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“Sure,” Lance said.

“Please,” Andy murmured. Howard shot a momentary look of annoyance at Andy and then his smile wiped it away.

“So Lance, what’s going on? I’m told you had to put a hold on Harbinger’s Regret?”

Lance nodded, encouraged by how understanding and open Howard’s voice sounded. “Yeah, I’ve had some plot issues. I have maybe another twenty thousand words to go, and I just ran into a snag. I’m thinking I’ll need at least another three weeks to work out the kinks.” Lance stopped speaking as Howard looked down toward his lap and put up one hand in the universal sign of silence. Lance’s eyebrows drew down as the man who sat behind Howard flicked open both latches on the black briefcase he held on his lap.

“Lance, we were right on track for an October release. That’s your best month. We talked about this on the phone not two months ago. What happened from when you told me it was all coming together to now?” Howard asked.

“Well,” Lance said, licking his lips. His jaw felt tight. It needed to be stretched and cracked. He could feel a pilot light beginning to burn in the pit of his stomach, the warning sign, as loud as any tornado siren, that his anger was beginning to wake. “Like I said, there were a few things that just didn’t seem to mesh well with the resolution, so I went back and changed them. That, in turn, weakened a couple of details that I really liked. I can iron it out, I just need a few more weeks.” Howard sat staring at him over the bulbous sweating pitcher and flat cookies. His eyes were unmoving in their sockets, and Lance suddenly had the overwhelming impression that everyone else in the room had died. For a few seconds, Howard ceased to breath, the enigmatic man behind him was a taxidermist’s canvas, and even Andy seemed to have stopped his near-constant motion.

Life snapped back into action as Howard sighed and ran his tongue over the outside of his massive teeth. The silent man behind him opened the briefcase and pulled a staple-bound mass of paper out of the black carrier. He then stood just enough to slide the sheets onto the table a few inches from Howard’s elbow.

“Well, I’m really disappointed, Lance. Really disappointed. No offense, but now I’m going to have to fly back to New York and tell Richard why the next Lance Metzger novel won’t be out in time for the season next fall.”

“I’m sorry, I just can’t throw it all together for the sake of hitting a deadline. I’m sure you understand,” Lance said imploringly, the anger in his stomach starting to rise like mercury in a thermometer.

“I do and I don’t, but I guess there’s no choice, is there?” Howard said, beginning to stand. “Oh, but one more thing,” he continued with a vaguely amused tone, and Lance noticed one of his undertaker hands lightly touch the papers on the table. “I was notified that this was your last book on contract with us—”

“Like you didn’t know,” Andy said, his words cracking off like rounds from a pistol. Howard looked over at Andy with unveiled disgust but only sneered, his culvert-like nostrils flaring.

“As I was saying, this is your last book with us, and before we renew your contract, we’ll have to go through the necessary—”

“Oh, enough of this shit!” Andy said as he stood with sufficient force to knock over his chair. “Do you know who this man is? He’s probably your f*cking bread and butter, Cole. His last three novels have outsold anything else on your roster. People line up for blocks to see him when he does a signing. His advances are in the six digits, and you’re sitting here actually threatening him with not re-signing a contract for missing a publication date?” Andy leaned over the table, and Lance watched the redness in his palms become white with the pressure he exerted. “We’ll go somewhere else, you f*cking moronic cartoon! Shit, he’ll publish his next work himself! How’s that for negotiating?”

“What do you know about anything, you weird little—”

“I’ve represented two platinum recording artists, three bestselling novelists not including the one in this room, and an actor that’s received more Oscar nominations than anyone I can think of, so I know my way around the entertainment industry, Mr. Cole, and you do not!” Andy turned from the table and began to walk to the door. Lance stood and finally met eyes with Howard, who was clenching his Chiclet-like teeth within the snarl of his parted lips.

“Basically, what Andy was saying was, you’ll get my book when I’m done with it, not a second sooner or later. If that’s unacceptable, take me to court and I’ll show up with bells on.”