You Belong To Me (9 page)

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Authors: Patricia Sargeant

BOOK: You Belong To Me
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“A cocktail reception?” Nicole asked. “I didn't realize there would be social events.”
“Just a few,” Tyrone replied.
Nicole understood the importance of a good marketing campaign. It increased sales of books as well as movie tickets. But she wasn't comfortable in social situations. She pictured with dismay the upcoming reception. She wouldn't be able to blend into the background since she would be one of the guests of honor. She looked up into Malcolm's probing gaze.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
“No. Nothing at all.” It annoyed her that Malcolm could still read her so easily.
“Are you sure? You look a bit troubled,” he observed.
“No, I'm fine.” She noticed Tyrone also studying her with concern.
“Is it the reception?” Malcolm persisted.
“I'm fine,” Nicole repeated. “Can we please talk about something else?”
“It will be a small reception,” Tyrone said. “Just a few industry publication and broadcast journalists, and suppliers. We want to generate a buzz.”
“You used to like socializing,” Malcolm commented.
“People change, Mal.” Nicole's lips quirked as she gave him back his words. “I haven't done much socializing lately.”
As in the past six years,
she thought. “I'm a little out of practice, but I'm sure I'll be fine.”
She held Malcolm's gaze with a challenging stare, daring him to probe further. He looked reluctant to let the topic drop but inclined his head and moved on. They spent the next two hours discussing the movie's production time line, casting agencies, and location scouts. Nicole had done her film production research and was familiar with these subjects and the terminology. Still, by the end of the meeting, she felt as though her brain had doubled in size.
She gathered her pages of notes. “I've finished reading the screenplay.”
“Good,” Malcolm said. “When do you want to get together to discuss it?”
Nicole turned to Tyrone. “Have you had a chance to review it?”
“I don't usually get involved on the creative end. I'm the business partner. I handle the bank, the license agreements and guarantors, the contracts, and the marketing and distribution. Malcolm takes care of the creative end: the scripts, locations, actors, pre-production, production, and post-production.”
“So when do you want to get together?” Malcolm repeated.
Nicole wanted to get started on the production right away. But she couldn't think while her apartment was still unpacked. “How about first thing Wednesday morning?”
“Fine. Wednesday at eight
A.M.
We can talk about the screenplay and start scheduling the site surveys and casting.” Malcolm punched the information into his Palm Pilot.
“And tonight, we can take you to dinner. A sort of welcome-to-L.A. celebration,” Tyrone proposed.
“Oh, that's not necessary. I've been here before.” Nicole gathered her purse and stood. Both men stood with her.
“Please?” Tyrone begged. “Joyce won't speak to me again if she doesn't get to meet you.”
“Won't I meet her Friday night?”
“Yes, but it won't be the same. There'll be so many more people at the reception.”
“I have a feeling you and Joyce will hit it off,” Malcolm put in. “Come on, Nicky. You've got to eat.”
Nicole tried to ignore the taunt in Malcolm's eyes as he and Tyrone escorted her back to the lobby. She considered it childish and beneath her to react to his dare. Still, she found herself accepting the invitation. She never could resist a challenge.
“I would enjoy meeting Joyce.” She directed her answer to Tyrone.
“Great.” Triumph colored Malcolm's voice. “I'll pick you up at seven o'clock.”
“There's no need for you to go to the trouble,” she said. “I've rented a car.”
The lobby was empty. Nicole glanced at the wall clock. The time had flown by. It was after noon; Rita must be at lunch.
“It's no trouble.” Malcolm slipped his hands into his front pockets.
Reluctant to argue in front of Tyrone, Nicole once again allowed Malcolm to get his way. “I'll see you at seven, then.” She turned to Tyrone. His bright brown eyes restored her good humor. “I'll see you tonight.”
He grinned. “Joyce is going to be thrilled.”
Nicole laughed. “Helping you keep the peace with your fiancée is the least I can do after my rudeness the last time we met.”
“That was all Mal's fault,” Tyrone repeated with a wink.
