Page 4 of The VIP Doubles Down
Yet two of them won, their lives transformed by their good fortune.
“Mr.Gavin, Mrs.Jane is here to see you.” Ludmilla, his housekeeper, spoke in her strong Polish accent.
With a combination of dread and relief, he tossed the pen onto the desk and turned away from the accusingly empty expanse of paper.
“Gavin, how are you doing?” His literary agent, Jane Dreyer, had followed Ludmilla into the home office on the second floor of his New York City mansion.
Leaning down, he kissed the tiny blonde woman on her perfectly made-up cheek. She threw a quick glance at the desk where he’d been standing. “No,” he said. “I’m not writing the next Julian Best novel.”
She sighed and sat down on the gray leather sofa, crossing her legs so he could see the red soles of her high-heeled designer pumps. Today, her dress was brilliant blue embellished with gold necklaces of varying lengths. Her gaze held concern. “To hell with the deadline and the movie. I want you to be writing for your own mental health.”
Gavin lowered himself into the wing chair in front of the flickering fireplace, stretching out his long legs and giving her a half smile. “I know your motives are pure, because we could both live in high style on my royalties for the rest of our lives.”
His bestselling books paid well, but it was the movie deals Jane had negotiated that made him eligible for a place like the Bellwether Club. He owed her.
She locked her blue eyes on him. “I’m worried about you, sweetie, so I have a serious proposal to make.”
“No ghostwriters.” He would rather kill off his fictional super spy than entrust him to another writer.
“Of course not.” She waved her hand in dismissal. “I want you to buy out your contract with the publisher.”
“What?” Shock vibrated through him. “I’ve missed a few deadlines, but I’m not ready to throw in the towel.” His book might be eight months overdue, but before this he’d never overshot a deadline, not through fourteen novels and three novellas. He had seven chapters drafted, but he hadn’t written a word since ... since all the events he had shoved to the back of his mind.
“It would take the pressure off, give you some room to breathe.”
Gavin hurtled out of the chair, adrenaline overwhelming the protest of his muscles, and laid his arm along the marble mantelpiece. When he caught a glimpse of himself in the silver-framed mirror, he was shocked by how sunken his eyes looked. No wonder Jane thought he needed a rest. “We both know the publisher is the least of my worries. It’s the movie producers. I don’t know why the hell I let them change the movie’s ending to a cliff-hanger.”
“Because they were very persuasive, and it was a creative challenge for you to weave that cliff-hanger into your next novel.”
He shook his head. “If the movie had ended like the book, no one would care whether I had writer’s block. They could have made a movie from one of Julian’s earlier novels.” He huffed out a breath. “It was pure arrogance on my part.”
“I’ll handle the movie producers.”
She would, too. Jane’s small body housed the spirit of a tigress when it came to protecting her authors. The powers that be in Hollywood cowered before her.
“What about the actors and the gaffers and the best boys?” The weight of responsibility settled on his tortured shoulders. “They’re counting on the next Julian Best movie.”
“If you’re worried about Irene Bartram, she’ll be just fine.” Jane’s tone was acid. “I hear she’s already found herself a guest role on a soap opera.”
“I’m well aware that Irene can take care of herself.” His ex-fiancée had made it very clear that her career interests took priority over their relationship. That had contributed to her becoming an ex. Fresh disillusionment twisted in his chest, and he straightened away from the mantel to escape it.
“Ludmilla was right,” Jane said.
“About?”
“The fact that you’re in physical pain, too.” She leaned back against the sofa cushions. “At least I have a cure for that.”
Gavin rolled his shoulders under the black cashmere pullover. “It’s just tension. Nothing I can’t work out with a trip to the gym.” He had a well-equipped one, including a lap pool, downstairs, but he hadn’t taken advantage of it in weeks.
“Well, you’re getting help. I called Havilland Rehab, the best facility in the area. One of their top physical therapists just started her own private practice. I hired her to come here five days a week, starting tomorrow.” Jane smiled. “And she’s used to difficult clients. You can thank me later.” Jane stood up. “Think about the contract buyout.”
“I don’t want or need a physical therapist,” Gavin snapped, even as a shooting pain in his neck gave lie to his words.
Jane rested her hand on the forearms he had crossed over his chest, her gaze scanning his face. “You’ve been through a lot recently. Your father. Your fiancée. Your book. There’s no shame in accepting help from your friends.”
He forced himself to meet her eyes, even though he was afraid she might see too much. “You’ve always told me you were my agent, not my friend.”
She didn’t flinch. “I’m a hundred times tougher than you, so insults won’t chase me away.”
