Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 145574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 728(@200wpm)___ 582(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 728(@200wpm)___ 582(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
“Okay, let’s clarify. I don’t think you understand Georgia Stanton.” Adam smirked, leaning into a calf stretch. “Have to admit, it’s fun watching you struggle over a woman who doesn’t automatically fall at your feet.”
“Women don’t fall at my feet.” I was just lucky that the ones I was interested in usually felt the same way. “And what’s not to get? From where I stand, this is a case of publishing royalty becomes wife of a Hollywood elite only to be thrown over for the younger, newer, pregnant model and goes home with her millions to sign another deal that makes more millions.” Was she mouth-wateringly gorgeous? Absolutely. But it also felt like she was being difficult just for the fun of it. I was starting to see that dealing with Georgia might be more challenging than getting the book actually written.
“Wow. You’re so far off the mark, it’s almost funny.” He finished stretching and stood, waiting for me to do the same. “You know much about her ex?” he asked with a head tilt and poignant stare.
“Sure. Damian Ellsworth, the acclaimed director, and resident of Soho, if I’m not mistaken.” I stopped at a food cart and bought us two bottles of water. “Always given me a slimy, creepy vibe.” I was confident, but that guy was a pompous prick.
“And what’s he most known for?” Adam questioned after he’d thanked me and twisted the top off his.
“Probably The Wings of Autumn,” I guessed as we continued our trek, freezing as it hit me.
Adam looked over his shoulder, then paused. “There it is. Come on.” He motioned me forward, and I found my footing.
“Scarlett never sold her movie rights,” I said slowly. “Not until six years ago.”
“Bingo. And then she only sold ten books’ worth of rights for almost no money to a brand-new, no-name production company that’s owned by…”
“Damian Ellsworth. Fuck me.”
“No thanks, you’re not my type. But do you get it now?” We reached the edge of the park and threw our empty bottles into the recycling before merging onto the crowded sidewalk.
Ellsworth was more than a decade older than Georgia but had only managed to get his foot through the Hollywood door… Shit. It had been right around the time they’d gotten married.
“He used his marriage to Georgia to get to Scarlett.” Asshole.
“Seems like it.” Adam nodded. “Those rights rolled out the red carpet for him, and he still has five of those movies left to make. He’s set. And once it was clear the trips to the fertility clinic weren’t working out, he found someone else.”
My head snapped toward Adam as my stomach soured. “They were struggling to have kids and he knocked up someone else?”
“According to Celebrity Weekly. Don’t look at me like that. Carmen likes to read it, and I get bored when I’m soaking my legs in the bathtub. Legs you continually put through the ringer, I might add.”
Damn. That was a whole other layer of screwed up. She’d started the man’s career and he hadn’t just cheated; he’d emotionally, publicly annihilated her. “It’s becoming clear why she isn’t about the happy endings right now.”
“And the worst part was that she was part owner of the production company, but she signed it all over in the divorce,” Adam continued as we crossed the street. “She gave everything to him.”
My brow furrowed. That was a shit-ton of money. “Everything? But he’s at fault.” How was that fair?
Adam shrugged. “They were married in Colorado. It’s a no-fault state, and she gave it up willingly, or so I read.”
“Who does that?”
“Someone who wants out as quickly as possible,” he noted. We crossed the final street, bringing us to the block my publisher’s building was on, but Adam stopped in front of the one next door. “And, since all but a sliver of Scarlett’s estate goes into a literary trust earmarked for charity work, those millions you mentioned aren’t exactly Georgia’s. I know you like your research trips, but you should Google more often.”
“Holy shit.” My stomach dropped at just how wrong my assumption had been.
He clapped my back. “Feel like an ass now, don’t you?” he asked with a grin.
“Maybe,” I admitted.
“Wait until you realize that the book you’re finishing isn’t listed in the literary trust—”
My gaze whipped over to his.
“—and she still asked Accounting to wire that entire advance to her mother’s account,” he finished with a smirk.
“Okay, now I feel like a jackass.” I ran my hands down my face. She wasn’t even getting paid for this deal.
“Excellent. How about one more? Follow me.” He walked us inside the office building. The foyer was vaulted to at least the second floor, and escalators lined the edges before the elevator banks began, leaving the center open to display a massive vertical glass sculpture.
It started deep blue on bottom, reaching out in wisps of waves that bubbled at the edges as though breaking on an unseen beach. Rising higher, the blue morphed into aqua before the edges lost their rough, foam-like texture. Then aqua became dozens of shades of green as the glass reached out with swirls—branches, narrowing as the sculpture grew taller, until it peaked at twice my height.