Pirate's Gold (14 page)

Trying to pull herself together, Jan ignored Jacob for the moment and looked toward Maren. “Joey Righteous will be here at nine,” she reminded her employer as she crossed the room and placed a stack of neatly typed letters on the corner of Maren's desk.

“Should I have my attorney present?” Maren joked, and Jan forced a laugh despite the disturbing situation. Jacob looked from one woman to the other, not completely understanding the private joke.

“I don't think it will be necessary today,” Jan said, relaxing slightly.

“Good.” In an effort to get rid of Jacob Green, Maren pulled the checkbook from her file cabinet and wrote a check for the May fifteenth contract payment. Jacob took the check and stuffed it into his wallet while Jan effectively ushered him out of Maren's office.

Angry portions of the argument between Jan and Jacob filtered through the closed door. Though Maren switched on the tape player and concentrated on the third song to be released from the Mirage album, she couldn't shake the feeling of concern overtaking her. Maren cared for Jan, and it was apparent that the secretary was very unhappy. Something wasn't right between Jan and Jacob, and Maren suspected it was more than just the pregnancy. Jan hadn't been herself lately. She was nervous and jittery. Perhaps it was because of the pregnancy, but Maren doubted it. Maren had never known Jan to attack anyone; she was a reserved girl who usually kept her opinions to herself. But the other day, without provocation, Jan had verbally assaulted Kyle. It was unusual. Obviously Jan was under a tremendous amount of pressure from Jake.

Maren's musings were cut short when Joey Righteous burst into the room. He was sporting a black leather jacket, dark sunglasses and tight-fitting red leather pants. He looked the part of an overnight R & B sensation. “Hey, Mama, what's happenin'?” he asked as he sprawled into one of the chairs. His charming smile spread evenly across his dark skin, exposing perfect white teeth.

Maren returned the smile. Despite his infamous hot temper, Joey Righteous boasted a certain charisma that couldn't be denied. “Save the ‘bad, black and beautiful' routine for someone who'll buy it,” she returned with a knowing laugh. “You might be able to convince the record-buying public that you're just a poor ghetto kid from the streets of Chicago, but I know for a fact that you graduated from Stanford.”

Joey exaggerated his cringe and put his finger to his lips. “No more of that talk,” he whispered. “You'll destroy the image.”

“Impossible.” She eyed the gaudy outfit and grinned in amusement. “No one would ever believe that you graduated with honors in math.”

“Shame on you,” Joey accosted, lifting his dark glasses and giving Maren a glimpse of his sparkling black eyes. “You been checkin' up on me.”

“Just doing my homework—same as you.”

Joey, anxious to get down to business, slapped his broad palm on the desk as if to change the subject. “So how's my video comin'?”

Maren leaned back in her chair. Her blue eyes never left Joey's dark gaze. “I'm afraid it's been put on hold for a little while.”

“What?”
he shrieked. “What you talkin' 'bout?” anger sparked in his dark eyes.

“Your contract with Festival hasn't been signed by Sterling Records.”

“Why not?” he demanded.

“It's nothing serious,” Maren said, holding up her palms as if physically attempting to soothe him.

“Oh, yeah? Tell me about it!”

“I'm taking your contract with me today. I have a meeting with Kyle Sterling. I'm sure he'll sign the contract, and we can proceed with the video. Then I expect there will be no further delay.”

“Sounds like double-talk to me,” Joey complained. “Or honkie bull…”

“Not from me, Joey. We've done business for a couple of years now, and we haven't had a problem, have we?” She didn't wait for his reply. “I promised you that the video would be completed before your tour of Japan. I'm sure Sterling Records will agree.”

“You ain't jivin' me?” Joey asked, unconvinced.

Maren shook her head, keeping her warm smile intact. “No, but if I do have a problem with Sterling, which I don't anticipate, I'll let you know immediately. What do ya say?”

Joey frowned pensively, and his head bounced to an angry beat. “I don't know.”

Maren pushed away from the desk, stood and walked over to her long cabinets. Bending on one knee, she pulled open a drawer and extracted her sketches. She handed them to Joey. “Here are the storyboards for ‘Restless Feelin'.'” Joey balanced his sunglasses on the top of his head as he studied the drawings. “What do you think?” Maren asked when Joey raised his head.

“You sure know your business,” he admitted with a low whistle.

“I try.”

Plopping his shades back onto his nose, he rose from the chair and towered over Maren. “What's this I hear about bootlegged videos?”

Maren's smile froze. “What do you mean?”

“Didn't Festival have trouble a while back?”

“There was a problem. It's been corrected.”

“I hope so,” Joey whispered. His dark face seemed suddenly threatening. “I wouldn't like it if my video was pirated.”

“Neither would I.”

