Wickedly Charming (27 page)

“We did,” Charming said, worrying that Imperia had seen the prelude to breakfast.

“The smell woke her up,” Grace said. “It didn't wake me up. I was tired.”

Charming nodded. If breakfast woke up Imperia, then she saw nothing untoward. And more importantly, she didn't hear what her mother had done.

Grace frowned. “Imp said that woman is an evil stepmother. Is that true?”

He sighed. “That's what I wrote the book about. Mellie's not really evil.”

“Like Gramma Lavinia?” Grace asked.

“Like Gramma Lavinia,” Charming said, silently thanking the gods for his understanding youngest daughter.

They reached the menswear section. Imperia was waiting for them near the ties, pretending interest in the gaudiest of them.

He wanted to ask her right then and there what she saw, but he didn't dare. The other clerk came over with Charming's newly adjusted suit.

“I'll be right back,” he told his girls. “You wait just outside this door.”

He went into the changing area. He could see their feet through the opening at the bottom of the booth.

He changed in a hurry, his mind working overtime, worrying about what Imperia overheard. Clearly it all upset her.

He just wasn't sure what he could do about any of it.

He came out, feeling like a certified grown-up in expensive grown-up clothes. He had grown-up problems too.

He bought one more item—a small rolling suitcase—and packed their other clothes inside.

Then he led the girls to the train station, so that they could catch the express to New York.

The first thing Mellie noticed was that publishing offices looked nothing like she expected. Oh, they started out exactly like her imagination told her they would. They were in big New York buildings, many floors, banks and banks and banks of elevators, and name after name after name listed on sign boards against the wall.

Mellie didn't have time to look for her editor's name. LaTisha led her to an elevator marked
15 to 34
, and got inside. The elevator made the elevators at the Boston hotel look like they needed an upgrade. This one was roomy and big enough for a dozen people. The only floors it stopped at were the floors between 15 and 34.

The doors opened on a stunning reception area. Wide, filled with plants and books, the reception area looked incredibly inviting. The latest
New York Times
bestsellers published by the company sat on a display, as well as on some of the nearby tables. Mellie was surprised to see
Evil
there. She would have thought they had taken the book down already.

The receptionist nodded at LaTisha. “The meeting is in Conference A.”

LaTisha headed toward steel doors at the back of the room. Mellie was supposed to follow, but she didn't. Instead, she stopped at the reception desk.

“A friend is supposed to join us,” Mellie said. “His name is Dave Encanto. He'll be here shortly.”

At least, she hoped he would. She hadn't heard from him all morning and that made her nervous. But this was his idea, so she was going along with it.

“Should I send him back?” the receptionist asked.

“Better bring him back,” LaTisha said. “He'd get lost otherwise.”

She waited for Mellie with the door half-open. Mellie smiled at the receptionist, then headed to LaTisha.

As LaTisha opened the door the rest of the way, she said, “So this Encanto guy is real.”

“Yes,” Mellie said.

“Oh, this is going to be fun,” LaTisha said sarcastically.

The back part of the publishing company was what shocked Mellie. The building, the elevators, the reception area, were all what she expected, but the back was a messy rabbit warren of stuff. Books, manuscripts, ARCs, and cover samples were strewn along the wall because, she realized the deeper she got into the main part of the building, there was nowhere else for them to go.

The hallway led to tiny office after tiny office, each of which had one desk, overflowing bookshelves, two chairs, and paper everywhere, even in this digital age. All of them had computers too, most decorated with little trinkets.

None of the offices had windows, which would have driven Mellie bonkers.

Then, the hallway emptied into what had once been a lot of open floor space. Now, however, someone had set up cubicles, which looked just like the offices, only with carpet walls and no ceiling. Papers everywhere, no bookcases (of course) but books littering every surface, and that ubiquitous computer decorated with personal trinkets.

