The Agency (18 page)

I called David Milton’s office. He wasn’t in. I left a message that I would be stopping by in the morning and gave him my mobile number. I didn’t call him a liar, but you can read between the lines. I gave no hint of being concerned.

Actually, I felt better. Even confident. If Milton showed Dorothy an old note she wrote—but not any portions of the manuscript itself—that smelled to me like a con job. If he thought we would roll over and pay him in order to avoid the time and expense of swatting him down in court, well, he could think again.

No, the only thing that worried me was the timing of it all. Which was curiously coincidental. On the week that I’m planning to launch my own agency—and with Dorothy’s next deal waiting in the wings—this man suddenly appears with a nasty charge of copyright infringement? Maybe I’m paranoid, but I can’t help wonder if David Milton really came up with this idea on his own.

As if to reinforce my suspicions, I glanced out the right-side window as we crossed West Twenty-second and realized we were near the Flatiron Building, which was home to a gaggle of publishers and agents. Including Saleema. I had been inside with her many times in happier days but not at all since our falling-out. I knew she still worked there. I also knew that Evan, her ex-fiancé who had rocked my world in New York and London, still worked there, too. That must make for interesting agency meetings.

On an impulse, I told the driver to stop at the corner of Twenty-third. I climbed out, hurried down the long block to Fifth, and followed the pointed edge of the building around to Broadway. It was late, but Saleema was notorious for working late. Like me, she never had much of a social life. Even if she was still in the office, I wasn’t sure what I hoped to accomplish by seeing her. However, lack of a plan has rarely been an obstacle to my charging ahead.

The security guard inside the lobby looked at me as if I might be a terrorist. It didn’t help when I told him I was there to see Saleema Azah. He took my picture and asked for identification, and I was sure the next steps would be a strip search and an FBI background check.

Instead, he called upstairs. Saleema answered. I imagined her at her desk, feet up, wine in hand, reading manuscripts in an otherwise empty office. I wasn’t at all sure she would agree to see me, but to my surprise, the guard hung up and directed me to the building’s fabulous old elevators.

Just like old times. I felt a little sick and wondered what I would say.

The elevator let me out in a dingy corridor on the sixth floor between two locked doors. I waited. And waited. It occurred to me that Saleema might plan to leave me there until I got bored and
left, but then I heard a crash bar and the east door flew open. Saleema stood there, hand on hip, giant brown eyes burning, coffee-colored skin turning pink with rage.

“Hello, Saleema,” I said.

She stalked out of the doorway and stood in front of me. She hadn’t changed much. Her cascading black hair was even longer than I remembered, practically down to her hips. I saw crow’s-feet hiding under the makeup around her eyes. Otherwise, she was petite, beautiful, and fiery, as she always was. An Indian goddess.

I smiled. She didn’t. With the speed of a snake, she slapped me so hard I nearly toppled backward.

Okay, now I know why she agreed to see me.

“You slut,” Saleema hissed.

Slut, cunt, bitch. My friends have such nice names for me. I massaged my stinging cheek. For a tiny woman, she packed a punch.

“Now that you have that out of your system, can we talk?” I asked.

“About what?”

“I don’t know. I was passing the Flatiron, and I stopped for the hell of it. I wanted to see you. I still want to put this behind us.”

“You were my best friend, Tess, and you fucked my fiancé. Put that behind you.”

“Look, I have no defense. Slap me again for all I care. As long as you’ve known me, you’ve known I was an idiot when it comes to sex. I hurt you, and I’m sorry.”

Saleema brushed her hair back. “I don’t care if you’re sorry. It doesn’t change what you did.”

“I know.”

“What do you want, Tess?”

“The truth is, I miss you,” I said. And I did.

