The Titan Was Tall (Triple Threat Book 1)

by Kristen Casey

  Wayne, Piper was coming to realize, was usually prepared for anything. With a flourish, he extracted the necessary business card from within his leather portfolio and handed it over. Anika gave them a brief wave and disappeared around the corner at a rapid clip.

  “I’ll hit up Anika’s assistant later, and figure out when you two can meet up,” Wayne told her as they headed back to the elevators. “Do you like Thai food? It’s her favorite.”

  His phone pinged, and he glanced down—then grinned broadly.

  “Anika says to tell you she’s also a big fan of your aristocratic amnesiac.”

  Piper laughed, “Now where have I heard that before?”

  “Mr. MacLellan wanted her to read all your books, too, but she has even less time than I do. She cornered me a few months ago and made me tell her which one was the best one, so naturally, that’s where I steered her.”

  “Naturally.”

  “He really was something,” Wayne sighed.

  “I commend you on your good—”

  They exited the elevator again, this time into what appeared to be a heated argument.

  “—taste,” Piper finished weakly.

  Wayne frowned, taking in the two clusters of people gathered at the side of the large open area. Piper recognized a few familiar faces, looking decidedly put out, and noted the preponderance of new employees.

  It looked like PKM had done some house-cleaning here in the design department already.

  It took Wayne a couple of tries before he could get someone’s attention. Finally, Carol, the woman who’d done most of the work on Piper’s last few book covers, trotted over.

  “Sorry guys,” she breathed, shooting a look behind her. “Not a great time.”

  Wayne stood straight and was as stiff as Piper had yet seen him. “I have Piper Fulham here for her 11 o’clock with the new design team.”

  Carol looked back and forth between them, confused. “You…what?”

  Another woman Piper had seen before came over then. Piper had never worked with her but knew she was chummy with one of Trident’s other authors, one she’d never liked at all.

  “I’ve got this, Carol. Wayne, we’re all ready for you and Piper in the conference room. Why don’t you guys head in there, and I’ll round up the others.”

  Wayne’s chin notched up a fraction at the woman’s imperious tone, but he didn’t comment. He didn’t need to—his stony expression spoke volumes.

  Piper shrugged at Carol and followed him away.

  THE MEETING WAS a fender bender from the get-go. Trident’s designer—Sue, she learned—was utterly determined to stake her claim on Piper’s new series. She made a handful of sweeping pronouncements about industry standards and declared firmly that it would be “sexy shirtless men” or nothing for the covers.

  PKM’s new people were more circumspect. They asked Piper where she saw her new series going, what she thought the general feel of them would be, and which covers she’d liked the look of recently. They listened carefully to her responses and took meticulous notes.

  Piper liked them. Sue was incensed.

  “With all due respect, Piper’s skill set is coming up with the words to fill the books. We’re the ones in the business of packaging what she writes. As long as we’re conveying the right smut level, I should think—”

  Piper held up a hand. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  “Well, it’s hardly like it’s rocket science. Sex sells, Piper. You, of all people, ought to know that.”

  Wayne’s eyes narrowed. Piper took a long sip of her water and tried to collect herself.

  One of the new designers said hesitantly, “We’ve seen some new types of covers do very well in this market recently. An author of Ms. Fulham’s caliber definitely has the wiggle room to bend the rules a bit. I think if she—”

  “Well, she’s hardly the next Nora Roberts,” Sue sniped. “And besides, I’m sure even La Nora knows her place when it comes to these things.”

  Piper sputtered, “Without me, you won’t have anything to sell here!”

  Wayne shot to his feet abruptly and pointed at one of PKM’s people. “You got what you need for right now?”

  The man darted a quick glance at Sue and nodded.

  “Great,” Wayne said. He pulled on Piper’s arm, tugging her to her feet. “We have to boogie. Piper has a lunch meeting she can’t miss, but I can bring her back here later to hash out some more particulars if you need her.”

  Sue looked furious and suspicious. “That would be marvelous. Thank you so much, Wayne.”

