Visibly shaken, Nigel took a step back.
“You uploaded all the videos from the same account with the same user name and IP address.” Angus laughed. “You’re as fucking stupid as you are arrogant.”
Nigel turned on Angus. “Are you and your filthy little slag happy now? Get what you want, did you?”
Angus smiled. Coldly. “If I were getting what I wanted, you’d be dead. I guess we’re both going to end up disappointed today.
Nigel rushed him as Angus hoped he would. He didn’t move, just stood there and waited, letting the other man punch him in the eye. As soon as Nigel made physical contact, Angus unloaded, funneling all his pent-up rage into his response. He hit him as hard as he could in the gut then brought his fist up and smashed Nigel’s nose, breaking it.
He tried to retaliate, but the punch he threw glanced off Angus’ cheekbone. It would probably leave a mark, but that was about it. He grabbed Nigel’s shoulders, pulling his upper body down as Angus brought his knee up into the man’s jaw. Drawing his knee back again, he plowed it into Nigel’s balls, dropping the man in a whimpering heap on the floor.
Kit pushed a button on the intercom. “Ms. Maxwell, call security, will you?” He rounded the front of his desk, stopping in front of Nigel, sighing with disgust. “For god’s sake, man—don’t bleed on the rug.” He pulled a pocket square from his jacket and dropped it in the direction of Nigel’s face.
As security entered and dragged him out, Kit turned to Angus and raised an eyebrow. “Feel better?”
Beating the shit out of Nigel really had felt good. The only thing that would feel better would be if he could find Eliza and convince her that nothing was more important than the fact that they loved each other and belonged together. However, he hadn’t seen her anywhere in the office, and Barbara had wanted to speak with him prior to the official pitch meeting. He shifted uncomfortably in the chair in front of her desk. Her gaze darted from his face to his knuckles and back again.
Finally, she cleared her throat. “Rough flight?”
“Something like that.”
She stayed silent, clearly waiting for him to elaborate.
“I was jumped yesterday.” He glanced down at his hands then back up at her. “And I fought back.” Technically, he was telling the truth.
“Oh, no!”
“I’m sorry. I’m sure this wasn’t the image of the consummate professional Terra was hoping to present.”
“No, dear. Don’t worry about that. I’m just glad you’re okay. I’m sure everyone at the meeting will understand. I—” Her phone rang. “Excuse me just a moment.”
He nodded, and she answered. While she spoke, he checked his phone. He’d texted Eliza to let her know that he was here, but so far, there was no response. But he could tell she’d seen it.
Barbara disconnected her call and seemed to pick up right where she’d left off. “I just finished the first draft, and it turned out even better than I’d anticipated. Your readers will be thrilled.”
He fucking hoped they would—especially Sarah. He’d overnighted a hardcopy of the manuscript to her as soon he’d landed at JFK.
“And I think the TV executives will be, too. You’ve done well, Angus.”
“Thank you. And thank you for assigning me a minder.”
She laughed.
“I know I fought the idea,” he continued. “But you were right. It was necessary. She’s an excellent assistant and an even better editor. Terra is lucky to have her.”
“I agree.” She leaned forward slightly, a conspiratorial smile curving her lips. “And don’t think I didn’t notice that you’ve included a dedication already.”
Suddenly, ridiculously nervous, he asked, “Do you know if she’s seen it?”
Barbara raised her eyebrows. “I’d assumed you’d shown her.”
He shook his head. “Not yet, but I have something I’d like to give her. Is she available?”
She frowned. “No. She said there was a problem with the printer we use for presentations, so she ran down the street to one of the office stores to have them printed.” Barbara checked her watch. “I’m sure she’ll be back soon, though.”
“I’d like to surprise her. Would it be all right if I left it on her desk?”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Eliza had been existing in a state of perpetual anxiety since she’d sent Angus that text. It was a wonder she’d even made it in to the office today. For the last three mornings, she’d been so preoccupied, she’d missed her subway stop and had been late to work. Between mourning the loss of her relationship with Angus, and obsessively googling her name in an attempt to try to minimize the damage when Nigel inevitably struck, she was having trouble focusing on anything. Which was how she’d managed to load the paper tray backward and jammed the printer they used for high-level presentations.
As she waited for her order to finish printing, she pulled up Angus’ latest messages and reread them. Again. She didn’t know why she bothered. There were only two. And she had them memorized. One was in response to her epically long and cowardly break-up text.
—I love you. Nothing else matters. We’ll figure this out.
The other text arrived earlier today. Right before she broke the printer.
—I just landed. I’ll see you soon.
She hadn’t responded to either of them. There was nothing to say. Though, she knew when she saw him, she’d probably end up reiterating everything she’d already told him. But it would be worse. Because she’d have to say it while looking into his eyes and seeing the hurt she was causing.
But it seemed that difficult conversations were the only things on her agenda. Maybe she needed to create an icon for them, so it would be easier to keep track of them in her planner. It was weird. When she’d been in Scotland, she’d barely opened it. She’d made the odd note—usually in response to something Barbara wanted, and that had been it. Since she’d been home, it was constantly with her, and she was writing in it more often than not. She couldn’t help but wonder how much of it was being back at work, and how much was because Angus’ theory was right, and she was using her schedule to distance herself from life.