“Poor Tess. Are you feeling sorry for yourself? Are you feeling lonely? Maybe you should ask yourself why. You think because you’re smart and funny, you can be a bitch to the world and get away with it. Well, you can’t. And you know what? If you keep it up, you’re going to wind up sitting in the rain somewhere wondering how the hell you fucked up your life so badly. When that
happens, don’t bother calling me. You won’t have anyone to blame but yourself.”

I didn’t know what to say. Maybe because, deep down, I had a feeling she was right.

Saleema waited and watched me flounder, and then, with a fierce smile, she spun around and headed back to the door that led into the agency office. I decided I couldn’t let her go without throwing another punch.

“I know you were in London,” I called after her.

She stopped with her hand on the doorknob. Slowly, she turned around. “Okay, I was in London. Do I need to clear my itinerary with you?”

“I saw you with Guy.”

Saleema shrugged. “So?”

“So what are you up to?” I asked.

“That hardly concerns you.”

“No?”

“No. We’re both agents, Tess. We both do deals. Guy’s in the business.”

“I hope to God you’re not sleeping with him.”

Mistake.

Saleema spontaneously combusted right in front of me. Or that’s what I thought was going to happen. I expected to see flames.

“How dare you tell
me
who to sleep with!” she screamed. Her voice echoed back and forth in the tiny space.

“You’re right,” I said quickly. “That was stupid. I apologize. I just meant that you can’t trust Guy.”

“Oh, and now you’re concerned with my welfare? Isn’t that sweet. I can take care of myself.”

“Be straight with me, Saleema. Were you talking to Guy about Dorothy?”

“Why would I do that?”

“To steal Dorothy as a client,” I snapped. “Why else?”

“It’s nice to see you’re still paranoid,” she said, smiling at me.

“Dorothy tells me you ran into her at a dinner over the weekend. I suppose that’s just a coincidence.”

“She was at a party. I was at a party.”

“You told her you were a friend of mine.”

“Would you have preferred I told her you were the whore who slept with my fiancé?”

“Do you really think you can take Dorothy away from me?” I asked.

Saleema shrugged. “Knowing you, Tess, I’m sure that Dorothy will soon find a reason to dump you on her own. In that case, I want her to know that she has options. If Guy puts in a good word for me, so be it.”

“Did you hire David Milton? Is that what this is about?”

“Who?”

“You know damn well who he is. You know damn well why I’m in town. I can’t believe even you would stoop so low.”

“I think you should take a Valium,” Saleema said. “You’re having a meltdown.”

That was true. I had been awake for twenty-four hours, and I was starting to fall apart. I was practically shaking.

“Oh, Christ, Saleema, why are you still holding on to this feud?” I shouted at her. “The thing with Evan was years ago. You’re better off without him. You sure as hell know that. He was a cheat and a liar.”

“And it was noble of you to prove that by fucking him. Not many friends will sacrifice themselves that way.”

“I said I was sorry.”

“I said I don’t care.”

“The David Milton thing is never going to fly. I’m calling your bluff tomorrow morning.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“We’re going to countersue Milton for fraud. And if I can prove you’re in it with him, we’ll sue you, too.”

“Good-bye, Tess.”

Saleema punched in the security code to open the door and disappeared inside, leaving me alone in the corridor.

That went well, don’t you think?

I shook my head, trying to calculate if there were any new ways I could find to screw up my life tonight. Nothing leaped to mind.
Saleema’s words sounded like an ugly premonition. Me. In the rain. Alone. My life in ruins. It didn’t feel like I had a long way to fall from where I was.

I needed a drink. I needed to sleep.

I pushed the elevator button and waited for the car to grind slowly back to me. I put a finger tenderly on my cheek. It was sore where Saleema had slapped me. And, yes, I know I deserved it. The elevator car opened, and I staggered inside and collapsed against the wrought-iron frame and closed my eyes. I couldn’t wait to get out of this building.

As I waited for the elevator door to close, I heard the door in the corridor open again with a bang, and then I heard a male voice shout.

“Hold that elevator!”

Oh, no, no, no. Oh, shit.

