What I Did for Love

by Susan Elizabeth Phillips

  “What are you talking about?”

  A lump formed in her throat. She spoke quickly, working around it. “Even if Greenberg offered me the part with my name over the title, I wouldn’t take it. I’m only doing projects that excite me, and if you’re not okay with that, I’m sorry.” She swallowed hard. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I can’t keep going on like this, with you and Laura making decisions behind my back.”

  “Georgie, this is crazy.”

  “I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for me. I know you only want what’s best for my career, but what’s best for my career isn’t always best for me.” Oh, God, she couldn’t cry. She needed to be as businesslike with him as he was with her. She dug deeper into her growing reservoir of resolve. “I need you to step aside now, Dad. I’m taking over.”

  “Step aside?”

  She gave a jerky nod.

  “I see.” His handsome features didn’t show even a hint of emotion. “Yes, well…I see.”

  She waited for the coldness, the condescension, the scathing arguments. Without her career holding them together, they had nothing, and if she didn’t back down, they’d have no relationship at all. It was so ironic. Half an hour earlier, she’d been enjoying her father’s company for the first time in longer than she could remember, and now she was about to lose him forever. Still, she wouldn’t retreat. She’d emancipated herself from Lance. Now it was time to free herself from her father. “Please, Dad…Try to understand.”

  He didn’t even blink. “I’m sorry, too, Georgie. I’m sorry that it’s come to this.”

  And that was all. He walked away. Without another word. Out to the guesthouse to get his things. Out of her life.

  She resisted a nearly overwhelming urge to go after him. Instead, she dragged herself upstairs. Bram must have been too lazy to go to his office because he was sitting on the couch in hers, an ankle resting on his knee, one of Aaron’s legal pads propped on his thigh. She stopped in the doorway. “I think I…fired my father.”

  He looked up. “You’re not sure?”

  “I—” She sagged against the doorjamb. “What have I done?”

  “Grown up?”

  “He’ll never talk to me again. And it’s not like I have any other family.”

  Poor, pitiful Georgie York.

  She straightened. She was sick of this. “I’m firing Laura, too. I’m doing it right now.”

  “Wow. A Georgie York bloodbath.”

  “You think I’m wrong?”

  He uncrossed his leg and set down the legal pad. “I think you don’t need anyone else telling you how to run your career when you’re perfectly capable of doing it yourself.”

  She appreciated that. At the same time, she wished he’d either argue with her or agree.

  He watched her reach for the phone. She felt like throwing up. She’d never fired anyone in her life. Her father had always taken care of it.

  Laura picked up on the first ring. “Hi, Georgie. I was getting ready to call you. I’m not happy about it, but I canceled the meeting. I think you should call Rich yourself tomorrow and—”

  “Yes, I’ll do that.” She sank into Aaron’s desk chair. “Laura, I have something to tell you.”

  “Are you all right? You sound funny.”

  “I’m all right, but…” She studied the neat stack of papers without really seeing them. “Laura, I know we’ve been together for a long time, and I appreciate all your hard work, everything you’ve done for me, but…” She rubbed her forehead. “I need to let you go.”

  “Let me go?”

  “I—I have to make some changes.” She hadn’t heard Bram come up behind her, but his hand settled between her shoulder blades. “I know how difficult my father can be, and I’m not blaming you—truly I’m not—but I have to…make a fresh start. With representation I hire myself.”

  “I see.”

  “I—I need to make sure that my opinion is the only one that counts.”

  “Ironic.” Laura gave a dry laugh. “Yes. Yes, I understand. Let me know as soon as you’ve hired a new agent. I’ll…try to make the transition as smooth as I can. Good luck, Georgie.”

  Laura hung up. No begging. No hard sell. Georgie felt sick. She dropped her forehead to the desk. “That was so unfair. Dad established the rules, and I went along. Now she’s paying the price.”

  Bram took the phone from her and set it back on the cradle. “Laura knew it wasn’t working. It was her job to do something about it.”

