Redemption (6 page)

“We’re planning to film in quite a few Philadelphia landmarks: the Art Museum, Independence Hall. Might even manage a quick set up at the Liberty Bell.” His lips curved up in a lazy smile while the sound of that warm, deep-set voice washed over Claire with the viscosity of honey. She had heard it before. On the late-night talk shows, before she could change the channel. Once at the movie theater, when a trailer from one of his films was shown.

And occasionally in her dreams. The sound of that voice, that mouth, whispering to her…

A cry of alarm escaped her lips.

Every eye in the room focused on her. By sheer force of will, she gathered her scattered wits, commanded her heart to stop racing.

Never let them see you sweat
, she repeated to herself, the words like a mantra in her frozen brain.

Somehow, her shaking legs carried her to the nearest chair. She sat staring sightlessly at the papers in her hand, frantically wondering if ten years was long enough to effect a sea change in one’s appearance.

Not only was her name different, but surely there was no trace now of the naïve girl she had once been. Her appearance had altered drastically in the ten years since Matt Grayson had last laid eyes on her: No more fat-rollered curls rioted over her shoulders. The fresh-off-the-farm face she had been born with now bore a layer of expensive cosmetics. Her shabby jeans and T-shirts had been replaced by trim silk suits. And, even more importantly, her demeanor was no longer that of a shy, awkward ingénue. Clarissa Peters had transformed into a polished, sophisticated businesswoman, a new woman entirely, from the sleek chignon at her nape to the blunt tips of her pumps.

Matt Grayson would never recognize her.

Even so, she slipped the silver-rimmed reading glasses dangling from the chain around her neck onto her nose.

As the introductions were made, she could almost feel him staring at her. She composed her features in a mask of anonymity and lifted her gaze, confident her eyes held no sign of recognition. That bit of acting came easily, but then, it always had.

She met his stare, cool, composed, allowing no hint of fear in her expression. Across from her, his green eyes tunneled through the shadow cast by the cap’s bill as he stared at her. Her tension mounted as she waited breathlessly for him to recognize her, and when that first moment passed, she breathed the tiniest sigh of relief.

She could pull this off, she realized, lowering her gaze to the papers in front of her once more. That is, if she could manage to ignore the pounding in her chest, the trembling of her fingers, and the fluttering of her stomach, unprepped by antacids.

Of course, Matt Grayson was probably used to that sort of reaction from women.

She heard Garrett Brown continuing the introduction. “Claire is new to the board here and has some concerns I’m sure you can address.”

Before she could respond, Matt spoke up. “I’m not sure I can answer all her questions. Our production manager handles most of the financial decisions. But I think I can set your minds at ease regarding the content of the film. As Marty told you, this isn’t an action adventure. It’s definitely a kinder, gentler, picture. Think
Bridesmaids
. I brought a copy of the script.” He pointed to a blue bound manuscript on the table. “No four-letter words, no guns, not even a nude scene.”

Claire swallowed the bile in her throat and found her voice. “Scripts get rewritten all the time, Mr. Grayson. What guarantee would we have that something that starts out as innocuous as…as a Disney film doesn’t eventually end up filled with scenes containing gratuitous violence or sexual content that we might find inappropriate?”

The atmosphere in the room chilled. Even old Earnest Kaslow, from his vantage point on the wall, seemed to be chiding the room’s occupants.

Across from her, Matt twirled the cap he had pulled off his head. Then he gave her a slow smile, warming the chill in the air.

Claire looked away, not wanting to meet his eyes. Perhaps she was laying on the objections too thickly…Would he suspect anything?

But he answered her question, his voice as patient as when he’d coached her all those years ago. “We’re not planning to film a sequel to
Showgirls
, Ms. Porter.
Lyin’ Hearts
is a romantic comedy, the kind of film you could take your mother-in-law to see. It’ll most likely snag a PG rating.” He gave a brief synopsis of the film, the same studio pitch he’d have given to a producer—if he hadn’t been producing the film himself.

Claire frowned. “All the same, you have to understand, Kaslow’s is a well-known and respected name here in Philadelphia. You’re proposing to use that name in your film, not to mention our premises. The potential for damages alone—”

Marty broke in, pointing to the unsigned contract in front of him. “We’ve agreed to take out a substantial insurance policy. That’s standard practice when filming on location.”

“Insurance wouldn’t even begin to cover the cost of repairs should any of the store’s architectural features be damaged, Mr. Baker. Many of our store fixtures were designed over a hundred years ago especially for Kaslow’s flagship location. They are literally one of a kind.”

They could attempt to recreate the look in a studio—preferably a studio in Los Angeles, three thousand convenient miles away. It would be expensive, but compared to what she was prepared to hold out for, it would be a bargain.

“What if we double the offer?” Matt Grayson said with a determination that surprised her. “Plus, we’ll triple the amount of insurance we take out, and someone from the store can remain on the set to make sure we don’t break anything.”

“That certainly seems reasonable…” Garrett Brown began, looking toward her for approval.

She steeled her gaze. “It’s out of the question. The disruption involved in turning our store into a movie set, even after hours, as you’ve proposed, would simply be too great. And as you can see…” She held up a few of the papers in front of her. “Even at double the amount, your offer is substantially low when compared with location rates paid on similar productions—by more prominent film companies.”

“We’ll triple it.”

Then, before she could raise another objection, he went even further. “And we’ll give you a point share of the profits. It could amount to a windfall, after foreign release, video sales, et cetera.”

Marty Baker stifled a groan. And Claire wanted to scream. There was no way she could turn down such an offer—not without bringing unwanted questions, unwanted attention, to her own reasons for wanting Matt Grayson to stay as far away from her and her store as possible.