LaTisha rounded a corner. Mellie followed, and finally saw offices again, these a little larger, and all with windows (overlooking the buildings across the way). Those offices were a bit better, but not much, and certainly not as glamorous as those portrayed in the movies. For one thing, no desk was polished, and none had an empty surface.

Finally they got to the corner of the building, and there again was something Mellie expected: a gorgeous conference room—windows on two walls with a view of the city, a lovely long conference table with comfortable chairs on all sides, a sideboard covered with coffee, tea, bottles of water, and pastries.

Mellie's stomach growled. Her agent had called her at the airport and asked her to lunch. She had turned him down because she had been too nervous to eat and because she hadn't met this person, although she had talked to him on the phone. He hadn't known about Charming either, except as a friend who “helped” with the book, and Mellie was afraid she'd hear recriminations all over again.

“Have a seat,” LaTisha said as she opened the door to the conference room. “I'll let everyone know we're here.”

Mellie walked in. The conference room was cooler and smelled of recycled air. She resisted the urge to sit at the head of the table, going, instead, to the windows and looking out.

On the street below, New Yorkers walked with purpose. She had never seen a town where people walked so fast and with such determination. They all seemed to have somewhere to go—in a hurry.

The door opened, and she turned, hoping it was Charming.

Instead, a man she had never seen before came in. He wore a well-tailored suit, and he had silver hair, which would have made him look distinguished if he weren't short and round (with a ketchup stain on his lapel).

“Marcus Hall,” he said.

Her agent. She hadn't escaped him after all.

“I'm glad we have a moment,” he said. “I've been watching the news coverage. It was a bit of a surprise.”

“Yes, it was,” she said.

“They won't pull the book,” he said, apparently trying to be reassuring. “It's making too much money for them, and now, with this controversy, it'll make even more. But they might want some kind of retraction from you, maybe a statement—”

“You believe the press coverage then,” she said.

That stopped him. “I don't know what to believe,” he said.

At that moment, a team of other people came into the room, led by LaTisha. A thin man in shirt sleeves, a heavy-set man in a three-piece suit, three women in blouses and skirts, and a harried looking woman wearing khaki pants and a summer sweater with the sleeves rolled up.

She was the only person who introduced herself.

“I'm Mary Linda McIntosh,” she said.

She looked like Mellie imagined an editor would look—a serious, bookish woman who worked much too hard. She had a worry frown between her intelligent eyes.

She extended her hand, and Mellie took it, introducing herself even though an introduction wasn't necessary.

“This took us all by surprise,” Mary Linda said.

“Me, too,” Mellie said.

“I understand someone is joining us?” the thin man said.

“Ch—Dave is here?” Mellie asked, trying not to sound too eager.

“I just heard from reception. They're sending him back,” the thin man said. “I'm Anthony Phillips, by the way, the president of this division.”

“Mr. Phillips,” Mellie said.

The others then introduced themselves. The man in the suit was the corporate lawyer. One of the women was a publisher, another the head of publicity, and the third the head of sales.

Mellie didn't understand the hierarchy or who exactly did what, but she noted that LaTisha sat at the far end of the table as if she felt that she didn't belong. She probably didn't, since she wasn't the head of anything.

“Yesterday
did
surprise us,” Phillips said.

“Yes, I'm sorry,” Mellie said.

“How much of what she said is true?” he asked.

Mellie's heart was pounding. She was much more nervous than she expected. “Can we wait for my friend?”

“Is he your lawyer?” the lawyer asked.

“No,” she said.

“He's Dave Encanto, one of the people Cindy Jordan mentioned,” LaTisha said.

Mellie felt a bit of irritation. She had thought she and LaTisha had become friends. But ever since the interview, LaTisha had treated her like damaged goods.

Mellie probably should have expected that. After all, it wasn't the first time people believed the worst of her.

“So this is all true?” Phillips asked.

“No,” Mellie said. “Not exactly.”

“No or not exactly?” the attorney asked.

“Can we just wait?” she asked.

“Our contract is with you,” the attorney said. “So, no, we can't wait.”