  “Still…” She pressed her face into the crook of her elbow.

  “Stop it.” He curled his fingers around her shoulders and drew her into a sitting position. “Don’t second-guess yourself.”

  “Easy for you to say. You get off on being ruthless.” She pushed herself out of the chair.

  “I like Laura a lot,” he said, “and she could probably have been a decent agent for you. But not as long as she served two masters.”

  “My father will never speak to me again.”

  “You aren’t that lucky.” He planted his hip on the edge of her desk. “So what brought about Georgie York’s nuclear winter?”

  “Dad wanted to play cards. And he splashed me in the pool.” She kicked the wastebasket, which accomplished nothing except hurting her big toe and sending trash flying across the carpet. “Damn it.” She dropped to her knees to clean up the mess. “Help me with this before Chaz sees.”

  He nudged a wad of paper toward her with the toe of his shoe. “Out of curiosity…Has your life always been a train wreck, or did I just happen to stumble on the scene during a particularly eventful time?”

  She pitched a banana peel in the trash. “You could help, you know.”

  “And I will. I’m going to help you drown your troubles in some mind-blowing sex.”

  Considering the fragile state of her marriage, mind-blowing sex was probably a good idea. “I get to dominate. I’m sick of submission.”

  “I’m all yours.”

  A wedge of golden lamplight cut across Bram’s naked body from shoulder to hip blade. He fell back into the pillows, spent and struggling for breath. He was a beautiful, debauched angel, drunk on sex and sin. “You’re going to…fall in love with me,” he said. “I know it.”

  She shoved her hair out of her eyes and gazed down at his sweat-slicked chest. The aftershocks of her last orgasm had left her soft and defenseless. She tried to pull herself back together. “You’re delusional.”

  He gripped her thighs, which were still straddling his hips. “I know you. You’ll fall in love with me and screw up everything.”

  She winced and pulled herself off him. “Why would I fall in love with you?”

  He ran his hand over her bottom. “Because you have crappy taste in men, that’s why.”

  She collapsed next to him. “Not that crappy!”

  “You say that now. But before long, you’ll be leaving threatening messages on my voice mail and stalking my new girlfriends.”

  “Only to warn them about you.” His side pressed warm against her skin, and the earthy scent of their bodies mingled with the crisp smell of fresh sheets. The sex had been incredible as usual, and later she would blame her pleasure-fuzzed brain for what came next. Or maybe it was simply her day for burning all her bridges. “The only thing I might…might want from you is…” She threw her arm over her eyes and blurted it out. “Possibly…a baby.”

  He laughed.

  “I’m serious.” She lifted her arm from her eyes and made herself face him.

  “I know. That’s why I’m laughing.”

  “It isn’t like it’d cost you anything.” She sat up, all her lovemaking-lax muscles constricting. “No boring visitations. No child support. All you have to do is give me the goods and fade away before the main event.”

  “Not going to happen. Not in a trillion years.”

  “I wouldn’t even bring it up—”

  “Now that you’re good at.”

  “—if you weren’t so goo
d-looking. Your faults are all character flaws, and since I wouldn’t let you anywhere near my offspring except for an occasional public photo op, that’s not a problem. Granted, by employing your DNA, I’m risking a few damaged chromosomes from your years of excess. But it’s a risk I’m willing to take because, with that one exception, you pretty much represent the male genetic jackpot.”

  “I’m weirdly flattered. But…No. Never.”

  She dropped back into the pillows. “I knew you’d be too selfish to discuss this. It’s so like you.”

  “It isn’t as if you’re asking me to lend you twenty bucks.”

  “A good thing, because I’d only have to pay myself back!”

  He bent over her and nibbled at her bottom lip. “Would you mind using that gorgeous mouth for something other than idle chit-chat?”

  “Stop making fun of my mouth. What’s the big deal? Tell me.”

