What I Did for Love (Wynette, Texas #5)(95)

The lock finally clicked, and there he stood, glowering at her. “What the hell do you want?”

His normally immaculate steel gray hair had misplaced its part, he was barefoot, and he looked as though he hadn’t shaved in a week. Wrinkled shorts and a faded T-shirt had replaced his normal Hugo Boss. She’d never seen him like this, and something unwelcome stirred inside her.

She pushed hard on the door. “You look like Richard Gere’s corpse.” He automatically stepped back, and she slipped past him into the cool interior, which was dominated by bamboo floors, high ceilings, and bright skylights. “We need to talk.”

“No, we don’t.”

“Just a few minutes,” she said.

“Since we don’t have any more business together, there’s no point.”

“Stop being such a big baby.”

He stared at her, and she realized that even in his faded T-shirt and rumpled shorts he looked more together than she did in her Escada dress and strappy red Taryn Rose pumps. Again that inconvenient stirring…She gave him a grim smile. “I don’t have to kiss your ass anymore. It’s the only bright side of having my career ruined.”

“Yeah, well, sorry about that.” He walked away from her into his living room, a pleasantly decorated space, but without much personality. Comfortable furniture, beige carpet, and white plantation shutters. Apparently he hadn’t let any of the sophisticates he’d dated over the years put her mark on the place.

She located his sound system and turned off the music. “I’ll bet you haven’t talked to her once since this all fell apart.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Really? I’ve been watching you operate for years. If Georgie doesn’t do what Daddy wants, Daddy punishes her by freezing her out.”

“I’ve never done that. You do love to paint me as the villain, don’t you.”

“It doesn’t take much paint.”

“Go away, Laura. We can take care of leftover business by e-mail. We don’t have anything more to say to each other.”

“That’s not quite true.” She dipped in her tote and shoved a script into his hands. “I want you to audition for Howie. You won’t get it, but we need to start somewhere.”

“Audition? What are you talking about?”

“I’ve decided to represent you. You’re a coldhearted prick in your personal life, but you’re also a talented actor, and it’s long past time you got out of Georgie’s hair and focused on a career of your own.”

“Forget it. I did that once, and it didn’t go anywhere.”

“You’re a different person now. I know you’re a little rusty, so I’ve scheduled a couple of sessions with Leah Caldwell, Georgie’s old acting coach.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Your first class is at ten tomorrow. Leah’s going to put you through your paces, so get a good night’s sleep.” She withdrew a set of papers from her tote. “This is my standard agency contract. Look it over while I make some phone calls.” She pulled out her cell. “Oh, and let’s be clear from the start. Your job is to act. My job is to manage your career. You do your work, I’ll do mine, and we’ll see what happens.”

He tossed the script on the coffee table. “I’m not auditioning for anything.”

“Too busy counting up all those Kodak moments with your daughter?”

“You go to hell.” Strong words, but delivered without much emphasis. He dropped into a muted plaid easy chair. “Do you really think I’m a coldhearted prick?”

“I can only judge by what I’ve observed. If you’re not, you’re a damn good actor.”

That stopped her. He was a good actor. She’d been knocked out by his reading of the father in Tree House. She couldn’t remember the last time a performance had excited her so much. And wasn’t it one of life’s great jokes that this performance had come from Paul York?

He’d always seemed so invincible, and watching him with his defenses down threw her off balance. “What’s up with you anyway?”

He stared off at nothing. “It’s funny how life never turns out like you expect.”

“What exactly did you expect?”

He extended the contract toward her. “I’ll read the script and think about it. Then we’ll talk about a contract.”

“No deal. Without a contract, the script and I are leaving together.”

“You think I’m going to sign just like that?”

“Yes. And you know why? Because I’m the only one who’s interested in you.”

“Who says I care?” He slapped the contract on top of the script. “If I wanted to go back into acting, I’d represent myself.”

“The actor who represents himself has a fool for a client.”

“I think that’s ‘lawyer.’”

“The sentiment’s the same. No actor can effectively sing his own praises without looking like an ass.”

She was right, and he knew it, but he wasn’t quite ready to concede. “You’ve got an answer for everything.”

“That’s because good agents know what they’re doing, and I intend to be a much better agent for you than I ever was for Georgie.”