Mellie swallowed hard, feeling completely on the spot.

At that moment, the door opened, and Charming stepped in.

He looked perfect in his gray suit. It brought out the highlights in his hair, accented his broad shoulders, and made him seem even more handsome than he was.

His gaze met hers for a brief moment, warming her, then he smiled at everyone else in the room.

“Hi,” he said, “I'm Dave Encanto. I hope I'm not too late…?”

Then he walked to the table, letting the door close behind him.

Charming hurried as fast as he could to get to the meeting. The train arrived at Penn Station a few minutes early, but he had trouble getting a cab. Then he made the mistake of telling the driver to step on it, a mistake he would never make again.

He had faced knights in battle, he had jousted with real lances, he'd fenced with real swords, but he had never been so scared in his entire life as that cab—with his daughters inside it—bounced its way across Manhattan, hurtling through spaces between cars he thought too small for a vehicle to get through.

The cab nearly creamed one bike messenger, and another kicked the side, screaming a profanity that Charming hoped the girls hadn't heard. Imperia loved the ride, and Grace clung to him, looking as terrified as he felt.

Still, they managed to arrive safely, even if Charming thought his heart rate would never return to normal, and he managed to find his way to the correct floor of the multistory building.

The girls seemed cowed by New York and the large building in general. He kept forgetting how little they had seen of the Greater World. But he didn't have time to explain things to them. He had to get to that meeting.

He felt bad that he had to leave the girls in the reception area, but he knew he couldn't bring them with him. Still, he probably freaked out the receptionist by stressing that no one, and he meant no one, could take the girls from the building without him being there.

She said she understood and then smiled at him—he did have his charm on full blast—and offered to take him to the back. He said he could find the room on his own, which turned out to be a lot harder than he thought, since the place was filled with cubicles and offices that looked exactly the same.

Finally, he stumbled on the conference room, and only because he saw Mellie's worried face. She was leaning back in one of the plush chairs around a large desk, looking like she expected to get slapped.

He pushed the door open.

“Hi,” he said, “I'm Dave Encanto. I hope I'm not too late…?”

He had the charm on as high as he could crank it, his voice warm, his eyes warmer. He only looked at Mellie as he came in the door, and she seemed even more upset than he imagined she would be.

The man at the head of the table—too thin by half—and the man sitting next to him both frowned.

“Mr. Encanto,” the man at the head of the table. “And here I was hoping you were a figment of Cindy Jordan's imagination.”

“No such luck,” Charming said with a smile. “Would you all mind if I sat down?”

He didn't want for an answer as he walked to Mellie's side. He pulled out the chair next to her, touched her knee under the table, and gave her a soft reassuring smile.

She didn't smile back.

“That's, um, Mr. Phillips,” she said to Charming as she indicated the thin man, “and Anne Groton, the head of publicity. And that's the company's lawyer—”

“I'm Mary Linda McIntosh,” said the woman across from Mellie. “I edited the project.”

As if he didn't know who the editor was. They probably assumed he didn't know. They had no idea exactly who he was or what his role was. Mary Linda McIntosh introduced everyone else—a publisher, the head of publicity, and the head of sales, as well as the agent he and Mellie had hired at the suggestion of Sheldon McArthur. The only person who didn't get introduced was the woman at the end of the table who was trying to disappear.

“I saw the interview,” Charming said, deciding he would take over this meeting. He knew that his charm would go a long way to defusing the tension he felt in the room. “It was a hatchet job.”

“Are you saying that it's not true?” The lawyer was the one who spoke for everyone.

“Parts of it are true,” Charming said. “That's what makes it so devastating.”

He turned to Mellie.

“Did you bring the paper?” he asked.

She fumbled with her purse. She had a copy of their agreement on her laptop and her one assignment, besides coming to this meeting, was to print it out.

She pulled out a copy of the agreement, folded into a small square. She handed it to Charming, who held it for just a moment.