Nicole looked at Malcolm. “Yes, I suppose it was.”
Malcolm watched Nicole walk out the door, then turned to his partner. “What are you grinning about?” he grumbled.
Knowing Tyrone wouldn't realize the question was rhetorical, Malcolm retreated toward his office. He inwardly groaned when he heard Tyrone following him. His partner wrapped an arm around Malcolm's shoulders and shook his head in sorrow.
“Mal, it pains me to say this, man, but you're an ass. You let a smart, classy—not to mention beautiful—woman like that get away from you? Dumb. Very dumb.”
“Is that why you were being so friendly to her?” Malcolm asked. “Were you trying to show me what an ass I am?”
“I was just trying to make Nicky feel more comfortable.” The weight of Tyrone's arm slid off Malcolm's shoulders. “I could feel the tension between you two all the way down the hall.”
Malcolm grunted. Tyrone trailed him into his office.
“Besides, I figured you already knew you'd been an ass,” Tyrone continued, easing himself uninvited into a chair. “That's why you're trying to get her back.”
Malcolm paused. “What makes you think I'm trying to get her back?”
Tyrone smiled pityingly. “I don't know. Maybe it was the way you kept trying to regain her attention every time she looked at me.”
Malcolm grunted again, then took his seat.
Tyrone propped his right ankle on his left knee. “I think my first clue was when you booked her and her agent into a four-star hotel and paid for it out of your own pocket.”
Malcolm held Tyrone's laughing gaze. “Don't you have work to do?”
“It won't be easy, you know,” his friend warned. “To get her back. A successful, independent woman like that. She doesn't need you.”
Malcolm caught the teasing tone in Tyrone's voice, but his partner's comment still resurrected old insecurities. Had Nicole ever needed him? She hadn't seemed to need him after the miscarriage. Why would she need him now?
Tyrone continued. “Why did you let her go in the first place?”
Malcolm hesitated. “I didn't let her go. She let go of me.”
Tyrone's brows shot up. “What did you do?”
Malcolm glared at his friend. But, since Tyrone's question was too close to the truth, becoming defensive would be a waste of time.
“Two years into our marriage, we became pregnant.” Malcolm watched surprise, then confusion, cross his partner's face. “We didn't have a lot of money, so Nicky kept working. The stress was too much. The baby died. She almost did, too.”
“Oh, man, Mal. I'm really sorry,” Tyrone said.
“Yeah. Our marriage never recovered.” Malcolm leaned back in his chair, facing away from his friend's intent gaze. “If I'd had a better job, she wouldn't have had to work so hard. Things might have been different.”
“Is that why you were so determined to get this project?” Tyrone asked. “You want another chance with your ex-wife? Maybe try for an alternate ending?”
Malcolm surveyed the candid photos that hung on his wall and rested on his bookshelves. The pictures were taken on the sets of commercials, music videos, and movies Celestial Productions had produced.
“I want her to see me as a success,” he answered. “As someone who can take care of her.”
Tyrone's eyebrows rose. “Then let's hope she doesn't get a close look at our finances.”
 
Nicole paced the length of the phone's cord and back in her apartment's living room. “What are they going to ask me? What am I supposed to say?”
“It's not as though you've never done this kind of thing before.” Denise's voice carried across the phone line, dismissing Nicole's concern.
Nicole listened to the clicking of a computer keyboard as Denise continued to work. She idly wondered what color her agent's nails were today.
“I've never attended a cocktail party to promote my movie before,” Nicole corrected.
“So? What's the big deal? They're going to want to know about
InterDimensions
. You know you can talk people deaf about your books. The problem is getting you to stop talking about them,” Denise teased.
“You're not helping, Denise.” Nicole continued pacing.
“Nicky, you whine every time you have to make a personal appearance. But you always do a great job. You'll be fine at the cocktail party. Suck it up and get on with it. I love you like a second cousin twice removed, but I don't have time to deal with your neuroses,” Denise said. A printer whirred on in the background.
“Ah, one of your famous pep talks. You should have been a motivational speaker.”