Rubbing his chin, Joey smiled again. “No, I suppose you wouldn't. Hey, now, you'll call me if the record company gives you any trouble 'bout signin' that contract?”

“As soon as I find out,” Maren assured him.

With his lower lip protruding speculatively, Joey seemed at least partially mollified. “Okay, Mama. I be expectin' your call.” He sauntered out of the room with a disjointed stride that promised the rhythm and soul of his popular songs.

Maren walked with him to the door and accepted his palm along with his collusive wink. When Joey was gone, Jan turned from her typewriter, her worried eyes accosting Maren. “Trouble?” she guessed.

“Not much,” Maren replied, hiding her concern over Joey's remarks about the video pirating. Within the last few weeks, the subject of pirated videos kept haunting her. Maren tried to shake off her unease and answer Jan's probing gaze. “Joey was pretty laid-back…for Joey, that is.”

“Telling me that Joey is ‘laid-back' is like saying a hurricane is a gentle breeze.” Maren laughed and Jan released a troubled sigh. Her serious eyes clouded unhappily. “I should apologize for Jacob's behavior,” she said, reaching for her cigarettes.

Maren waved off Jan's attempts at amends. “Don't worry about it, Jacob and I have business together. It wasn't a big deal”

As Jan lit the cigarette, Maren noticed that the blonde's hands were shaking. “I told you he's changed,” Jan reaffirmed, inhaling deeply on the cigarette and leaning back in the chair to blow the smoke toward the ceiling. “I don't understand him sometimes.”

“We all need a little extra cash now and again,” Maren observed, not knowing how to console Jan. “I know that as well as anyone.”

“I suppose,” Jan agreed reluctantly and closed her eyes. “I finally told him about the baby.” She turned to face Maren.

“And?”

“Nothing.” Jan shook her head, as if to clear the cobwebs of mistrust. “He didn't say anything. He just stood there and looked at me as if I'd completely lost my mind. I know this sounds crazy, but I think it would have been better if he had gotten angry.”

Maren disagreed but kept her thoughts to herself. She'd been on the receiving end of Jacob Green's vehement anger once in the past. It had happened when a take for a commercial had to be scrapped and reshot. Jacob had been so angry that he had thrown his paperweight through the glass door of the building. “Maybe the prospect of becoming a father again came as a shock,” she suggested.

Jan leaned her chin into her hand. The cigarette was poised near her cheek, and smoke curled lazily up to the rafters as she considered Maren's words. “It was more than a shock, I'd say, but at least he didn't try and talk me into an abortion…not yet, anyway.”

Maren was sickened at the thought. “Give him a while to get used to the idea of having a baby around,” she suggested. “This might not be easy for him. His other kids are grown.”

Jan sighed and looked away from Maren. “Yeah, well, we'll see, won't we?”

“Things have a way of turning out for the best,” Maren predicted, knowing her words sounded lame.

“I hope so,” Jan thought aloud. “God, I hope so.”

L
OCATED JUST FIVE BLOCKS
north of the famous intersection of Hollywood and Vine stood the Sterling Records Building. The modern structure was smaller than the nearby circular Capitol Records Building, but distinct in its own manner. Rising from the ground like a silver wedge, the three-sided building was a unique architectural triumph constructed of gray concrete slabs and reflective glass.

Maren had visited the building many times but had never ceased to be awestruck by the magnificent edifice. As she walked through the carpeted hallways, she realized that soon, if Kyle had his way, she might have her own office somewhere in the building. She wondered how it would feel to work with Kyle on a day-to-day basis and how it would affect her relationship with him. If she were to agree to the sale, would she lose all the freedom and respect for which she had fought so diligently? And what was to prevent Kyle from tossing her out, should he become unhappy with her? A simple clause in a contract was little consolation. Sterling Recording Company had lawyers and capital at their disposal that Maren couldn't begin to match. Once Festival Productions was his, Kyle could do just about anything he pleased with it.

A disturbing sense of dread ran down her spine as she followed a plump well-dressed woman to Kyle's office. After a quick rap on the door, the secretary pushed it open, allowing Maren to enter Kyle's domain. Taking her cue, Maren strode into the room, her eyes sweeping the cluttered interior of the office. Kyle was seated at a modern chrome and glass desk, the top of which was littered with papers. A quick glance at the rest of the spacious room indicated that it was in no better shape than the desk. Maren guessed that the room was lavishly furnished, though it was difficult to discern. Filled boxes, pictures, awards and various memorabilia were strewn haphazardly over the floor and furnishings. “Mr. Sterling,” the complacent secretary announced just as Kyle looked up from the desk. “Ms. McClure is here.”

“Thank you, Grace,” he replied, dismissing the secretary.