“Let me tell you what's true, and let me tell you what's not,” Charming said. “The short version, anyway.”

He paused just long enough to create a little drama, but not long enough for anyone to interrupt him. Everyone stared at him, including Mellie.

“This is Mellie's book,” he said. “It's her idea, her life fictionalized in fairy tale format, her cause. She tried to write it on her own, but writing isn't her strong suit—that part is true. She asked me to help. We met at a coffee shop, where we also met Dave Bourke, who overheard us talk about this. Mellie had the idea to turn it into a screenplay, but after talking with Bourke, decided that wasn't feasible.”

Charming tapped the paper on the desk. Everyone continued to watch him. Good. They couldn't take their eyes off him, often a sign that the charm was working.

“So we thought that I could teach her to write, but the problem was that she felt the timing on this book was now, and I thought she was right. So I offered to ghost the book, using her ideas, her words, and her story. We were on the phone constantly, always updating, and a lot of the dialogue as well as the opinions are all hers, word for word. We drew up an agreement—”

He stood and handed the paper to Phillips, the president, bypassing the lawyer on purpose.

“—in which she paid me to write the book. She would own the content and the manuscript. I would be in charge of the words, she was in charge of everything else including promotion. Initially we thought she would have to pay for the promotion part herself, but she was willing. She wanted this book out there. We didn't expect the big sale, but we're happy about it.”

“You have no claim to the book?” Mary Linda asked Charming.

“None,” Charming said. “I wrote it for a fee, like any other ghost writer.”

Phillips read the agreement. He said nothing as he handed it to the lawyer.

“It would've been nice to know the book was ghosted,” Phillips said to Mellie.

“I didn't—I'm sor—I'm new to this,” she said. Her entire body was tense. Charming wanted to put his arm around her and calm her, but he didn't dare.

“We weren't sure about procedure,” Charming said. “I'm a bookseller and I asked some other bookseller friends. We all knew that publishers hired ghost writers for people, but we also heard of people by themselves hiring ghost writers on spec. That's what we set up.”

“You didn't get paid very much,” the lawyer said to Charming.

“I don't need money,” Charming said. “I have family money. This was a favor for a friend.”

“We needed to know this up front,” the lawyer said.

“I'm sorry,” Mellie said before Charming could say anything. She sounded horrified.

He wished she'd stop apologizing. But he couldn't tell her that either.

“Did you know this, Marcus?” Phillips asked the agent.

“No,” he said.

“Because that reporter made it sound like fraud,” Phillips said.

“It's not,” the lawyer said before Charming could say anything. “They had an agreement. This is legally binding. The manuscript is hers. She had the right to sign the contract and to warrant that she owned it. She does.”

“But what about all the charges Cindy Jordan made?” Anne Groton, the head of publicity, asked. Her voice was soft but had an edge.

“The charges?” Charming said just as softly. “You mean the
accusations
that woman made?”

“Yes,” Groton leaned forward. “She made it sound like you people were out to hurt everyone you know.”

Charming sighed deliberately. “That reporter was good. Everything she said had a slice of truth.”

He softened his expression and looked at her as if she were the only person in the room. That kind of look, combined with his charm, used to make women swoon.

He didn't make her swoon, but he got her shoulders to stop hunching forward.

“These slices of truth,” he said, “are exactly what you'd expect, given the book. Mellie does not have a good relationship with her stepdaughter. Their relationship was the spark for the novel.”

“Her name is S. White,” said the woman at the far end of the table.

“Essy White-Levanger, LaTisha, I told you,” Mellie said. She was getting irritated, which wouldn't help anything.

“And that name is the inspiration for using Snow White,” Charming said smoothly. “It works, since Mellie
is
her stepmother, and they
do
have a bumpy relationship, although, of course, Mellie's never been accused of murder.”

In the Greater World, anyway, but he didn't add that.

“It's all fodder, and Mellie used it for the book. She even tried to tell her stepdaughter she was doing this, but her stepdaughter wouldn't take the messages, so she was blindsided.”