But then he added the coup de grace: “Plus, the store gets a prominent mention in the film. In fact, the script’s being rewritten right now to include a scene set in the rotunda near that fountain, which I understand is some sort of local landmark.”

Claire took a deep breath, briefly toying with the idea of strangling the goddess of Fortune. She managed a tight smile in his direction. “That’s quite a generous offer. Still, there is more at stake here than money, Mr. Grayson.”

“You’re right—your store has a lot more than cash to gain. Just ask the folks along the Snake River in Idaho—tourism’s booming ever since they filmed
A River Runs Through It
. And I hear property prices in Notting Hill have soared since Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts made out there.”

Then he added dryly, “I doubt Kaslow’s reputation would be hurt by being known as the place to meet members of the opposite sex.”

Claire glared at him. She wanted to take his easy assurances and wrap them around his neck. The old anger, the almost forgotten hurt, began to creep through her. Her eyelids lowered. Then, before the images could come back full strength, she lifted her gaze and saw Matt Grayson watching her, a thoughtful expression on his face.

Suddenly, she knew she had to get out of there before ten years of camouflage melted away like the tip of a glacier, before Matt Grayson saw through her own disguise like glass and shattered her existence just as easily.

She gave him a stiff smile. “I can assure you that Kaslow’s board will consider your request carefully. If you’d like to submit an amended copy of the contract, along with whatever script changes you propose, we will certainly take a look at it. I can’t guarantee, however, that it will meet with approval.” She stood up, surprised when her trembling limbs held firm. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do. I’m sure someone will escort you out.” As she retreated, practically rushing from the room, she could feel their burning glares like a blowtorch aimed at her backside.

The men at the table cleared their throats. Matt wasn’t sure what impulse had prompted his offer, unless it was an urge to overcome her objections in the quickest way possible. Cutting through the executive bullshit had given him a certain satisfaction, even if it had exploded the budget he’d been tending carefully.

Beside him, Marty stared forlornly at the contract in front of him, as if it had suddenly turned into a death notice. The attorney for Kaslow’s finished noting the changes on the copy in front of him, then closed his pen with a satisfied click.

Matt stared after the woman who’d just left the room, feeling a prickle of awareness inch along his spine. Something about her didn’t ring true, as if she were miscast for the part of uptight executive. His mind kept wanting to picture her in a different role…

Suddenly, he remembered why she looked familiar. The photograph that Marty had taken, the one with the woman dressed in black. It was the same woman, except, in the photo, he could have sworn her face had registered the faintest tinge of fear.

His lips curved into a satisfied grin as he stood to leave. Whatever had her running scared that day had obviously been outgunned, he thought, remembering her unwavering face from across the table.

Or else she was just a damned good actress.

In the relative safety of her office, Claire sank into the chair behind her desk. She braced her throbbing temples with fingers that still shook. The last person she had ever expected to see—in the flesh, that is—had just waltzed into Kaslow’s as if he owned it. Matt Grayson, here in Philadelphia. In her store.

She took a deep breath. Now it was more imperative than ever to keep GrayWolf out of Kaslow’s. If Matt Grayson recognized her…surely he would have said something if he had. Or was he as anxious to avoid stirring up the bad memories as she?

For her, it would mean her hard-earned reputation in shambles once again. Her position on the board was tenuous enough as it was; if anyone realized the new executive at Kaslow’s was better known for her exploits in the bedroom than the boardroom, her position would become unbearable. The respect of her coworkers was vital to her success. But one word from Matt Grayson…

And her reputation would be ruined, again.

Claire never doubted that she bore some blame herself for the disastrous events that led to her public disgrace. It had been her decision, after all, to go to Hollywood.

And her decision to sleep with Matt.

No, she had never blamed Matt for the aftermath—the horrible publicity that had resulted after the tragedy, most of it aimed at the “bimbo” who, with her “wiles,” had lured the fiancé of America’s sweetheart to her bed. Claire doubted she had ever possessed any wiles, but it was true she had been infatuated with Matt Grayson, and he had no doubt realized that and taken advantage of it. She really couldn’t blame him.

After all, hadn’t she done the exact same thing, only in the boardroom? Taking advantage of a company’s weak position—their “fiscal naïveté”—was exactly what had landed her here. In a job that, ironically, had resulted in her coming face to face with Matt Grayson again after all these years.

Fortunately, though, Matt hadn’t recognized her. Remembering his hardheaded insistence on using Kaslow’s for the location of his film, she realized he had been more interested in getting what he wanted than in identifying the person across from him.

Clarissa Peters, for all her notoriety, had obviously failed to make much of an impression on Matt. Claire could almost feel insulted but for the fact she had so much to lose if he did recognize her.

Of course, she had changed so much. Not just physically, but inside. She could hardly believe she had once been that inexperienced girl who had fallen into Matt’s arms.

So trusting, even though life had already taught her that people were rarely what they appeared. But she had thought Matt Grayson was different, a prince to her sleeping princess. A prince with so much to teach her, things she had been so very eager to learn.

Little did she know it was a poison apple she had been given, and she was not Snow White but the Wicked Witch, as the press had called her, making a mockery of the name Matt had once playfully called her on the set.

It was a bitter lesson, but she had learned it well.

Big juicy apples had rotten centers, the seven dwarves were on strike, and Prince Charming was already taken.

Best to rely on your own wits, she told herself as she stuffed folders into her briefcase and, for the first time in memory, left her office early.

Chapter Four

F
ROM
T
HE
R
EFRIGERATOR
in his hotel suite, Matt snagged a beer, then settled on the down-stuffed sofa in the sitting room. The dark, rich brew quenched a thirst he hadn’t realized he had. After a day spent previewing locations, readjusting the shooting schedule, and haggling with ornery executives, he had earned his paycheck, more so than on the days he spent filming in jungles and deserts.