Envy (12 page)

Maris didn't talk about it, but Daniel also sensed that she was ready for children and was slightly disappointed that she hadn't become pregnant. It was too early to worry unnecessarily about that.

Maris was still young. Noah had expressed a desire for children on numerous occasions. There was plenty of time for them to have a family.

Selfishly, Daniel wished for grandchildren soon. He would enjoy bouncing the next generation on his knee before he checked out.

Thinking of his daughter now, he asked, "Have you heard from Maris?"

"Not since she left this morning." Noah

#checked his wristwatch. "She should be there ###197

by now. It was a long way to travel and I'm afraid it will turn out to be a bust."

"Hopefully not. She seems very excited about this writer. Speaking of which, she told me about her present."

"Present?"

"Last night."

"Oh." Noah smiled with chagrin. "She's awfully easy to please, isn't she?"

"Your writer's cell is no small thing to her, Noah. She called from the airport this morning just prior to boarding her flight. If you'd given her a diamond ring, she couldn't have been happier. She's always wanted you to resume writing."

Noah frowned. "I hope she doesn't expect too much from me. I'll probably disappoint her."

"Your effort alone will make her happy."

"I'd like to get in a few hours of effort tonight." Noah set his empty tumbler on the end table and stood up.

"Stay and have dinner with me. We'll play chess afterward."

"Tempting, Daniel. But I should use this time that Maris is away to crank out a few pages.

There's only one way to write, and that's to write," he said with a smile. "Can I refresh your drink before I go?"

"Thanks, no. Maxine will be measuring the amount left in the decanter as it is."

"Then I for sure want to clear out before the fireworks start." Noah pulled on his suit jacket and retrieved his briefcase. "Anything else I can do for you?"

"As a matter of fact, there is," Daniel said. "The next time someone approaches you with an offer to buy my publishing house, tell him to fuck off."

Noah laughed. "Shall I quote you?"

"Absolutely. In fact, I would prefer it."

Two vodka martinis hadn't dulled the edges of Nadia's nerves. They seemed to be on red alert and had been since Noah had recounted for her his conversation with Daniel.

For half an hour she'd been pacing the hardwood floor of her Chelsea apartment, which was

#used strictly for romantic trysts. ####199

The apartment she owned in Trump Tower was her official address. Not even her accountant knew about this apartment.

"No matter how blasé he seems, I don't trust the old codger," she said. "How do you know he can't see through your act?"

"Because he isn't looking." Noah's voice conveyed his impatience.

"I don't mean to question your perception, Noah."

"Don't you?"

"No. I'm just afraid that something might go wrong. I want this deal so badly for you."

"I want it for _us."

Her anxiety dissolving, she stopped pacing and moved to where he stood. Coming close, she rested her hands on his shoulders. "Damn you," she said softly. "By saying that, you've completely disarmed me."

Their kiss was passionate and deep. She unbuttoned his shirt and slipped her hand inside.

When they pulled apart, she continued to tweak his chest hairs. "It's just that Daniel Matherly has been overseeing that publishing house for ... how long?"

"He's seventy-eight. His father died when he was twenty-nine. Daniel's been in control since then."

"So almost fifty years."

"I can subtract, Nadia."

"All I'm saying is this: He hasn't made himself into a living legend by being a dimwit.

He didn't become successful by misreading people.

He's smart. He's savvy. He's--was

"Not as sharp as he used to be."

"Maybe. Or maybe he just wants you to think so."

Noah disliked being second-guessed and resented even a hint of criticism. Pushing her away, he moved into the kitchen, where he refilled his highball glass with ice cubes and splashed scotch over them. "I think I know my father-in-law at least as well as you do, Nadia."

"I'm sure--was

"If you were sure of me, you wouldn't be nagging me about this." He treated his drink like a shot, then set his glass on the countertop and took a moment to contain his temper before turning back to her. "Your

#job is to keep Blume and company ######201

pacified and reassured."

"I'm having dinner with Morris tomorrow night.

The Rainbow Room."

"Good. Be a knockout. Eat, drink, and dance. Blow in his ear. Keep him happy. Let me handle the Matherlys. I've been handling them quite well for three years. I know how they think.

