Cross Check (Marriage Contract #1) (3 page)

I try not to let disappointment set in as I hurriedly step
back into my clothes, hoping that no one happens upon me as I do. What did I
expect? Breakfast in bed? This is Jamison we’re talking about. He doesn’t have
a schmaltzy bone in his body. Of course he woke up this morning and peaced the
hell out. I’m sure it wasn’t personal.

“Who are you kidding?” I mutter to myself, zipping up my
white dress once more, “What could be more personal than this?”

I can’t pretend that it doesn’t matter to be, being ditched
after last night. We were so connected just hours ago, and not just physically.
It was like we were really seeing each other again, like we were alone in the
world and free to be ourselves for once. Was that all that bullshit on his
part? Because I, for one, meant what I said. Every word of it.

Maybe I just dreamed the whole thing?
I think to
myself, stepping lightly down the gazebo steps and hopping onto my yellow bike.
But as I settle onto the seat and take off down the path, I can’t deny the
pleasant soreness between my legs. Last night was real, all right. And I don’t
regret it for a moment. After years of skirting around the issue, Jay and I
were finally honest about how we felt. At least, as honest as Jamison King is
capable of being.

My auburn hair billows out behind me as I pedal toward home,
racing the rising sun. I have to get back before my dad wakes up. He’d never
believe that I spent the night partying with the cool kids, after all. Though I
myself can scarcely believe how I
actually
spent the night. But with Jay
shipping off to Boston today without a word of goodbye, maybe I’d be better off
putting it out of mind.

I make a vow to myself, as I race homeward, to never take a
guy like Jamison King at his word again, no matter how earnest he seems. Guys
like him are fine for a night, but their pretty words have a way of burning
away like dew in the light of day…That doesn’t mean I can’t still daydream
about how good the sex was, though. As if I could stop myself if I tried.

Chapter One

New York, NY

Present Day

“Pippa. Pippa! Slow down,” I say into my cell, trying to
hail one of the many cabs soaring down Broadway.

“Sorry Ms. Brody,” my assistant all but hyperventilates on
the other end of the line, “I’m just a little f-flustered.”

“A chewing out from the boss will do that,” I allow, rejoicing
as a yellow cab finally pulls up to the curb before me. “Can you tell me again
what he was angry about?
Slowly?
”

“OK,” Pippa says, as my cab takes off toward Midtown, “You
know that YA novelist Mr. King has been talking to lately? About optioning the
movie rights to her books?”

“Elsie Walker? Of course,” I reply, “Loudon’s been courting
her for months. So what’s the issue?”

“Well, it sounds like she’s wavering,” Pippa says anxiously,
“Something about how an old white dude like Mr. King could never understand her
vision?”

I wince, imagining the look on Loudon King’s face upon being
told off by a 24-year-old woman. I have to give to Elsie Walker—the girl knows
what she wants. King Enterprises has been trying to acquire the rights to her
dystopian YA trilogy,
Huntress of Tomorrow
, before anyone else does.
Loudon’s even taken a personal interest in the acquisition, that’s how big a
deal it is. But I should have known better than to let him talk to Elsie on his
own. This may be his company, but he doesn’t exactly have a way with sensitive
writerly types. That’s
my
field of expertise.

“OK. I’m on my way into the office now,” I tell Pippa,
watching the New York landscape fly by, “Just tell Mr. King that I’m on it,
OK?”

“All right…” Pippa says hesitantly, “I’ll try to keep him
calm.”

I hang up the call, laughing softly to myself. The frantic
tone of Pippa’s voice reminds me of how nervous I was when I first started out
as an assistant at King Enterprises six years ago. I was fresh out of grad
school, and beyond grateful to Loudon King for finding me a place in his
entertainment juggernaut. I didn’t even mind the fact that it was an entry
level position, I was just happy to be able to jump right into the fray.
Unfortunately, I made the mistake of sharing my history with Mr. King in the
break room my first day. The response from my co-workers was, shall I say, less
than gracious.

“So your parents were like, his servants?”

“Oh, then this is like a pity hiring.”

“What are you, his secret love child?”

And those were the
tame
comments. I should have known
that my big city co-workers would be anything but impressed by my background,
Harvard education or no. But instead of being ashamed or backpedaling, I chose
instead to own my history, work hard, and show that I belonged at King
Enterprises every bit as much as the rest of them.

And you know what? It worked. I spent the next half-dozen
years rising through the ranks of the company, being mentored by Loudon King
himself. Neither of his kids has ever shown an interest in the family business,
so I get the full benefit of his expertise. I also occasionally have to listen
to him vent about his children: Cordelia, who married some hedge fund asshole
but still expects an allowance from her parents, and Jamison, who’s off being a
big time sports star and can’t spare the time of day for the people who raised
him.