  “The big deal is, I don’t want a kid.”

  “Exactly.” She bounced back up. “You won’t have one either.”

  “Do you really think it’d be that easy?”

  No. It would be messy and unbelievably complicated, but the idea of mixing their genes had been growing more enticing by the day. His looks and—she hated to admit it—his intellect, combined with her own temperament and discipline would produce the most amazing child, a child she yearned to bear. “It’ll be easier than easy,” she said. “It’s a no-brainer.”

  “No-brain is right. Fortunately, the rest of your body makes up for your empty head.”

  “Save your energy. I’m out of the mood.”

  “I’m sorrier about that than you can imagine.” He rolled on top of her and wedged her legs open with his thighs.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Reasserting my masculine supremacy.” He captured her wrists and held them over her head. “Sorry, Scoot, but it has to be done.”

  He began to push inside her.

  “I’m not using birth control!”

  “Good try.” He nibbled at her breast. “But futile.”

  She didn’t press the point. First, it was a lie. Second, she’d turned into a sex maniac. And third…

  She forgot about the third and wrapped her legs around him.

  Bram couldn’t believe it. A baby! Did she really think he’d go along with that harebrained idea. He’d always known he’d never get married, let alone have kids. Men like him weren’t cut out for anything involving self-sacrifice, cooperation, or high-mindedness. What small amounts of those qualities he could muster up had to go into his work. Georgie was the weirdest combination of common sense and wacko bullshit he’d ever known, and she was starting to drive him more than a little crazy.

  He waited until after his meeting with Vortex the next afternoon before he called Caitlin with the news. “Brace yourself, sweetheart. Tree House has a green light at Vortex. Rory Keene took the deal.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “And here I thought you’d be happy for me.”

  “You son of a bitch! That option only had two weeks left.”

  “Fifteen days. And look at it this way. Now you can fall asleep at night knowing I won’t let anybody turn your mother’s book into a piece of crap. I’m sure that’ll be a huge comfort.”

  “Go screw yourself.” She slammed down the phone.

  He glanced toward the second floor. “Excellent idea.”

  Between a sinus headache, a demoralizing meeting with her superiors at Starlight Management, and a speeding ticket on the way to Santa Monica, Laura was having the mother of bad days. She punched the doorbell of Paul York’s two-story Mediterranean town house, which was just four blocks from the Pier, although she couldn’t imagine him ever going there. The deep V-neck of her new sleeveless silk print Escada dress gave her some added ventilation, but she was still hot, and ringlets had begun to form along her hair-line. She began each day looking neat and orderly, but it didn’t take long before she started to unravel—a fleck of mascara under one eye, a bra strap slipping off the other shoulder. She’d scuff a shoe, tear a seam, and no matter how expensive the salon cut, her baby-fine hair always lost its shape as the day went on.

  She heard Steely Dan playing inside the house, so she knew someone was home, but he wasn’t answering the bell, just as he hadn’t been answering his phone. She’d been trying to reach him since Georgie had fired her two weeks ago, the day the quarantine had been lifted.

  She banged on the door, and when that didn’t work, banged on it again. The tabloids had gone into a frenzy searching out details of the quarantine, but the disclosure of Rory’s presence and the news that Vortex had taken on Tree House had cast doubt on the more hysterical accounts of screaming catfights and hedonistic orgies.

  The lock finally clicked, and there he stood, glowering at her. “What the hell do you want?”

  His normally immaculate steel gray hair had misplaced its part, he was barefoot, and he looked as though he hadn’t shaved in a week. Wrinkled shorts and a faded T-shirt had replaced his normal Hugo Boss. She’d never seen him like this, and something unwelcome stirred inside her.

  She pushed hard on the door. “You look like Richard Gere’s corpse.” He automatically stepped back, and she slipped past him into the cool interior, which was dominated by bamboo floors, high ceilings, and bright skylights. “We need to talk.”

  “No, we don’t.”