I know how they react to given situations. This must be carried out with extreme delicacy. It can't be rushed or the whole thing could blow up in our faces."

His timetable had been in place for years. Now that the finish line was in sight, he wasn't going to sacrifice all his careful planning and strategizing to recklessness. By doing it his way on his schedule, everything had gone according to plan.

The first step had been accomplished when Daniel Matherly hired him. By toeing the company line, he had earned the old man's trust. A major hurdle had been cleared when he married Maris, further solidifying his position. Then, when the time was right, he had subtly, through Nadia, telegraphed to Blume his interest in a merger. Blume was still working under the misconception that the idea had originally been his. Not at all. WorldView had been in Noah's game plan from the start.

Up to this point everything had been done Noah Reed's way, the only way that Noah Reed would have it. He wasn't going to screw himself now by rushing toward a quick finish.

"I don't know why you're being testy with me,"

Nadia said. "Morris issued the deadline today, not I."

That had been the one crimp in Noah's plan that he hadn't seen coming, and the reason for his querulousness tonight. Throughout his cocktail hour with Daniel, he'd been only half listening to the old man's rambling speech. Instead he'd been remembering Blume, with his lizardlike smile, imposing on him a two-week deadline to either fish or cut bait.

Blume had reminded Noah that he had been extended ample time in which to review the proposal, that either he was interested enough to move forward and make this deal happen or he wasn't.

Noah had reminded him that his father-in-law wasn't a minor stumbling block but a major obstacle. "Daniel has stated unequivocally

#that his company is not for sale." ##########203

"Then you must take bold steps to see that he changes his mind, mustn't you?"

Blume concluded the meeting by reminding Noah that there were other publishing companies, almost as prestigious as Matherly Press, that would leap at the chance of becoming part of WorldView.

The hell of it was, Noah knew that

Blume's threat was viable. Many smaller publishing houses were hanging on by a thread. They couldn't compete with the distribution capabilities and robust publicity budgets of media giants.

They would welcome the financial relief and stability that WorldView would bring to them. Unlike Daniel, their primary concern was survival by any means possible, and to hell with sentiment.

There wasn't a sentimental bone in Noah's body, but he was well acquainted with Daniel's fanatical adherence to tradition and his family's history. The old man wasn't going to let go easily. It was an intricate complication that seemed beyond Blume's understanding.

"I'm well aware of Blume's deadline,"

Noah told Nadia now. "I'll see that it's met."

"What about Maris?"

"She's busy in Florida."

"Georgia."

"What?"

"You told me she went to Georgia."

"Whatever. I'm going to chip away at Daniel while she's gone. I began tonight by pointing out the advantages of Blume's offer."

"What happens when Maris gets back?"

"She'll go the way Daniel goes."

"That wasn't what I was talking about."

__I should be so _lucky. Sighing wearily, Noah closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Jesus, he didn't need a discussion of this right now. He had enough to deal with.

"I know what you were talking about, Nadia."

Lowering his hand and opening his eyes, he looked at her. "Think about it. Does it make sense for me to ask Maris for a divorce now? No. I can't do that until I have that WorldView contract signed, sealed, and delivered."

He expelled a breath of exasperation. "Do you think I've enjoyed being married to her? Do you think I've liked kissing Daniel's ass all these years?"

###"That's a revolting thought." ##########205

"Isn't it? So imagine it from my perspective." He hoped the remark might cause her to smile; it didn't.

"And Maris?" she asked. "Will you miss kissing her ass?"

He gave a dry laugh. "I won't miss my wife, but I'll regret losing a good editor. However, with the operating budget Blume has promised me, I'll be able to hire three of her. Five of her. And even if none prove to be as good as she, I'll have my ten million to console me."

She held his gaze for a moment, her expression turning sulky. "You really don't mind my blowing in Morris Blume's ear?"

"Figure of speech."

"So what you said earlier ..."

"About?"

"About your wanting this deal for _us. Did you mean it?"

By way of answer, he pulled her against him and kissed her.

