To his shock, however, he hadn’t been able to simply dismiss Callie from his mind. Images popped up when he least expected them. His body ached with the kind of turned-on longing he hadn’t experienced since his teens. Clearly, at some point, she had gone from being the solution to a business problem to something more, something personal. That was a first and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit. He should have seen it coming and cut her out of his life sooner, the minute the ink was dry on that contract, for example.
Now, as Freddie had dared to suggest, her absence was turning him into a foul-tempered beast, one of those capricious network executives who dismissed months of hard work with a snap of his fingers. He really hated having his flaws pointed out to him as Freddie just had.
Fighting to bring his temper under control, he slowly turned back to confront his audacious junior executive.
“I’m not apologizing,” Freddie said defiantly before Jason could open his mouth.
“Have you done something that calls for an apology?”
Freddie regarded him warily, clearly uncertain what to make of Jason’s quiet, tempered response.
“That depends on your point of view, I suppose,” Freddie admitted. “You are the boss around here.”
Jason nodded, keeping his expression bland. “So they tell me.”
“You were also wrong about that show.”
“Wrong?” Jason repeated, his tone deadly.
Freddie didn’t even flinch. “Wrong,” he repeated with renewed defiance, jamming the DVD back into the player as he spoke. “Watch this.”
Impressed by Freddie’s conviction, if not by his insubordination, Jason watched, resisting the urge this time to stop it before the first scene was over.
The sitcom did improve. The stars were charming and fresh. The premise was unremarkable but had potential. By the end of the half hour the writing and the performances sparkled. There were some genuinely funny moments. He was forced to admit that he could see what had caught Freddie’s attention.
Unfortunately, most viewers would have switched channels long before the end, just as he in essence had. In the competitive world of prime-time television, shows rarely got a second chance to hook viewers.
“It’s weak,” he said.
“But promising,” Freddie insisted.
“I’ll give you that,” Jason conceded, “but we can’t go with it the way it is. It’ll be dead after the first fifteen minutes. Any suggestions?”
Freddie didn’t hesitate. “Order another script. Everything was coming together at the end in this one. One more script ought to prove whether or not there’s something here. If it works, we shoot another pilot.”
“You’re throwing a lot of money around on something that’s far from a sure thing.”
“My gut tells me it will work,” Freddie countered. He regarded Jason slyly. “You’ve spent a lot more going with your gut. Need I remind you of—”
“No, you needn’t,” Jason was quick to reply before Freddie could mention Callie’s name. Hearing it set off responses he had no idea how to deal with. A man with less practice at remaining unscathed by emotions might describe what he was feeling as vulnerability. Jason refused to concede that possibility. It was just a matter of shoring up his willpower as he always had.
“She was just a game to you, wasn’t she?” Freddie asked, an unexpected note of derision in his voice.
Jason scowled at him. There was no need to ask to whom the young man was referring. He deeply resented the implication that Callie had been no more than a business challenge, but could he deny it? Not truthfully, he confessed silently.
At least that was how it had started, as a pragmatic, coldhearted decision to use her to bolster his soap’s flagging ratings. He’d pursued dozens of big-name actors and actresses for precisely the same reason. That was the name of the game—wheeling and dealing for talent, gambling megabucks on instinct. The adrenaline rush it gave him was unequaled, or it had been until recently.
“Since you’re not answering, I must be right,” Freddie concluded. “Did she know that?”
Ah, Jason thought with a sick sensation in the pit of his stomach, that was the rub. Callie Smith hadn’t played in the network big leagues before. She didn’t know the rules. Which made him a son of a bitch.
“You know, Freddie, your network career could be shortened considerably if you persist in trying to be my conscience,” he said, reaching for his jacket as he headed for the door.
Freddie grinned unrepentantly. “I’ll take my chances. Does that mean I can give the go-ahead for another script?”
“That means you can tell my secretary to send the biggest bouquet of flowers in the shop to Callie first thing in the morning,” Jason retorted. “Then you can give the writers another script order.”
He was on his cell phone, calling for the limo before he hit the lobby thirty-five floors down. He felt better than he had in days.
* * *
Callie had been surprised the first time she’d dashed into Jason’s limo and discovered it empty. She hadn’t had the nerve to ask Henry where Jason was, though she had the distinct impression the driver might have had quite a bit to say on the subject. He’d been even more solicitous than usual, as if he felt he had to make up for someone else’s crummy treatment.
As the days passed, her pride had kicked in until she would have chewed nails before asking about the man to whom the limo belonged.
She had also managed to evade most of Terry’s direct questions about her relationship with “the big shot,” but she could tell his curiosity wasn’t going to be put off much longer. He was getting that worried, protective gleam in his eyes more and more frequently.
Which made two