Nicole chuckled at her own joke. But she had to admit, she always felt better after one of Denise's unique pep talks. She knew her agent understood her trepidation about public appearances. And somehow Denise knew coddling her would make it worse. Nicole didn't want to be taken care of. She needed to be challenged.
“Whatever,” Denise said. “Enough about you. I need to fill you in on my news now. Eileen's lining up interviews for you.”
“Where?” Nicole asked, aware that Eileen Lane, her publisher's publicist, worked hard to get her as much media coverage as possible.
“Newspapers, magazines,” Denise answered vaguely. “They're to promote the release of book four as well as the movie.”
“Great.” Nicole relaxed. She was more comfortable with print interviews.
“Hold on. I'm switching to speakerphone.” After a brief pause, Denise returned to the line sounding as though she were speaking into ajar. “We might as well take advantage of your being in L.A.”
“That's a good point,” Nicole agreed.
“We're also looking into radio and TV.” Denise's voice grew faint as though she'd moved away from the phone. “Eileen's talking to some people over at
A.M.
L.A.
”
“I don't know about doing TV.” Nicole rubbed at the pulse jumping at the base of her neck.
“It'll be great. I've got to go. Let me know how the cocktail party turns out. Remember,” she added bracingly, “it's your party.”
“I can cry if I want to,” Nicole quoted an old love song.
“No, you can't.” Denise disconnected.
Nicole recradled the phone, muttering fondly about bossy agents.
She sorted through her mail, mostly junk, thinking about the odds and ends left to put away and a couple of items she needed to pick up during the week. Her hands paused over a letter forwarded from her New York post office box. There wasn't a return address, but the original postmark was Los Angeles. She didn't usually open mail without a return address, but she was curious to see what was in this envelope.
She went cold as she read the letter. The back of her neck prickled as though someone were watching her. And, according to the letter, someone was.
C
HAPTER
F
IVE
Nicole's hand trembled as she returned the glass of iced tea to the table. She picked at her chicken Caesar salad, avoiding Malcolm's prying scrutiny. Every time their gazes met, she saw the question in his eyes. She resented his ability to read her like a book after all these years when, during the last two years of their marriage, she'd wished for a decoder ring to decipher his feelings.
She tried to ignore Malcolm by focusing on Tyrone and his fiancée, Joyce Allen, a certified public accountant. That wasn't hard to do. The couple had a myriad of stories to share. They almost made her forget about the threatening letter waiting for her at home.
“How did you two meet?” she asked Joyce.
The vivacious CPA swallowed a forkful of blackened chicken before answering. “Ty asked my firm to do his business taxes, and I got to work with Celestial Productions. He kept calling to talk about his account, even after tax season.”
Joyce set down her fork and entwined her fingers with Tyrone's. Nicole envied the connection the couple seemed to share, the balance in their give-and-take.
“She's the sexiest woman I've ever met.” Tyrone kissed Joyce's knuckles. “Smart and beautiful. But, at first, I couldn't find the guts to ask her out.”
Malcolm cut into his steak. “Watching them fumble their way into a relationship was painful.”
Tyrone smiled and smoothed his tie, a vivid red nylon featuring the Space Ghost cartoon character reclining behind his talk show desk. “Don't be a hater.” He stabbed a slice of his steak and tucked it into his mouth.
“Don't mind them,” Joyce said. “They enjoy trash talking. They're both such little boys at heart. It's amazing they were able to build, much less maintain, a successful business.”
Nicole envied Joyce her history with Malcolm and Tyrone. If Malcolm hadn't walked out of her life, she could have been there with him while he and Tyrone built Celestial Productions. Perhaps she could even have helped them. And she could have watched the bond develop between these two men who were now as close as brothers.
“How were you able to build your business, Malcolm?” Nicole asked.
“With a lot of tenacity, determination, and sacrifice,” he said.
Nicole read the pride of accomplishment in his eyes.
“Tell her about the apartment you two shared,” Joyce prompted.
