by Lisa Jackson
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 hi
gh 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.
“These are still a little rough,” Maren warned, clearing a space on the desk and laying the drawings faceup on the glass surface. “What I’ve decided to do is use the same principal characters in each video for the Mirage album, just as you suggested. But the interesting twist will be that each song will be set in a different time period. For the first cut, ‘Yesterday’s Heart,’ I’ve started with the Depression. With each successive song, I’ve moved forward by fifteen to twenty years. The final cut will end in a futuristic world.”
Kyle frowned as he sifted through the large sketches. His thick brows drew downward in concentration as he stared at the images. When he didn’t comment on the drawings, Maren was forced to continue the one-sided conversation.
“I hope you approve of this idea, because I’ve already hired the dancers and a couple of bit-part actors for the action sequences on the first three cuts. The costumes are being designed, and the only problem so far is that the actress who agreed to do all five songs broke her leg while roller-skating in Venice last week.”
Kyle raised his thoughtful eyes to meet hers. “Have you been able to find a replacement?”
Maren nodded, “I think so. I’m still waiting to hear from her agent. I doubt if it will be a problem.” Maren waited anxiously as Kyle returned his gaze to the sketches. She was unable to decipher the dark frown on Kyle’s features. “Well,” she prodded, more than a little exasperated that he couldn’t even make a comment. “What do you think?’
“They look fine to me,” he conceded.
“Just fine?” She couldn’t hide the frustration in her voice. “Those storyboards represent nearly two solid weeks of blood, sweat and tears.”
His gaze hardened. “I expected the best from you, and I’m not disappointed. What more can I say? I’m not very good at visualizing the finished product until I see it on film. As a matter of fact, this is the first time I’ve every seen the artwork for a video. Someone else usually handles it.” He pointed a long finger at the top sketch. “These drawings don’t mean a hell of a lot to me until I can actually hear the music and watch the action. That’s why I hired you and why I want to purchase Festival.” He read the slightly rebuffed expression on her elegant features. “What did you expect from me? I’m not the kind of person who hands out effusive compliments for a job well done, at least until it’s finished.”
“I just thought you might show a little more enthusiasm,” Maren replied with a widening grin.
“Look, Maren, I hired you because you’re the artist.” He slapped his palm on the first drawing. “If you tell me that this action sequence will work, then I’ll believe you.” He leaned over the desk, both arms supporting his weight as he looked up at her. “Now, tell me, do you foresee any problems with production?”
Maren shook her head, and the light from a lowering sun caught in the coppery strands. “I don’t think so. J. D. Price and the rest of Mirage have approved, the location sites have been selected, the choreographer has worked up two of the dance sequences…” She raised her shoulders elegantly. “Barring a strike from the musicians’ union, we’re right on schedule.”
“If you can sign the actress.”
“I don’t think it’s anything to worry about. The girl I want is relatively unknown, and she sees this as her chance at the big time. Ever since Cindy Rhodes—whom Sly Stallone reportedly first spotted on Toto’s ‘Rosanna’ video and later cast opposite John Travolta in Staying Alive— made the transition into movies, videos have become relatively easy to cast. The girl I want is Janie Krypton.” Maren hesitated, and Kyle shook his head, indicating that the actress’s name meant nothing to him. “Janie’s a big fan of Mirage, and I’m sure she’ll work out well opposite J.D.”
“Good.” Kyle handed her back the sketches. “Then you think you can make the deadline?”
“I think so. The actua
l filming will take a couple of days for the first song, but the editing will require another week or so. Unless something unforeseen happens, we’ll make the June first deadline.” She searched her briefcase once again. “In fact, I think I can even squeeze Joey Righteous’s video of ‘Restless Feelin’’ into production, if you’ll be so good as to sign the contract.” Placing the storyboards neatly into the briefcase, she waited for Kyle to sign and return Joey’s contract.
He hesitated. If Ryan Woods had been correct, the latest Mitzi Danner video had already been duplicated. How could he take the same chance with Joey Righteous? The Mirage album was already a very costly gamble.
“Don’t you think you should concentrate on Mirage first?” he suggested.
She could feel the undercurrents of tension quietly charging the air. Something was wrong. “We can handle all of it, and I promised Joey that the video would be ready when the single was released. Unless my information is faulty, ‘Restless Feelin’’ is scheduled about the time Joey takes off for his tour of Japan in June.”
“That’s right. But it’s not until the end of the month. Let’s wait until the first Mirage video is finished,” he decided, handing her back the contract.
Maren had the uneasy suspicion that he wasn’t telling her all of the story. Why did he want to wait? Was it because of the impending sale? “Is there something you’re not telling me?” she asked, accepting the contract and leaving it on his desk. He didn’t comment on the fact that she didn’t put it back into her briefcase.
“Such as?”
“Why you’re hedging on the Righteous contract? That’s not like you,” she charged.
“I suppose it isn’t,” he agreed, “but I think it would be best for both parties if we don’t get too involved with unfulfilled contracts until we’ve come to terms on the sale of Festival.”
“You mean that you’re going to keep the unsigned contracts dangling like the proverbial carrot until I sign on the dotted line?”