She glanced at the week’s spread. As soon as the negotiations for Dark Nebula Rising were complete, she was going to have to talk to Barbara and explain why she was tendering her resignation. Nigel was likely waiting to strike because he wanted her to think she was safe so he could ambush her later, or he wanted her to squirm while she lived in fear, dreading the worst. Resigning wasn’t necessarily the choice she wanted to make but, like breaking up with Angus, it was what was best for everyone.
Her phone chimed. Trying to keep her hands from shaking, she checked her messages. It was Barbara.
—How are those handouts coming? People are starting to arrive.
Eliza glanced at the big industrial size printer then at the clock. She was cutting it way too close.
—Almost done with the binding. I’ve already paid. Should be back in about ten minutes.
Her phone chimed again.
—Don’t forget the receipt. You haven’t filed an expense report since L.A. Accounting is getting testy.
She sighed.
—I’ll do that soon. Promise.
She’d actually need to follow-through on that, since she’d be without an income in the very near future. She jotted the note on tomorrow’s to-do list.
The attendant handed her the receipt and the pile of presentation booklets, and she darted out the door and race-walked up the street to Terra’s office suite. Sliding between the closing doors of the lobby elevator, she pushed the button for the seventh floor.
Hoping she wouldn’t run into Angus milling about the reception area, she slipped into her office, kicked off her sneakers, and stepped into her heels. She noticed a stack of papers and an unfamiliar book on her desk, but she didn’t have time to see what it was. Pulling her compact from her purse, she checked her appearance. Thankfully, her hair was still neatly
pinned into a twist, and her makeup hadn’t completely melted.
Grabbing the handouts and her planner, she avoided the area around the front desk that was growing more crowded by the moment. She didn’t see Angus, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t in the office somewhere. The conference room was blessedly empty, though. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see him. She did. Desperately. And that was the problem. Forcing her hands not to shake, she circled the table and set a booklet, pen, and notepad in front of each chair.
The sound of clinking glass and a muffled curse startled her slightly. She looked up to find Sumaya, one of Terra’s interns, struggling under the weight of a tray covered with glasses and carafes of ice water.
“Let me help you with that.” Eliza lifted two of the decanters from the tray and set them on the counter next to the coffee maker.
“Thank you,” the younger woman said with a grin as she moved the glasses to the counter. “I have to admit, I’m feeling a little weak in the knees.” She leaned closer, her liquid brown eyes full of humor. “I just saw Angus Domhnull out there. His author photo does not do that man justice.”
Eliza laughed, even though her insides were twisting. This was happening. He was in the building. And soon he’d be in here. And she’d have to talk to him and about him while her heart turned to dust.
Sumaya turned on the coffee maker and added a variety of pods to the basket next to the machine, before pulling mugs from the cupboard and setting them on the counter. “Are you okay? You seem a little tense.”
“Public speaking isn’t really in my wheelhouse.”
“You’ve got this, though. You love this series more than anyone I know.” She jerked her head toward the door and quietly murmured, “Showtime.”
Eliza turned as Greg, Terra’s editorial director, gestured for two other men and a woman to enter—the TV executives, she assumed. As soon as they were all seated, Sumaya began handing out glasses of ice water and taking coffee orders. Eliza grabbed her own glass and took a seat closest to the door. Just in case.
Finally, Barbara and Angus entered. Eliza managed to avoid looking at him until he was seated across the table from her. As soon as she saw the bruises, her hands flew to her mouth, and she gasped. Loudly.
Angus smiled ruefully, holding her gaze for a second or two longer than was probably polite. “Had a bit of a dust-up.”
The producer next to her tsked. “Fist fights and writing. You’re a regular Hemingway.”
Angus chuckled. “Well, minus the alcoholism and misogyny... I do have a cat, though.”
Everyone laughed, including Eliza. He could definitely be charming when he chose to, and that made her ache even more. It was impossible not to remember all the times he’d made her laugh in order to help distract her from her anxiety.
The man sitting next to him gestured toward Angus’ injuries. “Is this...a regular occurrence?”
“I got jumped on my way to the airport. I probably shouldn’t have, but I fought back. But, no. This isn’t a regular thing.”
“Glad you’re okay. And also good to know,” the woman said. “By the way, I’m Amanda Pierson. Showrunner and director, and I’m part of the creative team that’s eager to bring your series to the small screen.”
With that, the meeting began in earnest, and Eliza was able to compartmentalize her emotions long enough to deliver her portion of the presentation. Several hours, and two catered meals, later, they’d come to a tentative agreement, which had occurred with almost unheard speed in situations like this. Everyone seemed pleased with the direction the final book had taken, and the production team seemed willing to extend some additional creative control to Angus, provided he’d agree to spend time in the show’s writers’ room in return.