Grace nodded curtly, seemingly oblivious of the disarray in her employer's office. She walked past an overflowing wastebasket, and with as much professionalism as she could muster, softly closed the door behind her.

“What's going on here?” Maren asked, eyeing Kyle suspiciously. “It looks like you're cleaning house, but I doubt that you made the trip to L.A. just for that.”

“I came up here to see you,” he said pointedly as he rose from behind the desk. “We have unfinished business.” He was wearing slacks and an oxford cloth shirt. The sleeves had been rolled away from his wrists, and his tie was tossed carelessly over the back of a chair near his discarded sport coat. His arms were crossed over his chest, and his gray eyes held hers fast. His body was lean and tense, as if he had been waiting for her, anticipating what was to come.

“I'm moving,” he stated as he circumvented the desk and walked over to her.

“What?”
Her sea-blue eyes swept up to meet his determined gaze. “Moving? Where? To another office?” She stood as if rooted to the floor, the confusion on her face demanding answers.

“I'm moving the things I need back to La Jolla,” he replied. Without further explanation, he dusted his hands on his slacks and then pressed his fingertips against his neck as if trying to alleviate muscle strain in his shoulders. Maren managed to hold on to her frail smile, but disappointment welled within her.
He was leaving—
leaving the position of running the company on a daily basis to one of his vice presidents. Inexplicably she felt betrayed, as if he had lured her into nearly selling Festival Productions to him, only to abandon her and the production company to some faceless underling. For the first time since the start of negotiations for the sale of Festival, Maren realized that if she did indeed sell, she might not end up working for Kyle at all. Perhaps he intended to remain only the figurehead of Sterling Recording Company, or, worse yet, maybe he intended to sell the entire operation, lock, stock and barrel. Included in the various holdings of Sterling Records would be Festival Productions. At the thought an uncomfortable knot formed in Maren's stomach.

“I'm glad you're here,” Kyle admitted, a reluctant smile forming on his lips. He came across the room swiftly and folded Maren in his strong embrace. Powerful arms held her prisoner as his lips found hers. The kiss was bold and demanding. Maren sighed as she closed her eyes and felt a delicious swirl of excitement course through her veins. Her tormented doubts disappeared when he whispered her name softly against her ear, and her entire body felt as if it could melt into him.

His hands were warm where they splayed familiarly against the small of her back. The soft fabric of her jersey dress was only a frail barrier between his hands and her body. His lips brushed against her neck, and she moaned at the warmth he inspired. His fingers reached for the buttons at her shoulder.

“Kyle, wait,” she murmured, the taste of him still fresh on her lips. She attempted to extract herself from his commanding embrace.

“I have,” he admitted, once again kissing the soft column of her throat and letting his tongue gently probe the sensitive skin near her ear. “Too long…”

Gathering in a breath of fresh air to clear her senses, Maren managed to press her palms against his chest and force his head away from her. His eyes, when he raised them to meet her confused gaze, had darkened to a smoky gray. She could read the torment of restrained passion in their smoldering depths.

“Listen,” she whispered, trying to ignore the desire infecting her. “I need to know a few things…what is all this?” Her upturned hand made a sweeping gesture to include the scattered contents of his office.” What do you mean you're moving to La Jolla? You're not resigning, are you?”

“Me? Resign? What are you talking about?” Pain lingered in his eyes, and his voice was edged with the frustration that had been building in him for nearly a week.

“I don't understand, Kyle. Who's going to run the company?”

“I am.”

“From La Jolla?” she asked incredulously.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“There are a lot of things you don't know about me,” Kyle replied. “I tried to explain some of them to you when you were in La Jolla, but you didn't want to hear them. I have personal reasons for staying near San Diego.” Slowly Kyle released her, and it was evident that he was willing his desire to ebb. He raked impatient fingers through the sun-streaked strands of his dark hair.

Kyle knew that Maren was disturbed about something—something involving him. His throat went dry with dread. Just yesterday a bad copy of Mitzi Danner's as-yet-unreleased single had been discovered in a raunchy San Francisco nightclub. The pirated tape had to have come directly from Festival Productions—perhaps that was what Maren wanted to discuss. She had promised to let him know if the pirating problem resurfaced.

“I still don't understand. Who will be responsible for the day-to-day decisions of running the company?” Maren didn't ask about his personal reasons for staying in La Jolla. She suspected they might have something to do with his ex-wife, and she couldn't bear the thought of competing with Sterling Rose or sharing Kyle with any woman.

Kyle leaned against the edge of his desk, his long legs stretched in front of him, his fingers curling around the chrome frame of the desk to aid his balance. Thoughtful lines of worry creased his tanned forehead. “Several people will run the various departments, just as they do now. If a problem develops that a department head isn't able to handle, Ryan Woods will either make the appropriate decision or contact me in La Jolla…at least until I return.”

