Envy(62)

“What happened in the gin? I don’t remember anything happening in the gin that would compromise you as a married woman.”

His feigned innocence infuriated her, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of showing it. She changed tactics and assumed an air of indifference as she returned her empty bowl to the tray on the table.

“You attached far too much significance to that kiss, Parker. You asked why I allowed it, and since you seem confused on that point, let me clarify. I allowed it because fighting you off would have been undignified and embarrassing for both of us. A glorified golf cart is no place to conduct a wrestling match to protect my virtue. And don’t for a moment delude yourself into thinking I was afraid of you.” She shot him an arch look. “I could’ve outrun you.”

“Ouch! That one hurt, Maris. Now you’re fighting dirty.”

“Which is the only kind of fighting I think you understand.”

“It’s the only kind of fighting, period.”

“In other words, what’s the point of fighting if you don’t fight to win?”

“Damn straight,” he said tightly. “Win at all costs. No matter what it takes, no matter what you have to do. I learned—or rather was taught—that lesson. If you want to come out on top, you must be willing to go the distance.”

Although his intensity on the topic intrigued her, there was a dangerous glint in his eyes that warned her against probing any further.

“I wanted to work with you on Envy. If one meaningless kiss bought me that opportunity, it was a small enough price to pay. Can’t we put that childish episode behind us and concentrate on what brought me here in the first place? Your book and my desire to buy it.”

“For how much?”

The subject of money had never been broached, and she was caught off guard by the introduction of it now. “I haven’t thought about it.”

“Well, do.”

“It’s premature.”

“Maybe for you, not for me.”

“I haven’t seen a complete manuscript, Parker. I won’t go to contract until I have.”

“And I won’t bust my balls finishing a book that you might ultimately reject.”

“I’m sorry, that’s the way the system works.”

“Not my system.”

The recently printed sheets were neatly stacked in his lap. She was itching to read them. But his jaw was squared, and he was just ornery enough to stick to his guns. “We could compromise.”

“I’m listening,” he said.

“I would be willing to offer you a moderate advance once I see a detailed outline.”

“No sale. I don’t want to do an outline.”

“Why?”

“Because I enjoy the spontaneity of writing without one.”

“You wouldn’t have to adhere to it. If along the way a better idea occurs to you, I won’t hold you to the outline. All I require is a general idea of where you’re taking the story, a synopsis of the plot.”

“That would spoil the surprises.”

“I’m your editor. I don’t need to be surprised.”

“Of course you do. You’re a reader first, an editor second. You’re the first barometer of whether the book is good or it’s crap. Plot twists are essential to its being good. Besides, I’d rather channel my energy into the story than to writing a stupid outline.”

“I urge you to take the time, Parker. For your benefit as well as mine.”

“I ain’t doing it.”

“You sound like Todd.”

“Todd?”

She moved to the table where she had left her copy of the Envy manuscript. “Let’s see… I think it’s in chapter six. No, seven. It’s a scene between him and Roark. He’s telling Roark that Professor Hadley had suggested changes in his character’s attitude toward his father, and Roark thinks the suggestion is a valid one.”

She scanned the pages of text. “Here. Page ninety-two. Todd says, ‘When our esteemed professor writes a book, he can do with his characters whatever he likes. You can do with yours what you want. But these are my characters. I created them. I know what makes them tick. I won’t change them to suit Hadley. No. No, sir. I ain’t doing it.’ ”

She looked over at him. He shrugged. “Okay. So I’ll let Todd speak for me.”

“God, you’re stubborn.”

They stared at one another until he finally asked, “Do you want to hear what I wrote today while you were busy avoiding me?”

Ignoring his sarcasm, she said, “Of course I want to—Did you say hear it?”

“I thought I would read it to you because it’s very sloppy. I was writing fast. Didn’t bother with capital letters, punctuation, stuff like that. Have a seat.”

She sank into the deep cushions in one of the wicker armchairs, slipped off her sandals, and tucked her legs beneath her. He rolled his chair near hers, engaged the brake, and adjusted the shade of a floor lamp so that the light was directed down onto the pages. Except for that small pool of light, the room was dark.

“I took your advice, Maris, and enhanced the girl’s role. She’s interwoven into other scenes, but this one between her and Roark takes place on the night following his snafu with Hadley.