I recognized the voice. As if the day couldn’t get any worse.

I stabbed the button over and over to close the doors, but this was an old elevator, and I wasn’t fast enough. The doors began to close with all the speed of a turtle crossing a motorway, but long before they did, the man’s hand whisked between them and forced them open again.

I said a quick prayer for God to make me invisible. Not for long. Just for six floors. God didn’t listen to me. He usually doesn’t.

The man eased inside the claustrophobic car, so close to me that we may as well have been naked, having wild, stand-up-against-the-wall sex. Which was certainly the first thought that crossed my mind when I saw his body and smelled his smell again. I thought I could save time and strip off all my clothes now. The elevator was slow. We could be done by the time we got to the lobby. It wouldn’t be the first time.

He saw me, too, and his eyes widened with surprise, and then his lips curled into a wicked smile, as if he already knew what was happening between my legs.

“Tess,” he said, drawing out my name and caressing it with that damn honey voice of his.

It was Evan.

“
I GUESS I SHOULD DO
my Bogie impression now,” Evan told me, grinning. “You know, of all the gin joints in the world, you walk into mine. I never thought I’d see you again.”

“Let’s pretend you haven’t,” I snapped, backing into the corner and staring at the elevator buttons so I didn’t have to see his face.

“Don’t tell me you’re still angry at me.”

I whirled around and realized he was teasing me. The bastard.

“Don’t talk,” I said. “Don’t say anything.”

“I can’t help it. You look great, Tess. You always do. I like the colors in your hair. Very wild. Very sexy.”

I bit my lip and squeezed my legs together, because they were trying to spread of their own accord. I was fighting the urge to grab him, kiss him, and mount him.

You have to understand that I’ve seen Evan only a couple of times in my life, and each time we wound up having sex less than an hour later. Yes, he is handsome, but I don’t usually react that way to attractive men. He’s my age, absurdly tall and lean, with
dirty blond hair below his ears and a permanent scratchy stubble on his face. Blue eyes sporting an X-rated stare. A leering smile. Always relaxed and casual, wearing blue jeans and a worn leather jacket over a white T-shirt. Some men know you want them, and they’re so arrogant about it that you want to scream, but you keep running back for more. That was Evan and me.

“So why are you here?” he asked. “To see Saleema?”

“Yes.”

“How’d that go? Have you two patched things up?”

“No.”

Evan laughed. He swept his shaggy hair away from his eyes. “No, I didn’t think so. God, that woman can hold a grudge. She had this strange idea that we should be exclusive just because we were engaged, but I told her from the start that monogamy wasn’t my thing. It doesn’t mean I didn’t love her.”

“Take my panties off,” I said.

No, I didn’t.

“Stop talking,” I said, but he knew what I meant.

“Saleema was a firebrand in bed, but not like you, Tess. You were insatiable. I loved that.”

“We’re done,” I said. That was better than saying my nipples were hard and I wanted him to suck them. Although they were, and I did.

I am not known for my willpower, but I was trying hard. Evan was determined to test me. He reached out and stroked my face with the back of his hand, and I slapped it away. With one touch, however, I had vivid flashes of the places and positions in which we had screwed around. Several of them involved defying gravity. My face flushed. He knew I was horny as hell.

“One drink,” Evan said.

“No.”

“I can get us into the back garden at the Waverly. I have Graydon’s number.”

“So do I.”

“Then let’s go. You might get to meet George Clooney.”

“Too old.”

“Russell Crowe.”

“Too scary.”

“Are you afraid we’ll sleep together again?” Evan asked.

“That’s not going to happen.”

“Then what’s the harm in having a drink?”

“I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”

“I’ll join you.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Tess, why deny the connection between us? You feel it. I feel it. It’s there, so why fight it?”

“Because you’re a cheating, soulless bastard who used me, betrayed my best friend and split us up, and because you think after all that, you can toss your hair and I’ll sleep with you.”