Nicole felt a stab of hurt at this additional reminder that Joyce had shared experiences with Malcolm and Tyrone.
Tyrone smiled with fond remembrance. “It had only one bedroom. We had bunk beds.”
“He's a slob,” Malcolm muttered.
Tyrone grinned. “And you're moody as hell.”
“But when it comes to business,” Joyce interrupted, “they're in perfect sync.”
“Ty must share a lot of information about his work with you,” Nicole noted.
Joyce leaned against her fiancé. “We do talk a lot about our work.”
“It must be nice to have someone to share that part of your life with,” Nicole murmured.
“Yes, it is,” Joyce agreed.
“When is your wedding?” Nicole changed the subject.
Joyce smiled. “June.”
“I'm sure you'll be very happy.”
Tyrone stroked a finger down Joyce's hair, his gaze locked with hers. “I know we will be. I've been happier with her than I've ever been in my life.”
 
“Invite me in,” Malcolm said as they pulled up in front of Nicole's apartment building. The drive back from the restaurant had been strained.
“Not tonight.” Nicole slid out of the car.
She was annoyed, but not surprised, to hear the driver's door open, then slam shut. She turned to face Malcolm over the roof of the car. “I'm not letting you in. So you can get back into your car and take yourself home.”
“I want to know what's bothering you,” Malcolm said. “Now, we can talk out here and freeze our butts off, or you can invite me in.”
Nicole remembered the outcome of a similar ultimatum. “Nothing's wrong, Malcolm. Go home.”
Malcolm circled the car until he stood in front of her. Puffs of steam streamed from his mouth as his words hit the cold evening air. “After we talk.” He claimed her elbow and escorted her into the building.
Nicole considered shrugging away from him but decided against the childish reaction. Instead, she clenched her teeth and bore his high-handed behavior in silence.
“What's wrong?” he asked as they entered her apartment.
“Nothing.” Nicole bristled as Malcolm followed her and hung his coat next to hers in the hall closet. He apparently intended to stay a while.
“You've been tense and distracted all night.” He shadowed her back to the living room.
Nicole spun to face him in front of her writing desk. “I told you I didn't want to go to dinner with you tonight.”
Malcolm crossed his arms over his broad chest. “That's not why you were tense tonight. What's wrong?”
“It has nothing to do with you.” She moved away from him, distancing herself from her writing desk and the threatening letter.
He turned, keeping Nicole in his sight. “Then there is something wrong.”
“Leave it alone, Malcolm. I don't want to talk about it.”
Malcolm's expression softened. “Talking about it might help.”
Nicole laughed in surprise. “You, the king of the sphinx, are going to tout the benefits of discussing one's feelings? You can't be serious.”
But Malcolm was right. She did need someone to talk to. But not him. She hadn't been able to talk to him in more than four years. She'd considered calling her brother, but she didn't want to worry Derrick when he was three-thousand miles and three time zones away.
Nicole's eyes widened as Malcolm leaned against her writing desk. A foolish reaction, she knew, since he wouldn't take it upon himself to go through her belongings.
“We were friends once, Nicky,” he said. “I'd like to be friends again.”
Nicole arched a brow. “Why?”
“Because I miss it.”
“Sunday, you asked for more than friendship.”
Malcolm crossed his arms over his chest. “And you threw me out. So now that's all I'm asking for.”
“Malcolm, I don't think we were ever friends.” Nicole turned and paced farther away from him. “Friends support each other during the hard times. After our baby died, we couldn't help each other.”
“I tried to help you, but you wouldn't let me.” His voice was tired.
Nicole hunched her shoulders, scrubbing her face with both palms. “I tried to lean on you, but I'm not going to do that anymore. It gets lonely when the other person won't lean back.”
“Please, Nicky, let's just try again.” Malcolm sounded closer to her. “One step at a time. Tell me what's been eating at you all night.”
Nicole turned toward him, debating her answer. Should she show him the door? She didn't believe he'd settle for friendship. Malcolm was biding his time, tearing down the wall between them one brick at a time. The question was, did she want him to? She was honest enough with herself to admit she didn't know what she wanted for the long term. For the short term, she knew she needed a friend, and Malcolm would do for tonight.