She finished unbuttoning his shirt, then spread it open and put tongue to nipple, flicking it lightly. "You did?"

"Right now I'd swear to anything."

Laughing huskily, she stroked him through his trousers. "I don't like sharing you with Maris.

I'm impatient to have this all to myself."

"I'm rather impatient myself." He unzipped his trousers and pushed down his shorts. Nadia dropped to her knees and nuzzled him. She traced the length of his erection with her tongue before taking him into her mouth. Noah grunted with satisfaction.

"You stick to doing what you do best, Nadia, and leave the problem of the Matherlys to me."

CHAPTER 9

Parker was at his computer. He'd been up for hours. His mind was skipping like a stone over water.

Mike delivered a third cup of coffee

to him. "Your guest just left the cottage. She's dawdling along the way, taking in the seascape, but she'll soon be making an entrance."

He had asked Mike to be on the lookout for her and acknowledged the report with a nod.

Mike was uncharacteristically careless as he replaced Parker's empty coffee mug with the full one. Hot coffee sloshed out. The spill spread across the table and stained several sheets of handwritten notes. Parker stared at the mess, then raised his head and gave the older man a look.

"Sorry," Mike said.

"I'll bet."

Mike snorted.

"Look, if you've got something to say, why not act like a grown-up and just say it?"

"I think you know what I have to say, Parker."

"How about `congratulations`?"

"How about `get real`? Do you really expect me to congratulate you?"

"She's here, isn't she?"

"Yes. She's here." Mike looked none too happy about it, though.

Parker raised his shoulders in a shrug, asking impatiently, "What? The reverse psychology worked. She took the bait. Which is what we hoped she would do. If you had qualms, you should have thrown away her phone numbers when that deputy gave them to you. But you didn't. You passed them on to me. I called her and she came. So what's eating you?"

Mike turned away and stamped back into the kitchen. "My biscuits are burning."

Parker returned to his computer screen, but the interruption had log-jammed his creative flow.

He couldn't focus on the last few sentences he'd written. They now seemed a jumble of words and phrases beyond translation. In an effort to assign them meaning, he forced his eyes to stop on each word separately. But no matter how hard he concentrated, he couldn't make sense of them.

#They could have been written in ############209

Sanskrit.

And then he realized why reading and understanding his own words had suddenly become a challenge: He was nervous. Which was odd, considering that everything had fallen into place more or less as he had planned. He'd made a few spontaneous

adjustments to accommodate Maris

Matherly-Reed's personality, but she was responding to him and his situation even better than he had dared hope she would.

Now that he thought about it, getting her here had been almost too easy. He had pulled the strings, and, like a puppet, she had made the correct moves. He figured that's what had Mike's shorts in a wad this morning. Her innocent cooperation had lent her a certain vulnerability and made her seem almost a victim.

_But _she _isn't, he told himself

stubbornly.

Yeah, he had tugged some strings to guide her in the direction he wanted her to go, but ultimately she was in control. Everything depended on how well she liked _Envy, or if she liked it at all.

And that's what had _his shorts in a wad. Not only from the standpoint of the overall plan, but as a writer, he was nervous to hear what she thought of the pages she had curled up with last night. What if she thought they stunk? What if she thanked him for the opportunity to review more of his work but declined it and said her good-byes?

His plot would be screwed, and he would feel like shit.

Agitated, he turned his wheelchair on a dime and saw her picking her way along the path between the main house and the cottage. Originally it had been the detached kitchen of the plantation house.

Parker had converted it into a guest house. Not that he entertained a lot of guests. Not that he planned to in the future. Nevertheless, the interior of the structure had been gutted and he had spared no expense to have it completely and comfortably renovated.

Accomplished with only one guest in mind--the one presently occupying it.

Maris glanced up and saw him watching her from behind the glass panels of the solarium. She smiled and waved. Waved? He couldn't remember the last time someone had waved at him. Feeling rather goofy, he raised his hand and waved back.

###She let herself in through the sliding #######211

door. "Good morning."

"Hi."

Her skin looked dewy. She smelled like floral-scented soap. Magnolia, maybe.

She had his manuscript pages with her.