“This is a mess,” Phillips said.

“Yes, it is,” Charming said. “But people's lives are messy. I've been following the publicity around this book, and up until yesterday, it's Mellie's understanding of that mess that readers love.”

Mellie glanced at him. She gave him a small, grateful smile. He smiled back, a real smile, just for her.

“Mr. Encanto is right,” Groton said. “It
is
the mess that readers love. The fact that sometimes the people who love us the most aren't people we're related to, but people who join our family later. The book acknowledges how difficult family relationships are, and this fuss just proves it.”

Mellie started to say something, but Charming brushed her leg, silencing her. The publishing people were already headed in the right direction. Better to let them come to their own conclusions.

Groton turned to the lawyer. “I need to know if we're in legal trouble.”

The lawyer looked at Charming and Mellie, a small frown on his face. Then he turned to Groton.

“If everything they've just told us is true, no, we're not.”

“It's true,” Mellie said, a tad more desperately than Charming would have liked.

No one looked at her.

Groton nodded. “Good. Because we can use this entire mess to our advantage.”

She smiled at Charming. “You, sir, are very charming. Do you know that?”

There was a sparkle in her eye that he didn't like.

“So I've been told,” he said dryly.

Mellie tensed beside him.

“We'll send you out to explain this whole thing,” she said. “You have charisma and—”

“No,” Charming said.

Everyone in the room looked at him. They seemed surprised.

“No?” Phillips said.

“No,” Charming said. “This book is Mellie's. It's got a lot of traction, because of her. I'll just screw that up. Besides, I have no agreement with you people. Mine's with her, and it explicitly states that I'm the ghost on this. I stay hidden.”

Phillips said, “But—”

“No,” Charming said.

“He's right,” the lawyer said. “He has no legal obligation to us.”

“It'll save the book,” Groton said.

“The book doesn't need saving,” Charming said. “I checked. I own a bookstore and I have a lot of bookseller friends. We all sold out of
Evil
in the last twenty-four hours. Ingram has copies on back order. So do all the other distributors. This book is selling like crazy because of the publicity. So you guys need to manage it. You have the agreement. That's all you need.”

“He's right about the numbers,” the head of sales said.

Phillips nodded. Charming had a sense the man already knew how well the book was selling.

“I'd like you for one interview,” Phillips said to Charming. “Just one.”

“No,” Charming said. “I'm not sitting next to Mellie on some talk show, fielding questions about her book. It gives the wrong message.”

“What message do you think it would give?” the head of sales asked.

“I want this to be seen as Mellie's book one hundred percent,” Charming said. “Because it is. If I sit next to her on some show, then it's
our
book, and that's just wrong.”

Phillips sighed. “How about a print interview then? Just about process. I'm sure we can get a reporter from the
New York Times
to come over here and talk to you—briefly—with one of us in the room. It would save the book.”

“The book doesn't need saving,” Charming said.

“But its reputation does,” Phillips said. “We need people to know it's legit.”

Charming looked at Mellie. The word “reputation” got him. That was what had concerned her from the beginning.

“I don't want to take anything away from you,” he said softly, hoping she would understand. He didn't want to be on a television show for another reason, one he couldn't express here.

His charm would make him the only person the camera saw. It had happened before, on
Book TV
. No matter how good Mellie was at publicity—and she was damn fine at it—she'd pale in comparison. No one would see her.

He didn't want that.

“You won't take anything away from me,” she said, and his breath caught. He willed her to take that phrase back. She was missing the problem. He was going to have to fight this thing by himself.

But she continued. “I think everyone is right. One interview in print only would help.”

She stressed “in print.” So she saw the charm problem as well. And she thought print was the solution.

Charming didn't want to do any interviews, but talking to one print reporter (and charming that reporter) was a risk he could take. There wouldn't be film of this, and even if the reporter became besotted, Charming could use that to his advantage.