  He smiled thinly and hauled Piper away. In their wake, the conference room erupted into another testy fracas.

  “Christ,” Wayne muttered, stabbing at the elevator button. “What a shrew.”

  “Thanks for the bailout,” Piper tried, after they’d stood in tense silence for a while.

  Wayne frowned mightily and asked her, “Is it always like that?”

  “It’s not usually that contentious.”

  “Have you ever worked with Sue before?”

  “No. Usually, I had Carol, and some of the other Trident originals.”

  “Well, this shit ain’t gonna work,” he told her. “Not by a long shot. Mr. MacLellan would’ve had a cow if he’d seen that.”

  He whipped out his phone and texted for a few moments, then slipped it back into his pocket as they hit the street. Wayne looked around expectantly and made a visible effort to shake off his irritation.

  “All right, lady. What’s good around here? Time to feed the beast.”

  “There’s a good place about a block that way,” Piper told him. “Do you like—”

  Wayne’s pocket burst into a blaring reggae ringtone, making him wince. He clawed at his blazer, freed the device, and stabbed wildly at it.

  “Wayne Thompson.”

  Several frantic sentences later, he hung up with an apologetic grimace.

  “Piper, I am so sorry. I have to run back to PKM and put out a little fire.” He strode to the curb and threw out his arm to hail an approaching cab. “You grab some lunch. Text me the name of the place and I’ll meet you there in time for the rest of that design meeting, I promise.”

  The cab came to a screeching stop next to him.

  Piper called out, “Want me to get you something to eat?”

  Wayne leaned out the open window. “Yes! Something with cheese! And mushrooms!” he shouted as the yellow car careened away.

  She smiled as she watched him go, relieved that PKM had seen fit to assign her such a relatable chaperone for the day. She turned and headed down the sidewalk, wondering if Red had been behind it.

  SIX

  ROB ARRIVED FOR his weekly meeting with Red bearing his usual punch-list of action items. The head of Trident’s transition team also wore the expression he normally saved for when they discussed which troublesome employees had to be cut loose.

  It was hardly Red’s favorite part either, but it needed to be done if this acquisition was going to proceed the way it was supposed to. The Dentons hadn’t exactly been running a tight ship, and it was up to PKM to undo all their years of mismanagement.

  “All right, Rob. I know why you’re here. Let me have it,” Red said.

  The man nodded and leaned forward. “Here’s the list of the authors we’re going to cull. Most of them aren’t producing squat and haven’t sold a book in years.”

  “Fine.”

  Rob sat in silence, staring grimly down at the paper.

  Red sighed—he ought to have known it wouldn’t be so easy. “Okay, what’s the problem?”

  “Well, there are a couple of potential issues. This guy, Phil Miller—”

  “That’s a pen name,” Red cut in. “His real name is Jim Denton.”

  “No shit. He’s the son, right?”

  “Yep. Their only kid. Get it? Tri-Dent?”

  “I…wow. Never once put that together.”

  Red smiled. “He wrote a series of crime thrillers, I b
elieve. Set in Sparta.”

  “From what I can determine, they weren’t terribly popular,” Rob countered. “They look like they tanked soon after release, and each one sold worse than the last.”

  “Reach out to his agent,” Red told him. “I suspect they’re probably already looking for a new home since Mommy and Daddy aren’t running the show anymore. Maybe we can call around and help speed up the process for them.”

  “I’ll check with Anika,” Rob said. “But that should work fine with his contract.”

  Red nodded. “Who else?”

  “Rachel Wilbon, here. She had a title that got some attention about three years ago. Won a small literary award, that kind of thing.”

  “And what has she done for me lately?”

  “Jack shit,” Rob admitted. “She and her agent both insist she’s working on a fabulous new project, but…” He shrugged, making his disbelief clear.

  “Do you have her sales numbers anywhere?”

  Rob handed him a file. Red paged through it, scrutinizing each sheet. Finally, he looked up.

  “Flash in the pan,” he decided. “Can her.”

