“What the heck is a TVQ?” she asked.
“Recognition factor.”
“Ah.”
“Are you weakening?” he asked hopefully.
“Shouldn’t I have an agent or something?”
“The deal’s virtually done already. You can have an entertainment lawyer look over the contract, fine-tune it. Once you’re on the show, the best agents in the country will be beating down your door.”
“I suppose I could ask Terry to recommend someone,” she conceded, then thought of something else. “Terry belongs to the Screen Actors Guild. Isn’t that some sort of requirement?”
“Trust me, I can take care of it.” He laughed. “Any more roadblocks you’d care to trot out?”
She was sure Jason could handle each and every one. She doubted there was anyone who dared to cross him once he had his mind set on something. There was something almost irresistible about a man who exuded such confidence.
She thought it over. Other than the fact that her insides turned to Jell-O every time she pictured herself in front of a camera, she couldn’t come up with anything Jason couldn’t counter easily. If she dwelled too long on the potential for embarrassment and humiliation, she’d pack her bags and head back to Iowa, her mother in tow. As for the media frenzy Jason had planned, she supposed she could stand it for a little while.
“I can’t think of any more roadblocks,” she conceded.
“Well, then, are you going to do it?”
“Yes,” she said quickly before she could come to her senses.
If he heard the doubts in her voice, he didn’t acknowledge them. “Fantastic! You won’t regret it,” he promised.
“I already do,” she said grimly.
Silence greeted the comment. “Callie, are you sure about this?” he asked eventually. “I know I’ve been pressuring you and I’ve had Terry heaping on guilt, too, but if you’re really going to be miserable...”
She heard the reservation in his voice and was suddenly terrified that he was about to withdraw the offer. Then what would she do? She knew just how bleak her Wall Street options were. Given the volatile state of the market, they were likely to remain so for some time to come.
“I’ll survive,” she assured him hurriedly. “I’ll make it work.”
“What made you change your mind?”
“Let’s just say it’s an extremely extravagant Mother’s Day present.”
8
The contract negotiations in Jason’s office were very brief. Every time he glanced at Callie’s pale complexion and trembling hands, he panicked that she would bolt before her signature was on the papers. Even in her expensive, pinstriped, charcoal-gray skirt and jacket, she exuded more nervousness than the confidence such a power suit implied.
It took him a record-fast two hours to nail down the terms with the attorney Terry had recommended to her. He knew Walter Whittington very well, and he recognized the astonishment that the lawyer fought valiantly to hide every time Jason gave in readily to one of his increasingly outrageous demands.
Jason regarded Freddie Cramer with amusement. The junior executive had been invited to sit in on the discussions. He was clearly in a state of near apoplexy over the generous terms.
“Um, boss, could I speak to you for a minute in private?” Freddie pleaded right after Jason agreed that Callie would be allowed to keep any wardrobe she wore on the show.
“No,” Jason said tersely. He intended to burn those frayed jeans and misshapen T-shirts in Callie’s closet at the first opportunity, and he couldn’t do that unless he was sure she had stylish alternatives. It was a matter of image. He intended to turn her into the most glamorous star on daytime television. A photo of her in her current casual wardrobe would destroy that in an instant, and there was no doubt that some paparazzi would succeed in capturing just that woebegone look.
“But, boss—”
“Later, Freddie.” He regarded Whittington blandly. “Anything more?”
The attorney studied him intently, then glanced down at his yellow legal pad, which presumably held his standard list of demands. Jason had a feeling they’d gone well beyond the items on that list a half hour earlier. Whittington was no fool. He’d figured out at least an hour ago that he had the upper hand. Jason was doing very little to correct that impression.
“One last thing,” Whittington said. “A car and driver.” Somehow he managed to say it with a perfectly straight face.
A car? To travel, what, a mile or two from Callie’s apartment on the Upper West Side to the soundstage on West Fifty-seventh? For an actress with a single bit part on her résumé? Jason held back the sharp retort that would have greeted the outlandish suggestion of such a perk under other circumstances. He knew the attorney was baiting him, trying to gauge exactly how eager he was to wrap up this deal. The request was clearly made less for Callie’s sake than to satisfy Whittington’s own curiosity.
The demand, however, played neatly into Jason’s hands. He would grant the car and driver—his own, though Callie wouldn’t know that until they showed up next Monday morning.
“You know the request is ridiculous,” he pointed out to put up at least a token resistance. Half the fun of negotiating would be lost if he gave in too easily on every single point. Freddie looked vaguely relieved by the belated display of toughness.
“You claim you’re going to make Ms. Smith into a very big star,” Whittington countered, clearly improvising but doing it very adroitly. “She won’t be able to walk down the street without being hounded by fans.”
Jason saw the immediate alarm that spread across Callie’s face at that suggestion and decided he’d played the game long enough. It was time to close the deal. “You win. She’ll get the car and driver.”
Freddie groaned. Callie looked relieved.
“Do we have a deal?” Jason inquired, praying Whittington wouldn’t come up with any more outrageous perks to test his limits.
The lawyer exchanged a look with his client, who nodded, despite her shaken expression.
“We have a deal,” Whittington agreed. “Damn, Jason, I wish all of our negotiations could go this smoothly.”
Jason leveled his gaze on Callie. “I don’t
