by KyAnn Waters
Trent stopped beside the two men and Matt extended a hand. “Hey, good to see you, Mr. Weston. Thanks so much for the invitation.”
Trent accepted his hand and shook. “I hate to interrupt but, Tomas, can I speak with you privately?”
Tomas met his gaze and smiled. “Of course. Excuse us,” he said to Matt in his cultured Spanish accent.
“We can talk in the front parlor,” Trent said.
Tomas canted his head in acknowledgement. Trent walked near the wall as he headed for the exit.
“The party is great,” Tomas said after they’d passed a large group of guests. “Christ Trent, do you need a drink? You look like hell.”
“Thanks. I know I can always get the truth from you.” Which was why he needed him now.
“Is it your grandfather? I haven’t seen him yet.”]
Trent shook his head. “He won’t slow down.”
“Still on your ass about settling down?”
Trent’s throat tightened. “I’m doing all I can for him. It won’t be enough.”
Tomas’ expression sobered. “I’m sorry.”
They headed down a short corridor toward the courtyard entrance. They reached the foyer and Trent opened the door to the small parlor and stood aside as Tomas entered, then followed his friend and closed the door behind them.
“Let’s have that drink.” Trent crossed to the buffet located against the left wall. “Scotch all right?”
“Perfect,” Tomas said.
Trent poured scotch into two glass tumblers then returned to Tomas and handed him the drink. Trent drank half the contents in one gulp, then said, “I have a favor to ask. It’s personal.”
“What’s wrong?” Tomas asked.
He was falling off the edge of the world. “I’m not sure.” He bowed his head, hating the direction of his thoughts, but needing to know the truth. “This is strictly off the record.”
“Anything my friend.” Tomas lifted a brow. “As long as you’re not asking me to kill someone.”
Trent appreciated that his friend was trying to lighten the mood, but said, “Nothing illegal. But I don’t want to put you in an uncomfortable position.”
“Why don’t you just tell me what you need?”
“I need information. Information that has to stay between you and me.”
“You have my word.”
“I assume you heard about the merger between Horizon and Blood Silk?”
Tomas nodded. “I did.”
“Did you also hear that Blood Silk signed Lindsey Fremont for the role of Vicky Harris?” Trent asked.
“That movie deal is what attracted Horizon to Blood Silk—though, in truth, that’s what Blood Silk was counting on.”
“What do you mean?” Trent asked.
“My source tells me that negotiations between Ms. Fremont and Blood Silk stalled in its fifth month.”
Fifth month? Trent jarred. That meant—His gut wrenched. She’d lied from the beginning.
“But then Blood Silk approached Horizon with a merger proposal that included a movie deal with Ms. Fremont. That put negotiations on the fast track,” Tomas went on. “Two weeks later, barely long enough for the lawyers on both sides to review the paperwork, both parties signed.”
“Was signing Lindsey Fremont enough to make Horizon take the deal?” Trent asked.
“In my opinion, no. She’s got a good name, made some money for the studios, but she’s not Meryl Streep or even Jennifer Lawrence. She’s not box office gold. Horizon works with mega stars. They don’t have to make many concessions. Plus, they could have signed her for another movie deal at any time—though not the Vicky Lewis movies. Blood Silk owns those rights.
“Are you interested in the studios?” Tomas’ gaze narrowed. “Or the actress?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Let’s just say I know your type. And I heard someone talking about Lindsey being here tonight, although I haven’t seen her.”
Someone was talking about Lindsey being here tonight? They had agreed her presence at the party would remain a secret. They didn’t want the paparazzi getting wind of their relationship. That meant she leaked the news.
He took another drink, then said, “So essentially, Blood Silk got Horizon to back a movie Blood Silk couldn’t afford.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know Blood Silk’s financial, but they can’t be more than one fifth the size of Horizon,” Trent said. “They’ll get swallowed up.”
“Try one tenth the size,” Tomas said. “But Luther Dungate wanted out, and Ms. Fremont wanted in.”