  Rob winced. “She and her agent are both somewhat…high strung. That is not going to be fun.”

  “When is it ever?”

  Robert scraped at his chin. Red had come to learn through their monthly poker games that it was the man’s worst tell—and evidently, his cards sucked right now.

  “I’ve got to get off this goddamn planet,” Rob groaned.

  Red had to laugh. “Fine, you little pussy. Send the dragon ladies to me. I’ll slay them for you while you go have some milk and cookies.”

  His transition chief popped out of his chair and grabbed for his papers and files. His face was wreathed in relief.

  “Thank you, master,” he said.

  Red spotted a file with Piper’s pen name scrawled across the tab and laid a hand on it before Rob could snatch it. He stared the other man down and set all joking aside.

  “This one stays on board, Robert. No fucking around with her.”

  “Fire the breadwinner? What do I look like to you? Some kind of imbecile?”

  “Just checking. She’s crucial to pulling this off.”

  “I get it.”

  “See you next week.”

  “Not if I take up drinking first.”

  Red watched him go then ran a hand across the top of Piper’s file. That kiss last night…he snorted. Hell, forget the kiss. The whole night with her had been unforgettable. She was gorgeous and smart and funny. Sharp and interesting. Mouthwatering.

  Red wondered what Piper was up to right now. If he remembered her schedule correctly, she and Wayne should be getting ready to grab some lunch any minute.

  It had been a split-second impulse to send his assistant to Trident that morning to meet her. But Red knew the man could charm the pants off nearly anyone, and he’d wanted Piper to have a buddy as she met all the new people up there. He wanted to give her someone she could lean on. Someone he trusted, who would report back to him if stuff got out of hand.

  A crash sounded outside Red’s office. He got to his feet to investigate. When he poked his head out his door, Wayne—who was supposed to be minding Red’s new favorite author—was crouched in front of his credenza, opening and slamming doors as he muttered and cursed. Piper was nowhere to be found.

  “Looking for something?”

  Wayne jumped and cracked his knee on the solid mahogany cabinet, then took in an exceptionally long breath as his face turned crimson. At last, he uttered calmly, “Anika needs some paperwork from our presentation to the board. I was sure I filed it in here, but I can’t seem to put my hands on it.”

  “Ah. I talked to her about that earlier. I have it on my desk, sorry.”

  His assistant’s shoulders relaxed markedly. “Oh, thank God.”

  Red watched him sit on the office carpet for a minute or two, then inquired, “Have you misplaced your charge, Master Wayne?”

  “You mean Piper? No, I sent her to get some lunch. I’ll pull that stuff together for Anika, then head back to Trident and drop it off. After that, I’ll get Piper and bring her back to tangle with the design folks.”

  “Tangle?”

  “Yeah, so…it looks like the old guard and the newcomers aren’t exactly playing nice. Piper kind of got caught in the middle of it this morning.”

  “Wayne,” Red warned.

  “I know, I know. I’ll get them under control when we go back in there.” He pushed to his feet and dusted himself off. “But I have to get Anika’s stuff, first.”

  That left Piper sitting alone somewhere, eating lunch all by herself. Abruptly, the idea of stealing another few minutes with her was too tantalizing to resist.

  “Where’d Piper go, anyway?” Red asked.

  Wayne extracted his cell from his jacket and peered at it. “Someplace called Mama Maisie’s. She texted me a picture of the menu. There’s a long wait, I guess, but I told her she had time.”

  Red knew the place. It was only a few blocks from Trident and a pretty decent run from PKM’s headquarters. If he hurried, he could probably change and trot over there before Piper even finished her sandwich.

  The exercise might help him shake off the restlessness that still lingered after his unexpectedly intriguing date with Ms. Fulham. Seeing her again might put to rest whether last night was some kind of strange fluke.

  It might also settle the annoyance Red felt about having to handle Rachel Wilbon later that day. He could already tell she was going to be a handful and a half.

  ALL THE BALLS up in the air were making him antsy. It bugged him. As Red’s long stride ate up block after block, the allegory wasn’t lost on him. There were days when he’d like to leave more than just PKM headaches in his wake.