  “Just a few minutes,” she said.

  “Since we don’t have any more business together, there’s no point.”

  “Stop being such a big baby.”

  He stared at her, and she realized that even in his faded T-shirt and rumpled shorts he looked more together than she did in her Escada dress and strappy red Taryn Rose pumps. Again that inconvenient stirring…She gave him a grim smile. “I don’t have to kiss your ass anymore. It’s the only bright side of having my career ruined.”

  “Yeah, well, sorry about that.” He walked away from her into his living room, a pleasantly decorated space, but without much personality. Comfortable furniture, beige carpet, and white plantation shutters. Apparently he hadn’t let any of the sophisticates he’d dated over the years put her mark on the place.

  She located his sound system and turned off the music. “I’ll bet you haven’t talked to her once since this all fell apart.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Really? I’ve been watching you operate for years. If Georgie doesn’t do what Daddy wants, Daddy punishes her by freezing her out.”

  “I’ve never done that. You do love to paint me as the villain, don’t you.”

  “It doesn’t take much paint.”

  “Go away, Laura. We can take care of leftover business by e-mail. We don’t have anything more to say to each other.”

  “That’s not quite true.” She dipped in her tote and shoved a script into his hands. “I want you to audition for Howie. You won’t get it, but we need to start somewhere.”

  “Audition? What are you talking about?”

  “I’ve decided to represent you. You’re a coldhearted prick in your personal life, but you’re also a talented actor, and it’s long past time you got out of Georgie’s hair and focused on a career of your own.”

  “Forget it. I did that once, and it didn’t go anywhere.”

  “You’re a different person now. I know you’re a little rusty, so I’ve scheduled a couple of sessions with Leah Caldwell, Georgie’s old acting coach.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “Your first class is at ten tomorrow. Leah’s going to put you through your paces, so get a good night’s sleep.” She withdrew a set of papers from her tote. “This is my standard agency contract. Look it over while I make some phone calls.” She pulled out her cell. “Oh, and let’s be clear from the start. Your job is to act. My job is to manage your career. You do your work, I’ll do mine, and we’ll see what happens.”

  He tossed the script on the coffee table. “I’m not auditioning for anything.”r />
  “Too busy counting up all those Kodak moments with your daughter?”

  “You go to hell.” Strong words, but delivered without much emphasis. He dropped into a muted plaid easy chair. “Do you really think I’m a coldhearted prick?”

  “I can only judge by what I’ve observed. If you’re not, you’re a damn good actor.”

  That stopped her. He was a good actor. She’d been knocked out by his reading of the father in Tree House. She couldn’t remember the last time a performance had excited her so much. And wasn’t it one of life’s great jokes that this performance had come from Paul York?

  He’d always seemed so invincible, and watching him with his defenses down threw her off balance. “What’s up with you anyway?”

  He stared off at nothing. “It’s funny how life never turns out like you expect.”

  “What exactly did you expect?”

  He extended the contract toward her. “I’ll read the script and think about it. Then we’ll talk about a contract.”

  “No deal. Without a contract, the script and I are leaving together.”

  “You think I’m going to sign just like that?”

  “Yes. And you know why? Because I’m the only one who’s interested in you.”

  “Who says I care?” He slapped the contract on top of the script. “If I wanted to go back into acting, I’d represent myself.”

  “The actor who represents himself has a fool for a client.”

  “I think that’s ‘lawyer.’”

  “The sentiment’s the same. No actor can effectively sing his own praises without looking like an ass.”

  She was right, and he knew it, but he wasn’t quite ready to concede. “You’ve got an answer for everything.”

  “That’s because good agents know what they’re doing, and I intend to be a much better agent for you than I ever was for Georgie.”

  He rubbed a thumb over his knuckles. “You should have spoken up.”

  “I did—more than once—but then you’d frown at me and—presto, chango!—I’d remember my mortgage, and there went my courage.”

  “People should fight for what they believe in.”