“Oh my god,” I mutter, as my cab idles under a gigantic
billboard featuring the smiling face of, who else, Jamison King.

I should be used to seeing his mug around by now, given the
fact that it’s literally everywhere in this city, but it still gives me a
little jolt every time. Jay rocketed to fame after he was drafted to the NHL
straight out of college, bouncing around from team to team like a pinball
before finally landing on the New York Rangers for the better part of his
career… his short-lived career, I should say. Jamison’s habit of getting into
brutal fistfights and generally playing the game as a full-body contact sport
led to one too many head injuries. After being diagnosed with post-concussion
syndrome after last season, Jay was forced to hang up his skates at the
relatively young age of thirty.

I glance back up at the billboard, an ad for some cologne
that features Jay with three scantily-clad models draped all over him. Looks
like retirement hasn’t been too rough on him. Now he spends all his time
hanging out with models, posing for pictures, and appearing as a pundit on all
manner of sports shows. I’m sure some part of him misses the game, but you’d
never know it from the smile that graces his perfect features. One thing’s for
sure—Jamison King is like the scotch we nipped from his dad all those years
ago.

He only gets finer with age.

Not that I’d know from seeing him in person, or anything.
Since our tryst in the gazebo on the night of our graduation, I’ve barely seen
hide or hair of Jamison King. Sure, I’ve caught of glimpse of him across the
room at a King Enterprises function or two, but that’s about it. Let’s just say
there wasn’t much follow up after he disappeared to Boston. And by “not much” I
mean
zero
. Even though we spent the next four years more or less next
door (again) in Boston and Cambridge respectively, Jay made no effort to get in
touch with me after we slept together the night before he left for school. Not
like I had time for him, what with my entire mountain range of school work, but
still. A text would have been nice.

I catapult out of the cab the second it pulls up before the
monolithic skyscraper that houses the King Enterprises offices. It sounds like
Loudon is on the warpath, and that’s not good for anybody. By now, I’m in full
crisis management mode. I email Elsie Walker’s agent and secure a Skype
meeting, put everything else on hold, and sprint toward my office the second I
step out onto the 42nd floor.

“Leah! Thank god you’re here!” Pippa exclaims, leaping up
from her desk beside my office door. Her tall, lanky form is pretzeled into its
usual hunched over posture, and her eyes are wide and panicked beneath her
blunt black bangs.

“Did you give Mr. King my message?” I ask her, happily
accepting the cup of coffee she has waiting for me.

“I did,” Pippa confirms, “He said he’d be back in an hour,
and said you should do whatever you have to to make this thing work.”

“Perfect,” I smile, pushing open my office door, “An hour
should be plenty of time. See you on the other side.”

Elsie Walker’s Skype call is already ringing insistently on
my laptop when I sit down at my desk. I straighten the cuffs of my navy blue
blazer, give my red hair a tousle, and arrange my freckled features into my
best “understanding but persuasive” expression. Mustering every ounce of energy
and confidence at my disposal, I accept that call.

“Elsie,” I begin, smiling at the bestselling author’s young,
scowling face, “It is so great to see you again…”

***

58 minutes later, I sink back heavily in my chair, letting
out a deep sigh. Looking out over the expansive view of the Hudson River from
my western-facing window, I let a wide smile spread across my face.

Mission accomplished
, I think happily to myself. 

And not a moment too soon, either. Just as I take a moment
to catch my breath, I hear Pippa’s nervous knock on the door. I look up as she
pokes her head into my office, looking like she’s on the edge of tears.

“Um, Leah? Mr. King is here to see you,” she squeaks,
“Should I send him—”

“I don’t need to be announced in my own damn offices,” I
hear Loudon King proclaim. The door swings open as my boss strides in the room,
sending my assistant scampering back to her desk. I swear, the King family must
be descended from the gods or something, because they are borderline immortal.
Loudon King is in his early sixties, but he’s sit fit and charming as ever. A
proper silver fox if I’ve ever seen one. Even when his brows are knitted in dissatisfaction,
as they are now, he’s still as handsome as ever. It’s never been a mystery
where Jamison gets his good looks from.

“You’re gonna give her a heart attack one of these days,” I
tell Loudon, as he lets the door slam behind him.

“Who? Your assistant?” he asks, cocking a silver eyebrow,
“If she scares that easily, she has no business working for me.”

“That’s for damn sure,” I smile, as Loudon paces the length
of my office.

“So? Did you have words with the juvenile delinquent we’re
trying to nail down?” he asks me.