  After the first mile, though, he longer cared. And after a few more, he felt mostly like himself again. Red was even reasonably confident in his ability to interact with other humans without biting anyone’s head off.

  Soon, he found the funky cafe down the block from Trident and pushed his way inside. The weather was reasonably cool that day, so at least Red wasn’t a stinking, sweaty mess. Still, he ducked into the men’s room after he ordered and tried to clean up a bit more.

  Red lounged at a table near the window to wait for his food. When he finally spotted Piper, she was tucked in the back corner, alternating between scribbling furiously in a notebook and watching the other customers. Her eyes were a little glazed over, a little unfocused, like she was listening to something important inside her head.

  Red realized…she must be writing. Before his very eyes, Piper was creating something out of nothing—new people that didn’t exist yet, with thoughts and feelings, histories and futures. Passions. Piper would create whole towns for them to live in, too, places with pasts that sometimes acted as much like characters as the people did.

  The act of magic she was performing impressed him. Red had a lot of skills, but he knew he couldn’t do that. He didn’t think he’d even be able to concoct a simple bedtime story for a child. He simply wasn’t wired that way.

  It didn’t stop him from enjoying the efforts of others, though. Even as a kid, he’d read incessantly. Red had always relished the sensation of subsuming himself within the parallel universes of books. Escaping his strict reality, even for a few minutes.

  And Piper’s books had been quite an escape. He’d take her version of the world over space adventures or mutiny on the high seas any day. Who wouldn’t? To want and be wanted like one of her characters fulfilled every testosterone-laden cell in his body.

  Red wracked his brain, trying to remember who Piper had met at Trident that morning. If Piper had been meeting with him again, maybe Red could indulge himself into thinking that he’d inspired her current literary efforts.

  Though maybe it wasn’t someone or something from her morning. Maybe it was their little interaction last night that had tickled Piper’s fancy. Did her muse even work that
way?

  A man could hope.

  Red noticed the troubling patchouli-scented cloud that enveloped him one moment before he registered its source, hovering at his shoulder. He turned to find the young woman who’d taken his order standing there studying him, plate in hand. Her name tag read Eight.

  He puzzled over that while she purred, “Hey, Daddy. Your sandwich is ready. I made it myself.”

  She placed it in front of him with an expert twist. If Red was inclined, he could admire her scent or even steal a peek down her shirt.

  “Thanks,” he murmured, looking away.

  Since when did they deliver tableside at this joint? In the past, he’d had to retrieve his food from the counter once the cook belted out his number. Mostly, Red had an underling at Trident pick up the food, so he could keep working at whatever desk he was borrowing that day.

  The waitress swiveled to present him with an unobstructed view of her ass, then set his drink on the table, too. When she didn’t move away immediately, Red peered up at her face. Dark, wavy hair. Olive skin and large, heavily-lined eyes. Eight held his gaze and smiled slowly.

  Red suppressed a wince. It was impossible to tell what her face might look like under all the cosmetics. Was so much makeup necessary to sling corned beef, or was she headed somewhere more interesting afterward?

  And what on earth did Eight mean, anyway? Eight kids? Eight personalities?

  The waitress misunderstood Red’s focus, of course. “Is there anything else I can get for you?” she inquired. “My number, perhaps?” She preened a little, too, stretching to reveal a sliver of skin between the hem of her shirt and the low-slung waist of her painted-on jeans.

  She looked like she’d be…demanding. Loud. Emotionally, physically, and financially needy. And Red had fucking been there and done that, too many times to count.

  He shook his head, muttered, “No thanks,” and then fiddled with the frilly toothpick jammed in his pickle until he felt Eight depart.

  He rested his hands beside his plate and wondered what had given him away this time. He was wearing nothing-special running clothes, a bit too damp around the collar to be strictly polite. Red wasn’t wearing a fancy watch and hadn’t arrived in a late-model sports car. He didn’t even bother kidding himself that his face was the showstopper.