Trent jarred. “Wanted in—as in ownership?”
“Yes.” Tomas set his drink on the coffee table and met Trent’s gaze. “I know I can trust you not to repeat what I tell you, just as I won’t mention this conversation to anyone. But this is something I won’t even touch for After Hours.”
The air almost vibrated around Trent, as if a fly tiptoed across his web.
Trent nodded and Tomas said, “Luther has cancer. Not sure about the prognosis, but I’ve heard it doesn’t look good. He’s getting his affairs in order. Thus far, he’s managed to keep it out of the papers. If the paparazzi learn the truth, they’ll make his life impossible. I’m surprised he managed the last six months as CEO. But that’s why he finally accepted Ms. Fremont’s deal.”
“She approached him—” Trent did a quick calculation “—six months ago?”
“Closer to seven,” Tomas said. “The Journal just reported the merger, but they signed the contract almost three weeks ago.”
Three weeks ago? Trent felt as if he’d taken a baseball bat to the stomach. A week after he’d learned of his grandfather’s illness. Mere days after he’d cried in Lindsey’s arms and asked her to marry him. He still remembered her slender arms around his waist and her whispered yes in response to his impromptu proposal, the warmth of her body when she pressed close—
“From what I heard, she swooped in within a week of Luther’s diagnosis.” Tomas’ voice yanked Trent from the memory. “I find her timing too convenient.”
Trent agreed.
“Luther sold her Blood Silk two days before they signed the contract with Horizon.”
Trent went cold. That meant it was Lindsey who signed on the dotted line. “That wasn’t in The Journal.” He managed to keep an even voice.
Tomas laughed. “The Journal doesn’t know everything.”
“No,” Trent said. “They don’t.”
***
Trent opened the parlor door and halted at sight of Lindsey emerging from the short corridor that lead from the courtyard entrance. Her face lit with the beautiful smile he’d grown accustomed to seeing when their eyes met. She cried out and, in a flash of silver as light struck the sequined mini she wore, flew toward him. Trent froze. In the next instant, she threw herself into his arms with such joy that he almost wondered whether Tomas’s information wasn’t some horrible misunderstanding.
She buried her face in his chest and an ache sawed through his heart like a dull knife. There was no misunderstanding. She owned a movie company and had signed a three-movie contract that would keep her overseas indefinitely. So much for marriage, family, hearth and home.
How was he going to make it through this? How was he going to tell his grandfather that he wouldn’t live to see him married, much less have a child?
Cold steel wound through him.
“I missed you,” she said into his chest.
She drew back and Trent quickly turned to face Tomas. “Lindsey, meet a friend of mine, Tomas Fierros. Tomas, Lindsay Fremont.” Trent watched for any hint of recognition in Lindsey’s eyes that Tomas was the owner and CEO of Broken Leg Media.
She smiled and extended a hand. “Any friend of Trent’s is a friend of mine.”
She didn’t know Tomas, wasn’t aware that Trent’s investments in Broken Leg Media had assured Tomas’s early success. They’d been friends at the university. Tomas needed capital to launch his
empire and Trent had an empire ready to branch into new areas.
Tomas accepted her hand and they shook. “Ms. Fremont. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He released her and shifted his gaze to Trent. “If you’ll excuse me, Trent, I think I’d better find my wife.”
“Sure thing,” he replied. “And thank you. I really appreciate your help.”
“Of course, I’m always here for you…for anything.”
Tomas betrayed no reaction concerning the fact that Trent had asked for information related to the woman in his life, but Trent knew him well enough to know that he guessed plenty. What he couldn’t know was how close Trent had come to making a life-long commitment to the woman who had lied to him from the day they met.
“Ms. Fremont,” Tomas said, then stepped past them.
Trent closed the door and shifted his gaze to Lindsey. She’d gotten him closer to the altar than any other woman. Would the poker face he’d perfected in the boardroom be enough to hide the truth from her? He gave a silent, morbid laugh. She wouldn’t read the truth in his eyes any more than he had hers.