“You mean the talented young novelist we’d like to do
business with? Yes, I did,” I inform him evenly.

“And? Did you straighten her out?” Loudon demands, his
shoulders tensed beneath his Italian wool suit jacket.

“Ms. Walker had some very real concerns about moving forward
with us,” I begin, “Did you really call her ‘little lady’ in your last
meeting?”

“Maybe I did,” Loudon shrugs, “What is that, a crime now?”

“Not a crime, no,” I say diplomatically, “But maybe not the
best tactic to use when speaking with a sharp, independent young feminist like
Elsie?”

“And what were her other ‘concerns’, besides my vocabulary?”
Loudon huffs.

“She was also worried that we’d turn her books into just
another flashy YA movie trilogy,” I go on. 

“Right. God forbid we make her millions of dollars in ticket
sales,” my boss says, rolling his eyes.

“It’s not about that for her,” I press, “She’s done plenty
well for herself from book sales alone. She doesn’t want to move forward if her
story is going to fall into the wrong hands.”

“Namely, old white guy hands?” Loudon says.

“Pretty much,” I shrug.

“So? What did you tell her?” he asks, arms tightly crossed.

“Well,” I reply, “I assured her that I was a fan of her
work. Which I am. I read the whole trilogy in a long weekend. Elsie and I
talked for a while about science fiction and fantasy, and it turns out that she
liked my take on how her series can be amplified cinematically.”

“Since when are you a sci-fi expert?” Loudon asks, cocking
an eyebrow at me.

God, if you only knew
… I think to myself, as a memory
of pouring over
Dune
in the gazebo with a ten-year-old Jamison pops up
in my mind.

“Go on then,” Loudon urges, “Did you get through to her or
not?”

“I did,” I tell him, planting my elbows on my desk, “It wasn’t
easy, but I managed to assure her that her work would be in good hands here.”

A wide grin spreads across Loudon King’s face.

“Fantastic!” he roars triumphantly, displeasure completely
forgotten. “Well done, Leah. I knew you’d put this thing down in no time.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” I smile, amazed as ever at the
mercurial nature of Loudon King’s moods. This man has more ups and downs than a
game of Whack-a-Mole.

“That was too close a call for my liking, though,” Loudon
goes on, sitting down in one of the chairs before my desk. “We need to make
sure Elsie doesn’t balk again.”

“I agree,” I tell him, holding my hands on the desk, “What
do you have in mind?”

“Well,” Loudon says, his blue eyes gleaming as they linger
on my face, “I’m thinking we should make your position as the point person on
this project a little more official.”

My heart flies into my throat. “I like the sound of that,” I
reply.

“Good,” Loudon says, “Because I’m getting too old to deal
with temperamental artists like Ms. Walker. From here on out, you’re in charge
of our dealings with her. I want you overseeing the entire Huntress of Tomorrow
project.”

It takes every ounce of willpower I possess not to leap out
of my seat and bear hug my mentor right then and there.

“Loudon. Wow…” I breathe instead, leaning back in my desk
chair, “Honestly, that would be a dream come true for me.”

“Well. Wake up, Leah,” he grins broadly, “Because that dream
just became a reality.”

“I…I don’t know what to day,” I stammer giddily, letting my
professional veneer crack just a hair, “Thank you, Loudon. I won’t let you
know.”

“I know you won’t,” he says, standing to go, “Why do you
think I brought you around all those years ago? I’ve known since you were a kid
that you belonged here at King Enterprises. You haven’t let me down yet. Just,
don’t start now, OK?”

“I won’t. I promise,” I tell him, eagerly shaking on our
agreement.

“Now that that’s settled,” he says, turning to go, “We
should celebrate. Me at DeLeonardo’s at eight o’clock. I’ll have our usual table
set aside. There are a few other things I’d like to discuss with you.”

“Sounds great, Loudon. I’ll see you there.”

My boss nods, striding back out of my office. I wait
anxiously until the door has swung shut behind him before breaking out into an
honest-to-goodness happy dance right there in my fancy New York office. Holding
my arms triumphantly overhead, I spin around in outright glee. I’m going to be
heading up the entire
Huntress of Tomorrow
project! Me. Leah Brody.
Running the show on what is sure to be the worthy successor to
The Hunger
Games
franchise. I shove my hands through my auburn hair, turning to take
in the view from my office once more.

After years of busting my ass here at King Enterprises, I
finally have the opportunity to make a name for myself in this industry. And
what’ s better, I’m absolutely sure that I’m the right person to be helming
this fantastical sci-fi film series. I know that it’s going to be incredibly
challenging, but right now I feel like I could take on the world.

And no one, but no one, can take that feeling away from me.