You Belong To Me (2 page)

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Authors: Patricia Sargeant

BOOK: You Belong To Me
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“And you're going to let it affect your professional life? Our professional lives?” Denise baited.
Nicole drew a sharp breath and inclined her head. “Direct hit.”
It was frightening how well they knew each other's strengths and weaknesses after three years. Her agent knew Nicole wore her professionalism like a shield.
Denise slapped her full thigh in frustration, her cherry-red lips drawn tight. She turned away, running her hand through her close-cropped hair. The dangling globes she called
earrings
spun.
With a gusty sigh, Denise propped her hands on her well-rounded hips and turned back to Nicole. “Then how about fairness? I put six months into this deal. That's a lot of time and a lot of work. I deserve to know how you think I failed you.”
“You didn't fail me,” Nicole retorted instantly. “He did. He failed me four years ago.” She bowed her head and rubbed her eyes with a thumb and two fingers, furious with herself for the sting of tears.
“Who did? Malcolm Bryant?”
“Yes,” Nicole whispered.
“How?” Denise's tone was a perfect blend of confusion and frustration.
Nicole hid her face in her hands, unable to face her admission. “He left me.” She lowered her hands and stared at the floor. “Four years ago, he walked out on me. The next thing I knew, I was being served with divorce papers.”
The silence was deafening.
“Divorce papers?” Denise breathed.
Nicole lifted her gaze to Denise's wide eyes. “Malcolm Bryant is my ex-husband.”
 
“That went badly,” Tyrone remarked.
Malcolm noted his partner's bland tone and judged the other man had counted to ten a thousand times while they waited for the valet to retrieve his car. Now, as Tyrone inched the car south on the interstate toward their Inglewood office, he apparently considered himself calm enough to discuss the aborted meeting.
Malcolm sighed silently and prepared to relive his most recent failure. “We knew going in we had a fifty-fifty chance of pulling this off.”
“We should have called her before she came to L.A.,” Tyrone said, repeating his previous argument.
“She wouldn't have come,” said Malcolm, restating his previous response.
“Well, she came, took one look at us—or rather you—and walked out. Now what?”
“I don't know.”
In his mind, Malcolm imagined warm, laughing eyes growing cold and distant over the years. The Nicole he knew would have listened to him, if not today, then the next day. She had a temper like a summer storm. It rained briefly, and then the sun came out. The Nicole he had confronted today had frozen over. How was he going to get her to talk to him now when he hadn't been able to convince her in the past?
“You're going to have to think of something.” Tyrone's voice grew terse. “When we get back to the office, send her flowers.”
“I can't,” Malcolm admitted.
“Why not?”
“Two reasons. First, flowers wouldn't work with Nicole. This is business.” Malcolm paused. “Second, she's probably on her way to the airport by now. Or she will be by the time we get back to the office.”
“What?” Tyrone snapped his gaze from the crawling traffic to stare at Malcolm. With his small, rimless glasses, he looked like an angry math professor. “She's supposed to stay through Friday.”
“She dropped the deal, remember? Apparently, she doesn't think she has a reason to stay another two days.”
“Great.” Tyrone struck the steering wheel with his broad palm. His dark face flushed. “That's just great.” He sat glaring at the traffic. “You need to fix this, Mal. I don't care how. Just fix it.”
“I will, Ty.”
“We told the completion guarantor we would get the rights to
InterDimensions
and that we'd make a blockbuster out of it. I know we can do it. With my marketing ability and your creative skills, we can make a hit movie out of that book. But first we need the book.”
“Don't worry,” Malcolm assured him. “I want this at least as badly as you do.”
“And how badly is that?”
Malcolm looked at the palm trees and the bright California sun. “Badly enough to go to New York in February,” he said grimly.
 