“Then you do plan to move back here?” Maren's dark brows arched inquisitively.

Returning her direct stare, Kyle shrugged. “Circumstances permitting…”

“That's ducking the question.”

“You were the one who didn't want to get involved in my personal life. Remember?” he charged, his temper flaring.

‘That was before I realized that your ‘personal life,' as you refer to it, influences what happens to me and everyone else associated with Festival Productions. You're asking me to make a decision about selling my company
and
my talent to Sterling Recording Company and you might not even be involved with Festival once the sale is final!”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I like to know where I stand before I sign on the dotted line,” she snapped. “Whoever runs Sterling Records will be making the decisions regarding my future…”

“And you might not trust whoever I appoint?”

“Or sell Sterling to.”

His smile was bitter, his gray eyes determined. “I have no intention of selling the record company.” He crossed his arms over his chest, and his eyes bored into hers. “For once you're going to listen to me.” Before she could voice the protest forming in her throat, he strode across the room. He touched her, and his fingers tightened over her forearms. His gaze was deadly from the tension holding his muscles taut. “I have to stay in La Jolla because of my daughter, Holly. There's a chance that I might gain custody of her. If I do, I won't be coming back to L.A., at least not until she graduates from high school. Her entire life is centered near La Jolla, and I'm not about to drag her to Los Angeles and disrupt her life any more than it has been already.”

His daughter! The child Rose gave him. So that was why he was moving to La Jolla. Maren witnessed the pain in his eyes, and her heart bled for him. Her concerns for the business seemed insignificant when compared to his worries over his child.

“Listen, Kyle,” Maren whispered, her throat suddenly rough with emotion. “You don't have to tell me anything about Holly. It's…it's really none of my business…”

The hands encircling her arms clenched more tightly and jerked her roughly against him. She could feel the muscles of his thighs touching her dress, pressing the soft fabric against her legs. Her breasts were crushed against the firm expanse of his chest. He shut his eyes so tightly that the webbing of crow's-feet at the corners disappeared. For one tense moment he held her, and then slowly released his grip. “Oh, Maren,” he sighed, almost to himself. “What is it about me and my daughter that scares you so?”

She stood her ground and slowly let her gaze travel upward to meet his condemning stare. “I'm not afraid,” she protested in a throaty whisper. “Just cautious. I don't want to get myself into something I can't get out of.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

Her thoughts returned to Brandon and the monetary bond that still shackled her to him. Would she ever be released—free to commit herself completely to another man? Her voice was hoarse, and the shadow of regret darkened her eyes. “It means that because of our negotiations over Festival, I can't afford to get too involved with you—”

“I think you already have, wouldn't you say? Or was our night on the beach just a solitary moment of weakness?”

“You know better than that.”

“Do I? Why do you run so hot and cold with me? One minute I think I understand you, the next I'm not so sure.”

“Maybe we've both got too much at stake because of the business,” she lied, unwilling to bring her hopeless relationship with Brandon into the argument.

“You're evading the real issue,” he charged, his eyes narrowing contemptuously.

“I don't think so. You know as well as I do that the production of videotapes pulled record sales out of the cellar. The entire recording industry was slumping pitifully until video came along and put it back on its feet. The point is, Sterling Recording Company needs Festival Productions as well as the reverse.”

He lifted a finger and pointed it accusingly in her direction. “Stop it, Maren. Business isn't the issue here. Our relationship is. Are you trying to let me know that you don't want to see me except when we have to work together?” Every muscle in his body tensed for her reply. A small muscle in his jaw tightened until his teeth clenched together.

Her voice was low and unsteady. “I don't know what I want,” she admitted. “At least not with you. And I'm not sure that what I want is what would be best for either of us.” She laid bare her heart in an uncontrolled moment of weakness. “We've both been through bad marriages…”

“I'm not asking you to marry me, for God's sake. I'm only asking for a little of your time. Is that so hard to accept?” His anger was replaced by confusion, and when Maren stared into his perplexed eyes, she felt her heart melt.
He cared.
It was evident in the concern on his face. Jan and all the others who judged him by the scandal sheets or industry gossip were wrong! This man really cared.

“I guess not,” she replied, forcing back the tears threatening to pool in her eyes.

The rigidity of his muscles relaxed. “Good. Then let's get down to the business at hand and get it over with. We have more important things to do,” he declared cryptically.

Ignoring his seductive remark, Maren reached down and picked up her briefcase. She was grateful for the change in mood in the office and relieved that their argument had subsided, at least for the present. It had been much too long since she had seen him, and she didn't want to spend her time with him doing verbal battle. She put the briefcase on the cluttered desk, opened it and extracted her preliminary sketches.