Lindsey wrapped her arms around his neck. “Help? What kind of help?” Her mouth formed the pretty pout she wielded like a sword. “Don’t tell me you’re working tonight. You promised, Trent.”
“Not work,” he said.
She flashed a pleased smile. “I missed you so much.” She cupped the back of his neck and pulled him down for a kiss.
Trent stiffened before he could command his muscles to relax. Their lips met and shock reverberated through him. Her willowy body, sexy and familiar, sent a wave of unwanted lust through him. He allowed her tongue to slip inside his mouth and spar with his.
Then the bitter taste of betrayal filled his mouth. It wasn’t the kiss of a woman in love, but a woman with an agenda. He should have recognized a kiss of deceit. He’d tasted kisses like hers before. All the years as a cold negotiator hadn’t prepared him for the clever and devious Lindsey Fremont. She deserved an academy award for best actress.
She sighed then broke the kiss and rested her head on his chest. He wrapped his arms loosely around her waist and tried to ignore the warmth of her arms when she slipped them beneath his coat and hugged him close. He counted the seconds, willing himself not to shove her away.
“From the limos and cars parked outside, you must have quite a crowd,” she said into his shirt.
She knew exactly how many people he’d invited. When he’d told her three hundred people were coming to his grandfather’s birthday party, she’d laughed and said she would feel like she’d never left Beverly Hills. She knew all right. She knew every damned thing.
Lindsey placed a kiss on his jaw then stepped out of his arms. “Does that window overlook the property?” She tossed a sultry glance over her shoulder, but didn’t wait for an answer. She crossed to the bay window behind the couch. She leaned one bent knee on the cushioned bench, a move that drove her dress higher up her thigh and revealed a sliver of pink lace panties.
Trent recalled their second date, and the first time he’d felt the press of her nipples through his shirt. He’d fought an erection that entire evening. She’d played coy and innocent. He’d been hot to get closer to her. She was beautiful, sexy and desired by every red-blooded heterosexual man on the planet. She’d played him from the beginning. He should have taken negotiating lessons from her.
“A pool.” Her laugh sounded too bright. “How much swimming can you actually do here? It’s freezing out there.”
“You’d be surprised,” he said. “It gets in the high nineties during the summer.”
“A tennis court. You’ve thought of everything,” she said, as if he’d built Brettonwood for her. She shifted and looked right, where the east wing of the castle met in an L with the house and added another four thousand square feet. “This place is huge,” she breathed. “How many rooms are there?”
There it was. He could practically hear the cash register in her head calculating how much their marriage would add to her financial portfolio.
“I couldn’t believe it when I first saw it,” she said. “Pictures don’t do it justice.”
Pictures? He hadn’t shown her any pictures.
She rose and faced him. In the instant before her expression brightened, he caught the hint of avarice in her eyes. Trent stared. Why hadn’t he seen it before? How had she so thoroughly and completely fooled him?
Her brow furrowed. “What’s wrong, baby?” Her eyes widened in concern and she hurried around the couch to him. “Is it your grandfather?” She stopped beside him and touched his arm. “I hate that you worry so much.”
The change from carefree to concern had been too quick…too complete. But then, she was an actress. She’d thrown herself into the role of a lifetime: loving woman, wife…mother-to-be.
Her brow drew down in a pretty frown. “You’ve been under so much pressure this last month, and we haven’t seen each other in over a week.”
Another week in which she’d been planning her next movie in New Zealand—and sitting on the board at Horizon Media.
She stared up at him, eyes filled with worry. “I wish we had time for a little privacy. I want you so badly it hurts.” She stepped closer. “Make love to me, Trent.”
Love? That was a joke. Nothing they shared was about love. Maybe not even for him. She’d wanted her bank account strengthened. He wanted a family. Maybe he’d been too blinded by goals to see he was forcing her into a mold he wanted.
