Eyeing him closely, she ran her fingers up and down the stem of her martini glass. “You had led me to believe that Daniel Matherly was borderline senile. Having talked with him at length, I found the opposite to be the case. He was in total command of his faculties. He knew exactly what he was doing.”

Every capillary in Noah’s body had expanded. Behind his eyeballs, his eardrums, behind every square inch of skin, he could feel the increased pressure of his pulse. Somehow he managed to smile. “Daniel didn’t think too highly of you, Nadia. I think he played a cruel practical joke on you.”

“The possibility crossed my mind. He was known to be cagey. So I had the story corroborated by a Mr. Stern, the Matherlys’ attorney. He verified it. Maris’s appointment is irrevocable and incontestable. Her authority can be revoked only if she chooses to resign.”

Noah pried loose his tongue from the roof of his mouth where it had become stuck. “I’m curious as to why you didn’t mention this to me earlier, Nadia. For instance when we spoke earlier today.” Or the night I talked to you by phone from the country, he thought. The bitch had known then. She had been amusing herself with him.

“It wasn’t my place.”

“But now it is?”

“I’m sparing you having to read it in my column. The story runs tomorrow.” She gave him a sympathetic smile. “Honestly, Noah, I thought that by now you would have been officially informed. I suppose that since your marriage is over, you’re no longer in the inner circle. You’re only hired help.”

“Would you like another drink, Noah?”

“No, thank you, Morris. I’m late for another appointment.” If he didn’t get out of here, away from Nadia, he was either going to kill her or explode. He’d rather not do either in front of witnesses.

“Oh, please stay,” Nadia said in a cajoling voice. “We’ve got so much to celebrate. One of Morris’s fondest desires has been fulfilled. WorldView has acquired Becker-Howe. You know Oliver Howe, I’m sure, because he and Daniel were old friends. In fact, it was Daniel who put Morris in contact with him. Daniel knew that WorldView was shopping for a publishing house and that, unlike him, Ollie Howe would welcome their interest.”

“I had my heart set on Matherly Press,” Blume said. “But since Maris will be at the helm—”

“I felt it only fair to tell him,” Nadia interjected.

“And Maris has made absolutely clear her intention never to sell it, so I decided to acquire another company.”

Noah was clenching his jaw so tightly it ached. “How nice for you.”

“I paid too much for it, but what the hell?” he chuckled. “It’s a profitable outfit. We’ll easily earn back our investment. Becker-Howe is only slightly smaller than Matherly Press. But not for long.” He winked at Noah. “I’ll be your competitor now. Watch out.”

And the horse you rode in on, you bloodless son of a bitch, Noah thought. He made a show of checking his wristwatch. “I really hate to break up the party, but I must get on my way.”

“Wait! That’s not the only good news.” Nadia thrust her left hand across the table. “You failed to notice—or were too polite to mention—that I’m wearing an obscenely enormous diamond ring. Morris and I are getting married next Sunday at the Plaza.” She beamed at Morris, then turned back to Noah. “Three o’clock. We’ll be crushed if you’re not there.”

Chapter 33

Damn Michael Strother.

Cursing his friend—former friend, it appeared—was the only fresh thought in Parker’s mind. Angrily he switched off his computer, concluding another unproductive session of writing. He had sat all day, hands poised above the keyboard, waiting for a burst of inspiration that never came. It was a condition that was recurring with alarming frequency.

He had been working on the next Mackensie Roone book. Deck Cayton had turned into a real dullard with nothing clever to say. He was no longer roguish or engaging. The villain wasn’t innately evil; he was a caricature. And the girl… Parker didn’t like the girl, either. She was shallow and stupid.

He hadn’t heard from Mike since he had announced his resignation and left the house. He hadn’t composed a readable sentence since then, either. The old man must have put a hex on him, something he’d learned from the Gullahs who lived on the southern tip of St. Anne. Mike had been fasc

inated by their language and customs, which had been passed from generation to generation dating back to their African ancestry. Parker dismissed spells and potions and such as hogwash. But maybe there was something to them after all.

When Mike was there, Parker had constantly sought solitude and silence in which to write. But it was amazing how much he missed having the old man puttering around. He found himself subconsciously listening for Mike’s footsteps or the clang of pots and pans in the kitchen, the closing of a door, the whirr of the vacuum cleaner somewhere in the house. The sounds would be welcome distractions now. Comforts. Because he felt terribly alone.

Years back, while he lay in hospital wards with strangers in neighboring beds, being attended by capable but impersonal nurses, he had felt utterly friendless. Completely alone. That’s when Hatred became his companion. His imaginary friend. His security blanket.

Through the years that followed, there were times when Hatred was an exhausting sidekick. Particularly after he’d succeeded with the mystery series, he grew tired of it constantly hanging around, never going home. It grew to be a nuisance. He wished to be rid of it.

Sometimes he kicked it around, hoping that it would leave of its own accord, but it never did. It stayed, and he could never bring himself to abandon it. Instead, he had fed it daily, keeping it loyal to him, until his relationship with it became codependent. It needed him to survive. He needed it for motivation.

Now Mike was gone, and he was left again with only Hatred, his trusty but parasitical ally.

He was feeling awfully sorry for himself, but the irony didn’t escape him. His misery was self-imposed. “Poor you. But look at it this way, Parker,” he whispered to himself. “The end is in sight.”

The last die had been cast when he sent the Envy manuscript to Noah. It was too late now for second-guessing. One way or another it would soon be over and he’d have closure. Everything he had done, said, or written in the past fourteen years had been with this goal in mind. It all funneled down to here and now.

Tags: Sandra Brown Romance
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