Nicole walked past Malcolm to the writing desk. He followed her. She took the letter from the drawer and handed it to him.
He studied the envelope, glanced at her, then pulled out the letter. It didn't take long for his reaction. After all, it was a short letter that simply read,
I'll do whatever it takes to protect what's mine. This is your last warning.
Malcolm's jaw tightened, his arched brows flattening as they drew closer in a frown. The predator just under his calm surface had returned.
“Who sent this to you?” He examined both sides of the letter as though searching for the writer's identity.
“I don't know.”
Malcolm looked up at her, his gaze sharp, his face tense. “Do you have any idea what he's warning you about?”
Nicole shook her head. “No.”
He paced away from her. “The letter says this is your last warning. Have you received others?”
She shook her head, baffled. “No.”
Malcolm rubbed the back of his neck. “Have you contacted the police?”
“Not yet.” Nicole walked back to sit on the sofa. Her knees would no longer support her.
Malcolm shot her an incredulous look. “Why not?”
“I wanted to make a copy of the letter first in case the police want to keep the original.”
“Why do you want a copy of this?” Malcolm shook the letter as he resumed his pacing.
“I don't know.” She shrugged restlessly. “I just know I want a copy.”
Watching Malcolm was like seeing her own reaction to the letter. He paced the same floor she had and asked the same questions that had flooded into her mind. She knew he needed to work through the initial shock. So she waited as patiently as she could as he paced and questioned more. Once he wound down, she would try to soothe him and herself again.
“Are you sure you haven't received anything else that could be construed as a threat? Other strange messages? Weird phone calls?”
“Yes. In New York, it wasn't unusual for me to get wrong numbers or hang-ups. But I don't think they were threats, just nuisance calls.”
“This letter originated in L.A.,” Malcolm murmured.
“I noticed that.”
“It probably means the person who wants to hurt you is in L.A.”
Nicole shivered. That thought had occurred to her. “I made a copy of the letter before you picked me up for dinner. I'll go to the police station tomorrow morning.”
“I'll go with you,” Malcolm said.
“That's not necessary.”
“It is to me.” He shot her his warrior's look. Nicole took shameful pleasure in it.
“All right.”
“And you're coming home with me tonight.”
Her jaw dropped. “No, I'm not.”
“I'm not planning to seduce you. I just think we'll both feel better if you're not alone tonight. Pack an overnight bag, and we'll get going.”
“That isn't necessary, Malcolm.”
“It is to me,” he repeated. “I can't drive away and leave you alone tonight after finding out someone is threatening you.”
She followed him into her bathroom. He collected her toothbrush.
“What else do you need?” he asked.
“Pajamas,” she replied in a daze.
“Fine. Let's get packed.” He moved past her and strode into her bedroom.
“Shouldn't I be objecting or something?” Nicole trailed him around her apartment.
“No. You should be packing.”
A little less than an hour later, they were pulling into his garage. The connecting door led to the hallway of his two-story home. The open floor plan and soothing tones of his southwest decor intrigued her. The Malcolm she remembered had been a restless man, preferring contemporary furniture in edgy colors. Would the real Malcolm Bryant please wake her up?
“This way,” he said.
She followed Malcolm and her tote bag upstairs.
“This is the guest room.” He put her bag on the bed. He stepped back into the hallway to point out the linen closet and spare bathroom before escorting her back to the guest room. “Let me know if there's anything you need.”
“Thank you.”
He held her gaze. She saw her forgotten passion in his hot-cocoa eyes and knew he was inviting her to remember it. But she'd already learned that lesson. Passion alone couldn't hold a marriage together. She wouldn't repeat that mistake.
“Good night,” she murmured, stepping back into the guest room and closing the door.
Later, lying between the chilled bedsheets, she strained to hear sounds of Malcolm in the house.
Weird,
she thought, curling onto her side.
I'm spending the night with my ex-husband. Hell must have frozen over.

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