He stood on the fringe of the lobby and savored his victory. It was indeed sweet. He'd followed the drama in the restaurant and taken heart from Ms. Collins's abrupt departure. But Malcolm had followed her. He allowed himself to relive his anxiety as he'd imagined Malcolm changing her mind.
He had decided against following them. It was too soon to show himself, and he had believed Ms. Collins still had time to prove her loyalty. He would have taken that opportunity away from her if he had revealed himself. He had made the right decision, hadn't he? She'd proven herself worthy of his family.
He sighed with deep relief as he gazed around the opulent lobby. It was well lit, nearly blinding with white stone walls and white-and-silver, marbled floors. He stood beside one of the half-dozen lush plants that added to the décor with their flamboyant accents.
The area was spacious and sparsely furnished, but still he felt hemmed in by the bodies congregating near him. He felt oppressed by their presence, contaminated by their smell. And the room was far too bright.
With the back of his hand, he dabbed at the sweat above his upper lip, then turned toward the hotel entrance. It was all right to leave now. He had fulfilled his duty to his family. He could return to their bosom, where he felt safe and accepted.
As he walked toward the surface lot where he'd parked his black Jeep, he thought again of his victory over Malcolm and Tyrone. He'd kept watch on Tyrone and Ms. Collins's friend, with an impatient eye on the time. He had begun to second-guess himself, reconsidering his decision to follow them, when Malcolm had returned. He had been too far away to hear what Malcolm had told Tyrone and the woman. However, triumph had filled him at the expression on Malcolm's face. Malcolm kept shaking his head. Tyrone had looked disappointed. Ms. Collins's friend had appeared stunned.
He'd wanted to cheer, pump his fist in the air. He still did as he almost danced to the surface parking lot. Ms. Collins had come to her senses. He wouldn't have to implement his plan after all. He was glad. He would hate to have to hurt her. But he would do whatever it took to protect his family.
C
HAPTER
T
WO
“That was a wasted effort,” Nicole muttered to herself as she dumped her bags in the living room of her one-bedroom apartment, then strode back to the kitchen to call her younger brother.
“Hey, D. I'm back,” she greeted him when he answered the phone, trying but failing to reach a jovial tone.
“You're back?” Derrick's smooth baritone carried his confusion. “You're a day early.”
She paused, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Los Angeles didn't work out.”
“Oh, Nicky,” Derrick groaned, seeming to feel her disappointment as his own. “What happened?”
Nicole sighed. She really should be all cried out by now. After getting a list of today's flights back to New York, she'd spent Wednesday night crying herself to sleep. But she still felt an uncomfortable lump in her throat, making it hard for her to speak.
“Malcolm owns Celestial Productions.”
“Malcolm?” Derrick repeated, baffled. Half a second later, Nicole almost heard his long-term memory click. “Malcolm Bryant?”
“The one and only.” Nicole pulled a glass out of a cupboard and filled it with cold water from the tap.
“Wow,” Derrick breathed. Then he paused. “Does he want
InterDimensions
for the story or because it's yours?”
“I don't know, and I don't care. I can't work with him.” Nicole took a drink, then sighed. “But I don't know if I can afford to reject his offer. How's Simone?”
“She took a bad turn last night, Nicky.” Worry for their cousin deepened her brother's voice. “She has an infection and a fever. Aunt Rose is with her now.”
“Oh, D.” A chill ran through Nicole at the news. “How's Aunt Rose?”
“She looks like she's aged ten years. I think she's starting to lose hope.”
“Is anyone with her?” Nicole glanced at the clock.
It was early afternoon. She'd wanted to shower and change, and perhaps eat, before going to the hospital. But she didn't want her aunt to be alone at this frightening time. Someone needed to be there to take care of her. Rose wouldn't eat without prodding and had to be dragged from her daughter's bedside, even to sleep.
“Guy switched shifts with a co-worker so he could have the afternoon off,” Derrick said, referring to Rose's son.
“I'll get to the hospital as soon as I can.” Nicole paused, then smacked her kitchen counter. “If only Simone's company hadn't laid her off.”
“If only she could have afforded to extend her medical insurance.”
They shared a moment of silence that was thick with disbelief and heavy with sorrow.
“I can't believe the hospital won't put her on the organ-donor recipient list until they know she can pay for the operation.” Nicole had lost count of the number of times she'd made that statement.
“Nicky, if you don't want to work with Malcolm, we can come up with another idea to get the money,” Derrick proposed.
“How? We all pooled our resources, giving more than we could afford, and still we came up short. A movie contract is our last hope. It gives us more than enough to make up the difference.”
“I know the divorce wasn't easy for you. Do you think you'll be able to work with him?”
Nicole clutched the cordless phone, channeling her desperation into her grip. “I don't think we have a choice.”
“I'm sorry, Nicky.”
“I'm sorry, too. Sorry Simone is in such pain, and sorry our family is experiencing another tragedy.”
“A lot of years have passed. You and Malcolm aren't the same people you used to be.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Nicole rubbed her stomach, remembering the guilt that had pummeled her as she'd stood in the Los Angeles hotel room facing her past.
“I don't want you to do something you're not comfortable with,” her brother said.
“Don't worry about me. We need to focus on Simone,” Nicole said. But her mind still rebelled against letting Malcolm Bryant back into her life.
There must be another way.
 