Now that they’d gotten this far, each side would bring in their lawyers to hammer out the rest of the deal. But Eliza’s part was done. On all fronts—professional and personal. The sale of the series was the final nail in the coffin holding her and Angus’ relationship. There was no going back. Not when her past was waiting like a suicide-vest-wearing jack-in-the-box.
She felt like a jerk for even thinking that. It wasn’t that she’d hoped the negotiations would fail. God, no. He deserved all the success in the world, and she wanted that for him. It was just knowing that this really was the end. She hadn’t recognized it earlier, but she realized she’d been holding out hope for some kind of miracle. She shook her head at her own foolishness.
She slipped from the conference room and pulled the champagne bottles from the fridge in the office kitchen and put them on the tray with the glasses she’d taken from the cupboard. Hearing footsteps behind her, she turned, half-expecting Angus. But it was Sumaya.
“Need help with anything?”
Eliza paused considering her choices. “Yeah, actually, I do. Would you mind bringing this to the conference room?”
The other woman looked at her like she was crazy. “You’re going to bail on the party? According to both Domhnull and Barbara, you’re the reason any of this is happening.”
“I’m fighting a migraine. It’s just a bit loud in there.” As if to illustrate her point, another loud burst of laughter drifted to them from down the hall.
Sumaya’s eyes clouded with sympathy. “Why do I have the feeling you’re fighting more than that?” She took the tray from Eliza’s hands. “I’ve got it. Go take something, and try to relax.”
Eliza tried to smile. “Thanks.” The only thing she was going to take was the F train back to her apartment, but the other woman didn’t need to know that.
After Sumaya left with the tray, Eliza went back to her office, smiling wistfully at the sound of popping champagne corks. Pushing the door closed behind her, she headed toward her desk, her steps faltering slightly as she caught sight of the stack of papers and book she’d noticed earlier.
She scanned the few lines of text on the first page on the pile and immediately sank into her chair, her legs too weak to hold her up any longer.
Escape Velocity
Dark Nebula Rising: Book Five
Dedication:
You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you, Ms. Burrows.
Her eyes filled with tears as she reread it. Oh, Angus... With dread, she focused her attention on the book. It was an older hardcover copy of Pride and Prejudice. With trembling hands, she lifted the cover. In Angus’ distinctive scrawl was an inscription.
Dear Eliza,
I realized that I was wrong when I said I didn’t love Libby Perkins. I do. Libby is part of you—she’s the catalyst for the woman you’ve become. How could I not love her, too?
I love you—all of you—your past, present and future. And if you’ll let me, I’d like to spend the rest of your present and all of your future with you. As long as you’re willing to help with editing duties, I’m willing to rewrite our story as many times as it takes to find our happily ever after.
Hopefully,
Angus
Eliza stared at the inscription, unable to tear her gaze away from his words. She tried to take a breath, but it hurt. Like her chest was caving in. She knew she was doing the right thing by breaking it off, but god...why did it have to hurt so badly? She grabbed a tissue from the box on her desk and tried to staunch the flow of tears. But that’s what love was, wasn’t it? Making sure the other person had what they needed. Even when it was agonizingly painful to do it. She knew he wouldn’t agree, but what Angus needed was for her to disappear from his life as quickly and completely as possible.
She grabbed her laptop bag and shoved her computer and planner in it. She’d have to send her letter to Barbara later. Her gaze drifted back to the book, and she picked it up again. She knew she should leave it here. But the appeal of keeping it, keeping and treasuring this one link to the man who would always have her heart, was almost overwhelming.
From the corner of her eye, she saw her door open and close. And she knew with a sinking certainty that she’d lost her op
portunity to escape without a confrontation. She lowered the book to the desk and looked up at him. He was leaning against the door, holding two glasses of champagne.
“Running again?”
She swallowed hard. It took everything in her not to launch herself into his arms.
When she didn’t respond, he said, “You’re missing the party.”
“I think that’s for the best.”
“I think you’re full of shit.” He walked across the room and set the glasses on her desk. Glancing down at the inscription in the open book, he met her gaze, his expression more serious than she’d ever seen it. “I mean it, Eliza. I want to be with you. I don’t care about anything else. You’re it for me.”
The tears she’d managed to quell earlier, flooded back. “You might not care now, but you will later when all the gossip magazines and websites can talk about is Angus Domhnull’s whore of a—a...person.”
“The word you’re looking for is ‘wife’.”
She ignored both his comment and the fluttering in her chest. “I’m barely surviving breaking up with you. Your eventual resentment and hatred will kill me. I’m not strong enough for that.” She laughed. It was a broken fragment of sound. “I’m not strong enough for any of this.”
Angus moved around the side of the desk. She tried to push her desk chair back so she could stand, but he was too quick for her. Grabbing the arm of the chair, he kept her from moving as he lowered himself to his knees. Pushing his torso between her legs, he settled his arms around her waist. He pressed kisses along her neck and sighed sweetly against her skin.
“You’re the strongest person I know.”
She shook her head. “I’m not—not at all.”
“We’ll argue about that later.” He tightened his arms around her. “Christ, it feels good to touch you. I missed you so much. This week was fucking hell.”
Rewritten (The Bound Series Book 7) Page 25