But he’d never lied to her.
She slipped her arms beneath his jacket again and hugged him. “We could work a little more on that baby.”
Trent froze. Three weeks ago, when he’d asked her to marry him, she’d said yes and even suggested they have a baby right away. She’d made a production of tossing her birth control pills into the bathroom trash before pulling him into bed.
Bitterness soured his stomach. He didn’t have to worry about her being pregnant. She had a movie—three movies—to make. When he’d left that following morning, her first order of business would have been to dig the pills out of the trash, then to take her daily dosage.
“Maybe we’ll be lucky enough to be pregnant before we say the I do’s,” he said in an even voice.
Her arms tightened around him. “Wouldn’t that be wonderful? We could make the announcement on our wedding day.”
Trent closed his eyes against the pain.
“Knowing there’s a great-grandchild on the way might give your grandfather enough hope to hang on for a while,” she said.
“You could know that quickly?” he asked.
She giggled. “Of course, silly. A woman knows these things.”
“What if you don’t get pregnant?”
“You worry too much.” She kissed his neck. “Think of all the fun we’ll have trying.” Her mouth slid up his jaw.
Trent tensed. “How will your director feel when you take a break to breastfeed our child?”
She froze. He counted four heart beats of silence before she said, “What are you talking about?”
He grasped her arms and shoved her back far enough to make eye contact. “Will you stop shooting when our child cries for his mother?”
“Trent.” She tried moving closer, but he tightened his grip.
“After all, you’ll have plenty of clout on the set as part owner of Horizon Media.”
“What do you mean?” The shrill note in her voice gave her away.
Lindsey twisted free and he took a step back. She crossed her arms as if to warm herself against a sudden chill in the room.
“Trent—”
“When were you planning to tell me, Lindsey? The first day on the shoot? The day after the wedding? Or would you have let me believe there was a baby to keep me with you while you traveled half way around the world to film another movie?”
She paled and he knew he’d hit on the truth.
“Then you would what, claim you lost the baby?”
“It wouldn’t be th
at way.”
“Do you have any idea what that would to do me?” He paused, eyes locked with hers. “What that would do to my grandfather?”
Her lower lip quivered. “You don’t understand.”
“Don’t I?”
She shook her head. “No. I planned to have them move the film date to later in the year.”
“You don’t have that kind of pull.”
Her eyes flashed. “I own Blood Silk.”
“A company that is one-tenth the size of Horizon,” he cut in. “At most, you would have ten per cent interest in Horizon, and I’ve been part of enough negotiations to know Horizon wouldn’t agree to ten per cent.” He lifted a brow. “I wouldn’t.”
“A month ago you would have.”
He shook his head. “Not even a month ago.”
“Listen Trent, I know how to run a production company. We can have it all. Money, success, fame and family.”
He had money. Success for him now had everything to do with family, and he’d never cared for fame. “It won’t work.”
“You have no idea what I’m capable of,” she said. “I can make this work. I’ll work hard for us, for our life. Together you and I can do anything.”
He shook his head.
Lindsey continued, “I assure you, I’m not going to let anything get in the way of our success. As my husband, you should want to support me in my endeavors, not try to squash my dreams. We can do this.”
He shook his head. “Not us. You know what I want. And this isn’t it.”
She opened her mouth to reply, then her eyes suddenly shimmered with moisture. “You’re going to fault me for wanting to be successful in my chosen field?” She shrugged. “You’re a wealthy man. But that doesn’t mean I expected a free ride for the rest of my life.”
“Free ride?” His cell phone rang, but he ignored it and said, “Is that what you call having a baby and staying home for two years?”
“I can do that and run Blood Silk.”
He nodded. “But you can’t be a mother—a good mother—and make three movies, the first of which starts immediately, according to the Wall Street Journal. You didn’t have to make promises, Lindsey. My marriage proposal wasn’t conditional upon you getting pregnant right away. If you recall, that was your idea.”
