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Jade settled in his library with a book on international economics, Georgie disappeared with Aaron, and the others drifted off to the screening room. Bram headed out to his office with a glass of extra-strong iced tea, a less harmful addiction than his earlier ones.
He picked up the script his agent had sent over. With all the publicity from his marriage, he was seeing a few more scripts than he used to, but the parts hadn’t changed: playboys, gigolos, an occasional drug dealer. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen something that wasn’t a piece of crap, and after reading only a few pages, he realized this was no different. He wanted a cigarette, but he took a slug of iced tea instead, checked his e-mail, then headed back to the house so he could get down to the real work of the day.
Rory had moved her center of operations to a corner of the veranda. Even though it was Sunday, she’d been on her phone all afternoon, making and destroying careers, but now she was hunkered over her laptop. He wandered to the table where she was working and, without waiting for an invitation that wouldn’t come, took the chair across from her.
“As much as I appreciate your hospitality,” she said without looking up, “unless you want to talk about the weather, you’re wasting your time.”
“I guess that’s better than wasting Vortex’s money.”
She looked up.
He extended his legs and settled back in the chair, playing it cool, even though his guts were in a knot. “You’re one of the smartest women in town. But right now you’re being stupid.”
“It’s usually best to begin a pitch with flattery.”
“You don’t need flattery. You know exactly how good you are. But your personal grudge against me is getting in the way of your normally excellent judgment.”
“In your opinion.”
“Caitlin Carter has gotten greedy. If you wait until my option expires, you’re going to spend a lot more money for Tree House than you will now. How are you going to explain that to your board of directors?”
“I’ll risk it. And you’re the one who’s being stupid. If you turn over Tree House now, without any restrictions, you’re guaranteed a credit as associate producer—”
“Meaningless.”
“—and you’ll actually make money on your initial investment. But if you stay stubborn, you’ll end up with nothing. I can get that picture made. What more do you want?”
“I want the picture that’s in my head to get made.” He fought to stay cool, but this meant too much, and he could feel himself losing it. “I want to play Danny Grimes. I want a guarantee Hank Peters will direct.” He came out of his chair. “I want to be on the set every day making sure the script I’m delivering is the one that gets shot instead of some studio asshole stepping in and deciding he wants to add a fucking car chase.”
“I wouldn’t let that happen.”
“You have a studio to run. You wouldn’t even notice.”
She rubbed her eyes. “Bram, you’re asking too much. To put it bluntly, you’re only known for three things: Skip and Scooter, a sex tape, and being an undependable party boy. I’m starting to believe Georgie when she says you’ve outgrown that last one, but you haven’t scored big with anything since the show ended. Can you really imagine me going to my board and telling them I’ve entrusted a project like Tree House to you?”
“I have a fucking vision! Can’t you understand that?” The veins in his neck throbbed. “I know exactly how this film should be made. What it should look like. How it should feel. I’m the only one who can deliver the movie you want. Is that so hard to understand?”
She gave him a long, steady gaze. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I can’t do it.”
The genuine regret in her voice told him he’d finally reached the end of the road. He’d done everything he could to convince her, and he’d lost. He was shocked to realize his hands were shaking, but somehow he managed a shrug. He wasn’t going to beg.
His office offered the only refuge in this overcrowded house, but as he turned away, a movement near the door caught his attention. It was Georgie. Even from fifteen feet away, he could see the concern in her furrowed brow and the pity in those green eyes.
She’d overheard every word. He hated that nearly as much as he hated losing his dream.
Dinner was torture. Lance kept trying to charm his way
back into Paul’s good graces, but Paul remained unresponsive. Jade launched into a powerful lecture about the child sex industry that left all of them depressed and guilty. Georgie barely spoke, Rory seemed preoccupied, and Laura kept darting anxious glances at Paul and Georgie. Bram’d be damned if he’d let Rory see she’d beaten him, so he forced himself to tease Meg, the only person at the table who didn’t look as though she’d rather be anywhere else.
The helicopters finally flew away for the day. Chaz served a gooey caramel dessert so rich that only Georgie ate her entire portion, forking it down with a dogged determination Bram didn’t entirely understand. Jade, who didn’t seem to care much about food, left hers untouched and, when Chaz reappeared, ordered a quarter of an apple. Her demand must really have pissed off Georgie because she hopped up from the table and slipped into her Scooter Brown act. “It’s barely eight o’clock. Let’s all go into the living room. I have a special entertainment planned.”
That was news to him. Bad news. All he wanted to do was escape.
“I’m not playing charades,” Meg said. “Or any other game you actors like to play.”
Laura and Rory looked pained, but Georgie wasn’t giving up. “I have something a little more interesting in mind.”
“Hold it right there,” Bram said, determined to make sure Rory understood she hadn’t gotten to him. “You promised you’d never let anybody see you dance naked except me.”
