in more ways than one.

73

T
he silence had lasted one second.

“So when’s our date?” Lansing said, grinning and leaning against her desk.

Melody flushed. She had forgotten, what with the trauma of having slept with Jack and expecting to do so again—but instead having to listen to him make love to
someone else in Aspen. Then having to pretend to be indifferent while she was alone with him.

“Don’t tell me you changed your mind?” Lansing said quickly. “You promised.”

She looked at him, smiling slightly. He was appealing in a naughty-boy way, and she had said yes. “Well …”

“Pick you up at seven,” he said with a dazzling smile.

“Tonight’s impossible,” she said quickly.

“Seeing the boss?”

She started. “What?”

“The boss. You know, the guy who pays you every week.”

“No, I’m not,” she said coldly. She was seeing Nickie Felton. Actually, she almost wished she were seeing Peter instead.

“You don’t have to play games with me,” Lansing said airily. “I don’t bruise easily. I’m not the jealous type. I can handle it.” But his stare was direct and sharp and penetrating.

“Peter, I have no idea what you’re talking about. How did you ever get Leah to come?” She changed the topic with relief.

The long, judgmental stare remained in full force for another moment, then was gone, disappearing into a twinkle of gold-flecked moss-green. “The color of money. And the smell. Nothing like the good old greenback.” He sprawled on the sofa, facing her at an angle. He grinned disarmingly. “How about tomorrow?”

Melody thought about that creature who was Jack’s sister and how much he hated her being here. She felt a kind of spiteful elation—a far cry from how she would have felt in the past, when she was so ready to run to him with compassion and consolation. “Poor Jack,” she said and found that she was smiling ever so slightly. Imagining his discomfort. He deserved it! He had everything too easy—the bastard.

“Oh, shit,” Lansing said, frowning. “So much for fucking jealousy.”

“What?”

She watched him stride toward the door, looking thoroughly disgusted. Had she done something? Said something?

Jack and Leah walked in. Jack looked as disgusted as Lansing. “Mel, Leah needs money.”

“Gotta buy some groceries,” Leah intoned.

“What am I, a bank?” Melody snapped.

Leah swaggered over to Lansing and firmly took his arm, pressing herself against him, ankle to shoulder. “You’re a fast worker, Pete,” she said sweetly. “When do I get to see you again?” Her look was blatantly sexual.

“You don’t.” Lansing smiled, looking at her face. “I’m afraid my job is done.”

Her hand slipped to his waist, stroking. “Take me to dinner tomorrow, Pete. I can promise you, you’ll enjoy dessert.”

“Why don’t you put some of that, er, energy into your family?” He moved away.

“Jesus,” Jack said harshly, frowning. “Will you try and act like you’re not a hooker, for God’s sake?”

“Shove it where the sun don’t shine, big brother,” Leah said lightly. She stepped closer to Melody. “Have fun, dearie. He
is
good, isn’t he?”

Melody was scandalized.
Had they?
She should have known. They were all the same. She turned to stare at Peter incredulously. But he was already gone.

74