hot and then cold at the memory of that unexpected meeting between the two of them. Eight years. And apart from those added tell-tale lines, a little grey in the darkness of his hair, Liam looked exactly the same. The fact that he had recognised her too—despite her own changed hairstyle and the denims and tee shirts she’d used to wear having been replaced by the classically elegant suit and blouse—had momentarily stunned her.
But only momentarily, she was relieved to recall. The self-assurance she had acquired over the last eight years had stood her in good stead, even down to the acknowledging nod of her head she had given Perry when he’d arrived in the hotel lounge.
That Perry was pleased at the way his meeting with the author had gone was obvious. He was bubbling over with excitement at the prospect of Shipley Publishing being in possession of the long-awaited new Liam O’Reilly novel. Except that Laura knew it wasn’t going to be as easy as that…
She calmly brought her senior editor back to earth. ‘What actually happened at the meeting, Perry?’
Perry dropped down into the chair opposite hers. Comfortably so, Laura noted abstractedly, unlike Liam earlier when he had tried to bend his long length into the chair at the hotel—Oh, bother Liam—and how he did or did not fit himself into chairs!
‘Well, I covered a lot of ground with him, but we still have a long way to go, of course.’ Some of Perry’s excitement faded as he frowned slightly. ‘The biggest obstacle we’re going to face is that, despite several promptings from me about previous books and other even broader hints, the man stuck like glue to the identity of Reilly O’Shea.’
Laura nodded. ‘Do you have any idea why?’
‘Oh, that’s easy,’ Perry replied. ‘It’s how we’re going to deal with it that’s the problem. We have our hands on a Liam O’Reilly manuscript, and—’
‘Can we just go back a couple of steps, Perry?’ Laura interrupted slowly. ‘You know why the man is determined not to admit to being Liam O’Reilly?’
Since reading the manuscript three weeks ago Laura had racked her brains as to a possible explanation for the use of a pseudonym. All to no avail. As Liam O’Reilly he could ask for, and receive, an exorbitant advance payment and subsequent royalty percentages. As a first-time author, a possible risk for any publishing house, he would receive much less. Also, a Liam O’Reilly novel was sure to receive much more publicity than that of an unknown author. And surely readership, after months, possibly years of work, was what every author wanted…?
‘Of course,’ the boyishly handsome Perry agreed; a little under six feet tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed, he exuded an energy that totally belied his thirty-five years.
‘Then I wish you would explain it to me,’ Laura encouraged lightly. ‘Because I have no idea why such a successful author would want to keep his identity secret!’
‘For exactly that reason.’ Perry grinned. ‘Years ago, with the publication of his fifth book, the man became a phenomenon. Top of the bestseller lists, both hardback and then paperback, for almost a year, the darling of the literary world, a huge feather in the cap of any society hostess. Then the book was made into a film that carried off most of the Oscars for that year. The man was the star to outshine all stars!’
‘Yes?’ So far this explanation had done little other than tell her things she already knew.
‘I’ve started with an astronomical explanation so I may as well continue.’ Perry grimaced. ‘You see, he wasn’t a star, Laura, he was a comet. He came into our orbit, shone brightly for what was, after all, a very brief period in a single lifetime, and then disappeared again. Without trace, apparently.’
‘But—’
‘I have a feeling he wants to do things differently the second time around,’ Perry said quietly.
‘But as soon as it becomes public knowledge exactly who Reilly O’Shea is—’
‘It may not come to that,’ her senior editor interrupted firmly. ‘Despite the fact I accept I was actually talking to Liam O’Reilly today, I had to carry out the meeting as if I were talking to Reilly O’Shea. We obviously discussed the possibility of a contract to publish the manuscript…’ Perry hesitated. ‘He had some quite interesting clauses of his own that he would like in any such agreement.’
Laura raised dark brows at the arrogance of the man. ‘Such as?’
‘No personal publicity. No public appearances. In fact his privacy completely guaranteed, or it was no deal.’ Perry shrugged at her incredulous expression. ‘Strange requests from a first-time author, I agree,’ he commented dryly. ‘But not so strange coming from a man who has already had a taste of all those things—and hated every moment of it!’
As an interested bystander in that blaze of publicity, of those personal appearances, Laura couldn’t agree with Perry’s conclusion; eight years ago Liam had given the appearance of enjoying every moment of his success!
She sighed. ‘As you say, we obviously have a long way to go yet. How did you leave the meeting?’ she prompted interestedly.
‘He’s staying in London another couple of days, I said I would call him before he left. To be honest, it was one of the most difficult meetings I’ve ever had to attend. I loved Time Bomb eight years ago, but I have to say that I think Josie’s World is even better—and all the time I was talking to Reilly—Liam—I just wanted to tell him that!’ He shook his head.
‘I’m glad that you didn’t give in to the temptation,’ Laura remarked dryly, looking at the slender gold watch on her wrist before shuffling some papers together on her desk. ‘I have to go now, Perry, but we’ll talk about this again first thing in the morning.’ She paused. ‘Although, I have to admit, I’m not sure exactly how we proceed from here.’
What troubled her the most, she had to admit, was keeping her own identity out of any future negotiations with the author. For reasons of her own, she did not want Liam to know that she was Shipley Publishing…!
The dark blue telephone that stood on her bedside table seemed to be glowering at her, even when she didn’t actually look at it, silently reproaching her for not picking up the receiver and punching out the number of Liam’s hotel.
As was her custom for the last two years, she had retired to her bedroom once dinner was over, taking a pile of work with her. She was sitting up in bed now, her narrow silk-clad shoulders surrounded by sumptuous satin cream-coloured pillows, glasses perched on the end of her nose, as she read through the latest manuscript of Shipley’s most successful author.
So far, came that disquieting little voice in her head. Because she had no doubt, if they really could secure Liam’s novel, that he would instantly eclipse Elizabeth Starling as Shipley’s top author!
Elizabeth’s latest manuscript was good, in fact it was more than good, but it didn’t stand a chance of holding Laura’s attention tonight.
She lay back with a sigh, removing her gold-framed glasses. She really didn’t wear contact lenses, coloured or otherwise, but she did wear glasses for reading nowadays. Possibly because she did so much of it.
Not that she was complaining about her lot in life. Her marriage to Robert had been as fulfilling as it had been successful. It was because of him that she was now head of Shipley Publishing. If that position of power could also make