“I've checked into the motel,” Malcolm told Tyrone over the phone. After giving his partner his room number and the motel's phone number, he assured him, “I'll call you daily.”
“And you'll be back Monday?” Tyrone asked again.
“I should be,” Malcolm replied, avoiding a commitment. “Listen, Ty, Nicole's not the same woman I knew. It's going to take a while to figure out the best way to approach her. But her agent's willing to talk to me. I'm hoping that, between the two of us, we can convince Nicole to sign the contract and get this project moving.”
“I hope so, too.” Tyrone sighed. “We really need this contract, Mal. We can do great things with the
InterDimensions
movie. And, if we do, great things will happen for us.”
“I know,” Malcolm agreed. “I'll check back with you later today. I want to call Denise and make sure we're still on for tomorrow.”
“Okay. Good luck.”
“I'll need it.”
Malcolm disconnected, then called Denise's office. He half-sat, half-reclined on the lumpy motel bed, listening to the agent's phone ring.
His gaze traveled his clean but cramped quarters. He could smell cigarette smoke in his nonsmoking room, which was several steps removed from the spacious executive suites in Los Angeles he'd reserved for Nicole and her agent. He'd been grateful Tyrone hadn't even raised an eyebrow when the usually thrifty Malcolm had approved the invoice for the expensive accommodations. He'd been trying to impress Nicole, he admitted to himself, feeling like a foolish schoolboy.
Denise's assistant answered the phone and explained the agent was on another line with a client. He left his name and his motel telephone number and room number, and asked that Denise call him back.
Malcolm moved to the windows. Back in New York. He and Nicole had met as students at New York University. Met and fallen in love. He had been a senior, she a junior. After her graduation, they'd moved to Los Angeles where they'd married, tried to start a family, and divorced.
New York had changed a lot in the eleven years since he'd left, he thought, studying the high-rises on top of high-rises and the human congestion in the City That Never Sleeps. How much had he and Nicole changed? Too much? Or not enough?
 
