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He braced himself, took a long drink, and—
He nearly dropped the bottle as he sputtered and coughed.
“Poor baby,” she said, patting him between the shoulder blades. “That just went down the wrong tube, didn’t it? Here, take another drink. That’ll help.”
He lifted his hands. “I surrender.”
“So you lied?”
He hesitated. She lifted the bottle.
“I lied,” he blurted.
“Totally lied.” She moved her face closer to his. Then both of them were lying on the bed. “Such a liar. A very sweet liar, who didn’t want to hurt the feelings of someone who got him a gift, but still…”
“Sweet?”
She sputtered a laugh. “I was going to say still a liar. But yes, also very…” Her gaze met his face less than a foot away. “… Very sweet.”
He inched forward, testing his welcome. She leaned toward him and—
His phone buzzed.
Lawrence: NP. Get back to me when you’re ready to talk.
Chris had never been the phone-throwing sort, but he finally understood the appeal.
He shoved the phone into his back pocket, looked over toward Daphne, and found himself staring at an empty space on the bed.
Daphne was sitting up, rifling through the basket.
I hate you, Lawrence. Oh, I’m sure you’re a very nice guy, and you did sell Daphne’s book for a crapload of money, which I appreciate, but I am still blocking your number.
“How about the bubbly?” Daphne said, waving the bottle.
He hesitated, but once again the moment had passed, and he had to trust it would return on its own.
It would. He’d make sure of that.
“Sure, break out the bubbly.”
“Can we talk about the meetings?” she said as she retrieved the glasses. “We really should get back to Lawrence. It’s after ten p.m. in New York, and he’s obviously waiting.”
And the longer he waits, the more he’ll call. “Let’s get this over with,” he said.
They talked about the meetings. Daphne didn’t care that the first four people had connections to the biggest studios. There was little point in having a TV adaptation if it didn’t at least fundamentally resemble your book. All she’d get from that was one-star reviews on the book because it wasn’t exactly like the show, plus emails from readers angry that she’d let them “ruin” her book.
She liked Begum and McKay, but just because they seemed like a good fit didn’t mean they would be. It also didn’t mean they’d commit to an option. Her agent wanted a paid option, and Chris wholeheartedly agreed.
An option meant they paid for the exclusive right to shop the project to studios for a set period. A shopping agreement was the same, except usually no money would change hands until a studio accepted the project.
Daphne deserved to be paid for taking her book off the film market. That was just common sense, but the market had apparently been slowly shifting toward freebies. Chris was glad Daphne’s film agent was holding out for better.
Chris ordered room service dinner while Daphne jotted notes for Lawrence. They’d decided to email him Zane’s thoughts instead of calling. If he—or Lucy the film agent—wanted to talk, that could wait until morning.
By the time dinner arrived, the email had been sent. Lawrence had replied with a thumbs-up and a promise to forward it to Lucy, which seemed to mean they could set that aside and await the next step.
They ate dinner in the sitting area, Daphne on the love seat, Chris in the armchair. Afterward, Chris answered a couple of business emails while Daphne did the same.