"It's gorgeous here, Parker," she exclaimed a bit breathlessly. "Last night it was too dark for me to fully appreciate the property. But seeing it in daylight, I understand why you fell in love with this place." She looked out across the expanse of green lawn, the sugary beach, and the sparkling Atlantic. "It's wonderful. So peaceful."

"I forgot a hair dryer."

Self-consciously she tucked a strand of damp hair behind her ear. "I searched but couldn't find one. Actually, it's such a warm morning, it felt good to leave it wet. A hair dryer is all the cottage lacked, however. You did an excellent job on it."

"Thanks."

He continued to scrutinize her, and, as he intended, his scrutiny increased her

self-consciousness. "The furnishings are charming.

I especially like the iron headboard and the claw-footed bathtub."

"Mike's ideas."

"Good ones."

"Yeah, he's into all that. Iron beds.

Bathtubs. Mantels."

"He has an eye for detail."

"I guess."

The conversation lagged for several moments, then they spoke at the same time.

He said, "Your blouse is wet."

She said, "I read the new pages."

"What'd you think?" he asked.

"My blouse?"

"It's damp."

She looked down and saw what had held Parker's attention from the moment she stepped inside. She was dressed in the same skirt and blouse she had arrived in. Following supper last night, Mike had wheedled and pleaded, then insisted that she stay in their guest house. She had finally accepted the invitation, but because of the hour, it had been impractical to try and retrieve her luggage from the hotel in Savannah.

Consequently she had dressed in the same

#clothes this morning, except for her suit ##213

jacket, which she'd left off in deference to the climate. A damp pattern had appeared on the front of her blouse in the exact shape of her bra.

She rolled the sheets of manuscript into a tube, probably to stop herself from using them to shield her chest. "I washed out some things last night."

_Things, plural. If she'd washed out _things, what had been left for her to sleep in?

Surmising made Parker go a little dewy himself.

"I guess they didn't get quite dry," she explained lamely.

"The humidity."

"I suppose."

Their eyes connected but only for a

millisecond before she looked away. She was embarrassed, and that was good. In fact, that was excellent. He wanted to keep her rattled and off balance. Too fucking bad if Mike

disapproved of the strategy.

Leaning forward from the wheelchair, he reached out and took the rolled pages from her. "You read them?"

"Three times."

He raised his eyebrows inquiringly.

"I have some comments."

His chin went up defensively.

"Who's ready for breakfast?" Mike asked.

He appeared in the doorway pushing a wheeled cart on which were platters of scrambled eggs, bacon, and wedges of pastel melons. Fresh from the oven, the biscuits had been wrapped inside a towel and placed in a wire basket. A gravy boat was filled to the rim, and a dish of steamy grits had an island of melting butter in its center.

Parker's stomach growled and his mouth began to water, but Mike's timing couldn't be worse, which Parker was sure had been deliberate. Mike avoided making eye contact with him until Parker said, "I'm on to you, old man."

"What?" Mike asked innocently.

Parker shot him a wry look, which Mike ignored and instead motioned Maris toward a small table on which Parker sometimes took his meals when he was writing.

"Good Lord." She watched in dismay as Mike filled her plate. "A bagel and coffee usually do it for me."

###Scoffing, Mike reminded her that ######215

breakfast was the most important meal of the day.

"Do you like grits?"

"I'm not sure. What exactly is a grit?" Parker laughed along with Mike as she took her first tentative bite, which she gamely swallowed. Politely she said, "Maybe it's an acquired taste."

"Break open your biscuit and let me ladle gravy over it," Mike told her.

Bacon gravy was also new to her, but she declared it delicious. "Do you eat like this every morning?"

"This is a special occasion," Mike said.

"He's trying to impress you," Parker told her.

"It worked."

She flashed a smile at Mike that should have caused his heart to melt and made Parker irrationally jealous. He grumbled into his plate,

"You could've impressed her by remembering to put a hair dryer in the guest cottage."

She and Mike took their time, chatting about this and that as they ate, but he cleaned his plate in record time. Feeling fidgety, he wheeled himself into the kitchen--"No, don't bother," he told Mike when he was about to get up. "I'll get it."--and returned with the carafe of coffee riding on a tray on his lap.