Nicole gripped the receiver, trying to hold back her nervousness. “Denise, there are hundreds of production companies in this country. There's got to be one out there that's still interested in the movie rights for my book.”
“Yeah, and it's called Celestial Productions,” Denise answered dryly.
“Okay. Two production companies interested in the movie rights,” Nicole muttered.
“Face it, Nicky. We're crapping out here. It's time to wake up.”
Nicole squeezed her eyes shut as images of spinning clocks and Simone floated across her mind. “Trust me, I'm wide awake.”
“Then let's face facts. No other production company in this country is going to agree to your terms. You're a talented writer. Very successful. Highly acclaimed. But as an executive producer, you're nothing. Nobody.”
“Thank you, Denise.” Nicole laced her voice with heavy sarcasm.
“Girl, you know I only tell it like it is.” Denise sounded unperturbed. “You don't have a track record. You're not Stephen King. And God knows they've changed King's stories so much, I wonder if
he
even recognizes them.”
“But I'm willing to give up my request for executive producer privileges.”
“Why should you when you can have both?”
Nicole cradled her forehead in the palm of her free hand. “You're right.” She sighed. “I don't want to look up at the screen and not recognize my story. I understand some things may need to be changed. But I want the integrity of my characters and the story's suspense to remain intact.”
“The only way I can guarantee that you'll have even a snowball's chance in Hollywood of recognizing your story is if you sign with Celestial Productions,” Denise stated.
Nicole wandered to the window. An image of an hourglass superimposed itself on the harried, half-commercial, half-residential neighborhood outside. The sand drained quickly. “There's no other production company interested in the movie rights?”
“Well.” Denise paused. “There is one company that's still interested.”
“But you said—”
“But they don't want to give you executive producer privileges,” Denise continued. “I know the rights are important to you. That's why I didn't mention it before.”
“You're right, Denise.” Nicole sighed again. “I guess I've just run out of time.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Come in to my office tomorrow morning. Eleven-thirty. Give us a chance to talk about things.”
“There's nothing to talk about.”
“Come in to my office, Nicky.”
Nicole paused. She didn't see the benefit of meeting with her agent. What more was there to talk about? But with a mental shrug, she capitulated. “All right, Denise. I'll see you at eleven-thirty tomorrow.”
“Thanks.”
Nicole hung up the phone, then returned to her bedroom and pulled her space-saver treadmill out from under her bed. As she jogged on the treadmill, she let her mind wander. She tried to concentrate on plotting her next
InterDimensions
story line, but Simone, Malcolm, and the movie rights kept slipping into her thoughts.
After loving each other so completely, she and Malcolm had been strangers by the end of their marriage. The thought of working with him after that emotionally wrenching experience made her stomach burn. Nicole prodded the treadmill to a faster setting, forcing herself to concentrate on breathing rather than on the memory of how much they'd disappointed each other on the way out of their marriage.
 
Malcolm prowled the threadbare carpet of his motel room, debating the merits of bypassing Nicole's agent and contacting his ex-wife directly. He had left the message for Denise more than an hour ago. He didn't want to harass the only ally he and Tyrone had, but he couldn't wait all day, either. Malcolm felt the tension bunching in his shoulders.
Should he call Nicole? Tyrone was expecting an update, and his friend would strain a heart valve if he didn't hear something soon. He didn't want to call his partner just to tell him he hadn't heard from Nicole. That would tip Tyrone right over the edge. He would take that information and craft a tale of doom and disaster. Tyrone was probably breathing into a paper bag by now.
Malcolm paced the small, dingy room, casting measuring looks at the beige phone. He dropped to the queen-sized bed, his hand hovering above the receiver. Who should he call? Tyrone, to admit he hadn't heard from Nicole? Nicole, to talk to her personally? Or her agent, to have her ease the way? The room phone screamed, scattering his thoughts. Feeling both optimism and dread, he grabbed the smudged receiver. “Hello.”
“I'm doing this for her.” Denise skipped the pleasantries. “She needs this movie deal—for more reasons than you'll probably ever know. And a successful movie will be great for her career. You understand?”
“I understand,” Malcolm said.
“Now, I don't know what happened between you and Nicole in the past, and I don't want to know,” Denise continued. “It's your business. But whatever it was, she needs to close the door on it. I'm very fond of her, and I don't like to see her like this. You understand?”
“I understand,” he repeated.
“Good. Now you know my motivation. What's yours?”
Caught off guard by the attack, Malcolm scrambled for footing. “Ty and I bid for the movie rights to
InterDimensions
because of the story. The series is written with a lot of visuals.
InterDimensions
will translate easily and very successfully to film.”
“You've read all of the books?”
“We both have,” Malcolm confirmed. “In addition, market research shows that similar movies targeted to the older-youth and single-adult audiences have netted strong profits.”
Denise emitted a noncommittal hum. “That's a very well-practiced response, Malcolm. I don't buy it, and I doubt Nicky will, either.”
Malcolm also had his doubts. But he had no intention of admitting the opportunity to return to Nicole's life had played a large part in his willingness to accept her contract terms. He just hoped Nicole wouldn't challenge him as directly as her agent had.

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