that all along he had been pining for the one he could not have. She wondered momentarily if David and Alicia would still be together if Alicia had not called it a day, and the image of David and Alicia glad-handing the party in natural symmetry jumped into her head. But she knew she was right about Alicia, she just knew it.
‘Just because she finished with you doesn’t mean she wants anyone else to have you, David,’ she said. ‘It’s naive to think Alicia is somehow incapable of being spiteful and underhand just because you were once in love with her.’
‘Well thanks for the vote of confidence.’
It did not escape Brooke’s notice that he had failed to deny he had been in love with Alicia, but despite her hurt and anger she still felt a pang of protectiveness. She hadn’t been striking out, she had been telling the truth: David was strong in so many ways, but he had one Achilles heel. He always saw the best in people. There was nothing naturally suspicious or cynical in his make-up, and she knew that if he were one day to run for office, it could be a fatal flaw. Her voice softened and she put a hand on his arm.
‘Oh honey, let’s not fight about this,’ she said softly. ‘You know I’m only saying it for your own good.’
‘No, you’re saying it because you’re pissed,’ he replied flatly. ‘You’ve had a crappy night and you’re feeling sorry for yourself. I’d just cool it, if I were you, Brooke. Okay, so you had one lapse of judgement with that Jeff Daniels character, but that doesn’t mean you have to assassinate everyone else’s character. It’s not very attractive.’
His words scalded her. ‘A lapse of judgement? So all that stuff about how you believed my story and how you trusted me was just crap, was it? Do you even care about how I felt back there tonight?’ She felt hot tears pricking at the back of her eyes.
He puffed out his cheeks. ‘Of course I care,’ he said in a low voice. ‘It’s just that if you’re going to be my wife, you’re going to have to get used to these parties, these people. It’s my life, Brooke.’
They were just a couple of minutes away from her apartment and she couldn’t think of anywhere she would rather be. She tapped the driver on the shoulder. ‘Miguel, can you drop me home please?’
David tutted loudly. ‘Honey, don’t overreact.’
‘I’m not overreacting. I just want to go home,’ she said quietly.
David nodded at Miguel. ‘Take her home.’
‘We have a major problem,’ announced Mimi Hall, publisher of Yellow Door’s children’s division. They were only two minutes into the weekly executive editorial meeting and already Brooke was on edge. Mimi Hall could be a very frightening woman, particularly when there were problems, when she always seemed to cleverly shift the blame onto other people. Brooke’s privilege and celebrity were no protection here; in fact it was something that seemed to annoy Mimi Hall. Everyone in the room knew Mimi did not belong in the gentle, good-natured world of children’s publishing, Five years earlier she had been a hotshot in the adult fiction division at Doubleday, but a string of high-profile flops and their consequent financial losses had got her fired. She’d taken the publisher’s job at Yellow Door, not because she thought a move into children’s publishing was exciting – far from it, Mimi Hall didn’t even like children. But it was a job, and sitting out her purgatory, awaiting a plum MD job somewhere, Mimi Hall seemed hellbent on taking out her professional frustrations on everyone else. Particularly Brooke.
‘This morning I had a long conversation with Jennifer Kelly and at this point it seems unlikely that she’s going to deliver in time for an October launch.’
She delivered the news casually but, sitting next to her, Edward Walker, the division’s affable English-born managing director, went pale. Jennifer was currently Yellow Door’s biggest author. Rumour had it she accounted for 15 per cent of the company’s annual profits with her whimsical love stories based in rural Ireland. A huge hit with Midwest teenagers, her first three books had topped the New York Times best-seller list for weeks. She had been one of Mimi’s discoveries; she’d bought world rights for a five-book deal for fifty thousand dollars, which was precisely why her present reign of fear was tolerated.
‘But, Mimi, a couple of weeks ago you told me she had delivered,’ spluttered Edward. ‘It’s April, Mimi. April! The book should be in.’ Even from the other end of the table, Brooke could see the panic in his eyes. Mimi turned her head and looked at Edward contemptuously. It was no secret that Mimi was waiting for Edward to retire, move on, or be moved on.
‘You clearly misunderstood me, Edward. I said Jennifer was about to deliver, but unfortunately she’s pregnant and so she can’t meet the deadline.’
‘She’s pregnant?’ said Edward disbelievingly. ‘When I last met a pregnant woman I think she was still capable of sitting at her laptop.’ Edward was by nature a polite and calm man, and this was the first time that Brooke had ever seen him rattled. ‘And if she was about to deliver, then she can’t be that far off finishing the manuscript.’
‘I need not remind you that we have to keep her on side,’ said Mimi, still casual. ‘Once Jennifer delivers this book, she’s out of contract. We both know that every publishing company in town has got their chequebook out ready to win her over. Even though she owes her entire career to me, loyalty means crap in this town. In other words, the kid gloves have to go on whether we like it or not.’
Everyone around the table knew what was really going on with Jennifer Kelly. Her latest book, Chocolate Kisses, was only one hundred and fifty pages long – and what there was of it was bloated and poorly written. It had still sold to the loyal fans, but it was obvious that their star writer’s heart wasn’t in it any more. She had earned millions of dollars in royalties from the books alone, and last Christmas the Disney adaptation of her second book, Butterfly Heart, had broken all box-office records. Just thirty years old, she had a villa in Provence, an apartment in Manhattan, and a small manor house in Ireland. The truth was, Jennifer just couldn’t be bothered. ‘Can’t we get a ghost to churn something out?’ asked commissioning editor Debs Asquith, Brooke’s best friend at Yellow Door and one of the few people with enough balls to speak out in front of Mimi.
‘We don’t churn out any books on my list,’ said Mimi witheringly. ‘But yes, I have gently discussed the possibility of Jennifer working with a ghostwriter to get it done, but – understandably – she was a little upset. And anyway, the trade press would have a field day if they found out. Jennifer is a big star. We want to keep her that way, not jeopardize her career and reputation.’
Edward raised a hand.
‘Mimi. We can take up this issue separately. In the meantime, I don’t need to tell anyone that Jennifer’s potential failure to deliver leaves a gaping hole in the October schedule, one that might well be financially punitive for the company,’ he added, looking directly at Mimi. ‘So. Has anyone got any ideas about how we can fill it? Joel, how about getting Pete Coles to write something?’
Joel Hamilton was a well-regarded publishing director who edited Pete Coles, a former US Army Marine who wrote Bourne Identity-style thrillers aimed at teenage boys.
Joel pulled a face. ‘Sorry, no. He’s training for a North Pole expedition and doesn’t think he has to deliver anything until Christmas. Anyway, it’s April, so we can forget about anything