He refilled their cups, then impatiently sipped from his while they exhausted the topic of cultivating rhododendrons, as if flower bushes mattered a shit. He lasted through a discussion on the merits of _Cats over _Sunset _Boulevard and a heated debate over whether women should be allowed to play in the NBA before he rudely interrupted.

"Can we talk about my book now?"

"What's your rush?" Mike asked.

"We're not running a bed and breakfast here."

"I wish we were." Mike began collecting their used dishes and loading them onto the service cart. "At least I'd have someone pleasant to talk to now and then."

"I'm pleasant."

"As a skin rash."

Laughing, Parker balled up his napkin and tossed it onto the cart as though shooting a free throw. "Hurry up with those dishes and get back in here. You've been a good and gracious host, but I know you're itching to hear what Maris has

#to say about _Envy." ##################217

Mike went out, muttering under his breath.

"Bet I came out none too well in that monologue," Parker said when Mike was out of earshot.

"Are you two related?"

"Not by blood."

"He loves you."

Parker looked at her sharply. When he saw that she wasn't being caustic, he bit back a snide retort. He pondered her simple

statement, then said slowly, "Yes, I suppose he does."

"You never considered it?"

"Not in words."

"Has he always taken care of you?"

"Not always."

"I meant since your accident."

"Accident?"

She gestured toward his wheelchair. "I assumed ..."

"What made you assume it was an accident?"

"Wasn't it?"

Mike reappeared but, sensing that he'd walked in on a serious conversation, hesitated on the threshold. Parker waved him forward, this time grateful for the man's timing. Again, he figured it was intentional. Not much escaped Mike Strother.

Parker took a deep breath, blew it out, and, turning to Maris where she had sat down on the rattan sofa, said, "Okay, let's get this over with."

She laughed lightly. "It's not an execution, Parker."

"It's not?"

"Not at all. What you've written is good.

Very good." She paused, glancing from him to Mike and back to him.

"Why do I feel that there's àhoweverìn my near future?"

She smiled, then said quietly, "You've written a terrific outline."

Mike coughed softly and stared down at his shoes.

"Outline?"

"What you have is excellent." She wet her lips. "But it's ... It skims the surface.

You haven't delved deeply enough."

"I see."

###"This isn't bad news, Parker." ####219

"It's pretty bad."

Turning his chair around, he rolled it closer to the wall of windows and watched the shallow waves break against the sand. St. Anne Island didn't have much of a surf at any time, but especially not on a day like today, when the wind would barely qualify as such and there wasn't an offshore low pressure system churning up the elements.

"I'm not in the least bit discouraged by what I've read so far," Maris said. "Quite the contrary."

Her voice was even quieter now than before and sounded timid in the uncomfortable silence. From the kitchen came the swishing gurgles of the dishwasher, but otherwise the house was hushed.

Parker's shoulders began to shake. He covered his mouth to trap in the sound that issued up out of his chest.

Maris was instantly alarmed. "Oh, Parker, please don't."

Suddenly he spun his wheelchair around and looked at Mike, who joined in his laughter.

"You win, you old son of a bitch. Fifty fucking bucks."

"I told you," Mike said, chuckling.

"I've got great gut instincts."

"Along with a knack for alliteration."

Mike executed a neat, quick bow.

Maris, who had come to her feet, divided an angry look between them. She planted her hands on her hips--which she really shouldn't have done since the stance drew the damp cloth tighter across her chest, detailing lace beneath it.

"Obviously I'm the butt of an inside joke. Would you kindly let me in on it?"

"Not exactly a joke, Maris." Mike curbed his laughter and even looked a little sheepish. "It was more like an experiment. A test."

"Test?"

"A few months back we read the article about you in the publishing magazine. To me you came across as a knowledgeable editor and publisher. But Parker said that your daddy probably paid for the article--was

"I said bribed."

?--then commissioned your publicity department to write the piece."

"Which explained why it was so flattering."

"He said that you were no doubt riding on the

#coattails of your daddy's reputation, ###221

that you looked too young and ... uh ...