of waiting to meet J. I. Watson increasingly frustrating. A month ago he had even wined and dined the female senior editor here who dealt with the author in the hopes that he could bypass James Stephens altogether and get straight to the author himself. After several dinners Jane Morrow had become relaxed enough in his company to confide in him, after making him promise not to reveal his source, that the author’s real name was Nixon. But she had gone on to admit that this little nugget of information wouldn’t be too much of a help to him, because the publishers always corresponded with the author through a PO box.
‘He turned my offer down again,’ Nik guessed grimly now.
‘Yes,’ James confirmed, obviously relieved not to have to say the words himself.
‘What’s wrong with the man?’ Nik stood up forcefully, a big man, well over six feet tall, his dark hair overlong and slightly unkempt, glittering grey eyes dominating his hard-hewn features. ‘Does he want more money? Is that it?’ he speculated. ‘I’ll give him whatever he wants. Within reason.’
James sighed, a slightly built man with receding brown hair, only the shrewd light in his blue eyes to belie his otherwise amiable appearance. ‘Perhaps if I show you the latest letter we’ve received…?’ He opened a file on his desk, picking up the top sheet of paper to hand it to Nik.
There was only a single line printed on the paper: ‘Not even if Nik Prince were to ask me himself!’
Succinct. To the point. An unmistakable refusal.
And yet, irritating as it certainly was, it wasn’t that one-line refusal that caught and held Nik’s attention as he continued to look at the letter. For printed at the top of the letter was the PO box number Jane had mentioned, and it was right here in London, of all places. A fact that James Stephens had probably forgotten when he’d offered to let Nik look at the letter…
Nik looked up at the publisher, silver gaze narrowed as he handed back the letter without comment; he had no doubts that James Stephens was an honourable man, that if he realized he had breached his author’s anonymity by letting Nik see the place of the PO box, he would most likely contact the man immediately and get him to change their point of contact.
‘Have you tried talking to the man face to face—no?’ He frowned as James shook his head.
James sighed heavily. ‘I’ve never met him—’
‘Never?’ Nik echoed incredulously; this was turning into something of a farce. James had stonewalled him from the beginning concerning meeting J. I. Watson, but Nik couldn’t have guessed that that was because the other man had never met the author, either!
The publisher grimaced. ‘Never met him. Never seen him. Never spoken to him,’ he rasped. ‘No telephone number ever supplied, you see. In fact, our contact has only ever been through the mail.’
‘I don’t believe this!’ Nik dropped back down into the chair facing the desk, totally bemused by what he had just learnt. Thanks to Jane Morrow he knew about the PO box, but he had thought that point of contact had been set up after meetings between the author and publisher. ‘All this time I’ve assumed this reclusive thing was just a publishers’ publicity stunt!’
‘I wish!’ James muttered frustratedly. ‘But the truth is we received the unsolicited manuscript almost eighteen months ago. A junior editor eventually read it, quickly passing it on to a more senior colleague once she realized the quality of writing and storyline. The manuscript finally arrived on the senior editor’s desk after being in-house for almost three months—that’s actually not bad!’ he defended as Nik gave him a scathing glance.
‘If you say so,’ Nik murmured, still stunned by the knowledge that no one at this prestigious publishing house had ever met the author who had made millions for them, as well as for himself, over the last six months.
Jane Morrow certainly hadn’t chosen to confide that important snippet of information to him!
‘I do say so.’ James sat up straighter in his high-backed leather chair. ‘We have, of course, asked to meet Mr Watson on several occasions, but all to no avail,’ he continued firmly as Nik would have made another scathing comment. ‘Every approach has been met with a firm refusal.’
Nik shook his head. No wonder he was having such difficulty trying to do a deal with the author if the man refused to even meet with his own publishing house!
‘It’s true,’ James Stephens assured him, obviously misunderstanding the reason for the shake of Nik’s head. ‘The contract, editorial suggestions—although I have to admit there weren’t too many of those,’ he acknowledged admiringly. ‘Everything was done through the post.’
‘But what do you do about fan mail, things like that? Do you send all that off through the mail, too?’ Nik asked.
James shook his head, pulling another file on his desk towards him, a file filled to overflowing. ‘We send him a selection every now and then, just so that he knows how his public feels about the book. But none of the nastier ones, of course; those are all dealt with in-house.’
‘Nastier ones?’ Nik raised an eyebrow.
‘The insulting ones.’ James shrugged. ‘Death threats,’ he clarified. ‘This much overnight success tends to bring out the worst in some people.’
Oh, Nik could believe that; he had received more than his own fair share of nasty letters over the years. ‘The contract.’ He picked up on the one point in James’s earlier statement that might have relevance to his own needs. ‘Surely—’
‘The clause concerning film and television rights was taken out,’ James cut in as he easily guessed Nik’s next question. ‘At the author’s request, of course.’ Blue eyes twinkled merrily.
‘Of course.’ Nik scowled; why shouldn’t the other man’s eyes glitter with laugher—after all, Stephens Publishing was already laughing all the way to the bank!
James grinned unrepentantly. ‘We wanted the book, under any terms we could get it.’
Nik felt sure that a book like No Ordinary Boy only came along once in a publishing lifetime, so he couldn’t blame the other man for grabbing the manuscript, regardless of any terms the author cared to make. If he hadn’t, then another publishing house certainly would have done.
Not that any of that was of help to Nik now; he wanted to make a movie of the book, and without the author’s cooperation there was no way he was going to be able to do that.
‘You think you feel frustrated?’ James shook his head. ‘Can you imagine the mileage we’ve lost by not being able to produce the author, to provide personal interviews, book signings, things like that? Watson’s reclusive attitude has probably lost us millions in sales.’
‘But you’ve made millions, anyway,’ Nik drawled knowingly. ‘And I don’t suppose my acquiring the movie rights would do you any harm, either.’
‘No,’ the other man acknowledged with a smile. ‘But as you aren’t going to acquire the movie rights—’
‘Who says I’m not?’ Nik cut in ruthlessly, his expression once again grim as he stood up.
James looked up at him curiously. ‘What makes you think you’ll be successful in meeting and talking to the man when we’ve been
