Filed to story: The Things We Leave Unfinished Novel Free
“Why would I ask her? I never ask for input before something is finished.” It ruined the process, and my gut instincts hadn’t failed me yet, anyway. “I cannot believe I actually signed a contract giving someone who’s not even in the industry final approval.” And yet I’d do it again just for the challenge.
“For having dated as much as you have, you really don’t understand women, do you?” He shook his head.
“I understand women just fine, trust me. And besides, you’ve had what? One relationship in the past decade?”
“Because I married her, jackass.” He flashed his wedding ring. “Screwing your way through New York isn’t what I’m talking about. The milk in my fridge is older than the length of your average relationship, and it’s not even close to the expiration date. It is harder to truly know and understand one woman than it is to charm your way through a thousand nights of a thousand different women. More rewarding, too.” He checked his watch. “I need to get back to the office.”
The thought made me shift uncomfortably.
“That’s not true. The relationship part.” Fine, the longest relationship I’d had was six months, involved a lot of personal space, and had dissolved the way it had begun-with mutual affection and an understanding that we weren’t going the distance. I saw no reason to emotionally entangle myself with someone I couldn’t see a future with.
“Okay, let’s clarify. I don’t think you understand Georgia Stanton.” Adam smirked, leaning into a calf stretch. “Have to admit, it’s fun watching you struggle over a woman who doesn’t automatically fall at your feet.”
“Women don’t fall at my feet.” I was just lucky that the ones I was interested in usually felt the same way. “And what’s not to get? From where I stand, this is a case of publishing royalty becomes wife of a Hollywood elite only to be thrown over for the younger, newer, pregnant model and goes home with her millions to sign another deal that makes more millions.” Was she mouth-wateringly gorgeous? Absolutely. But it also felt like she was being difficult just for the fun of it. I was starting to see that dealing with Georgia might be more challenging than getting the book actually written.
“Wow. You’re so far off the mark, it’s almost funny.” He finished stretching and stood, waiting for me to do the same. “You know much about her ex?” he asked with a head tilt and poignant stare.
“Sure. Damian Ellsworth, the acclaimed director, and resident of Soho, if I’m not mistaken.” I stopped at a food cart and bought us two bottles of water. “Always given me a slimy, creepy vibe.” I was confident, but that guy was a pompous prick.
“And what’s he most known for?” Adam questioned after he’d thanked me and twisted the top off his.
“Probably The Wings of Autumn,” I guessed as we continued our trek, freezing as it hit me.
Adam looked over his shoulder, then paused. “There it is. Come on.” He motioned me forward, and I found my footing.
“Scarlett never sold her movie rights,” I said slowly. “Not until six years ago.”
“Bingo. And then she only sold ten books’ worth of rights for almost no money to a brand-new, no-name production company that’s owned by…”
“Damian Ellsworth. Fuck me.”
“No thanks, you’re not my type. But do you get it now?” We reached the edge of the park and threw our empty bottles into the recycling before merging onto the crowded sidewalk.
Ellsworth was more than a decade older than Georgia but had only managed to get his foot through the Hollywood door… Shit. It had been right around the time they’d gotten married.
“He used his marriage to Georgia to get to Scarlett.” Asshole.
“Seems like it.” Adam nodded. “Those rights rolled out the red carpet for him, and he still has five of those movies left to make. He’s set. And once it was clear the trips to the fertility clinic weren’t working out, he found someone else.”
My head snapped toward Adam as my stomach soured. “They were struggling to have kids and he knocked up someone else?”
“According to Celebrity Weekly. Don’t look at me like that. Carmen likes to read it, and I get bored when I’m soaking my legs in the bathtub. Legs you continually put through the ringer, I might add.”
Damn. That was a whole other layer of screwed up. She’d started the man’s career and he hadn’t just cheated; he’d emotionally, publicly annihilated her. “It’s becoming clear why she isn’t about the happy endings right now.”
“And the worst part was that she was part owner of the production company, but she signed it all over in the divorce,” Adam continued as we crossed the street. “She gave everything to him.”
My brow furrowed. That was a shit-ton of money. “Everything? But he’s at fault.” How was that fair?
Adam shrugged. “They were married in Colorado. It’s a no-fault state, and she gave it up willingly, or so I read.”
“Who does that?”
“Someone who wants out as quickly as possible,” he noted. We crossed the final street, bringing us to the block my publisher’s building was on, but Adam stopped in front of the one next door. “And, since all but a sliver of Scarlett’s estate goes into a literary trust earmarked for charity work, those millions you mentioned aren’t exactly Georgia’s. I know you like your research trips, but you should Google more often.”
“Holy shit.” My stomach dropped at just how wrong my assumption had been.
He clapped my back. “Feel like an ass now, don’t you?” he asked with a grin.
“Maybe,” I admitted.
“Wait until you realize that the book you’re finishing isn’t listed in the literary trust-“
My gaze whipped over to his.
“-and she still asked Accounting to wire that entire advance to her mother’s account,” he finished with a smirk.
“Okay, now I feel like a jackass.” I ran my hands down my face. She wasn’t even getting paid for this deal.
“Excellent. How about one more? Follow me.” He walked us inside the office building. The foyer was vaulted to at least the second floor, and escalators lined the edges before the elevator banks began, leaving the center open to display a massive vertical glass sculpture.
It started deep blue on bottom, reaching out in wisps of waves that bubbled at the edges as though breaking on an unseen beach. Rising higher, the blue morphed into aqua before the edges lost their rough, foam-like texture. Then aqua became dozens of shades of green as the glass reached out with swirls-branches, narrowing as the sculpture grew taller, until it peaked at twice my height.
“What do you think?” Adam asked with a shit-eating grin on his face.
“It’s spectacular. The lighting is ingenious, too. Shows off the color and artistry.” I glanced sideways at him, knowing this little detour had to mean something.
“Look at the placard.” That grin was still going strong.
I moved forward and read the tag, my eyes widening. “Georgia Stan- What the hell?” Georgia did this? I looked up at it with fresh eyes, and even I could admit my jaw dropped a little.
“Just because she’s not a writer doesn’t mean she’s not creative. Humbled? Just a little?” Adam moved to stand at my side.
“Just a little,” I said slowly. “Maybe a lot.” My attention dropped to the placard again, noting the date. Six years ago. Coincidence or pattern?
“Good. My work here is done.”
She hadn’t just gone to art school. She was an artist. “She won’t listen to me, Adam. She’s hung up on me both times I’ve called. I’m trying to get this thing plotted out so I can dig into it, but the second I start in about the ending, it’s dead on the other end. She doesn’t want to collaborate; she just wants it her way.”
“Sounds like someone else I know. How much listening have you done?” he challenged. “It’s not just your book this time, buddy; it’s hers, too, and for someone who loves primary sources, you’re ignoring the one right in front of your face. She’s your resident expert on all things Scarlett Stanton.”
“Good point.”