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His cynicism struck to the heart of her beliefs. ‘Just because children have no place in your life doesn’t mean that other men don’t care about their offspring.’
‘I care,’ he rapped. ‘I’m here, aren’t I?’
Just. It was on the tip on her tongue to say it, but his pen was tapping at an ominous speed.
‘And what about all your other anonymous children? Do you care about them?’ she demanded unfairly.
The pen stopped, his knuckles whitening. ‘That’s different, you damned well know it is! That whole process is designed to be deliberately detached. I have no involvement or awareness of their conception, therefore no emotional investment.’
‘You had no awareness or emotional investment in this conception, either.’ If only she knew exactly what was going on inside his head she might be able to put to rest her secret fears.
The tautening of his expression was an indication that he realised the futility of the argument. ‘But I do have other, more concrete investments in you, don’t I? Notably the one we’re supposed to be discussing. Look, can we stick to the subject here—?’
‘I wasn’t the one who wandered off it—’
‘We were talking about your career,’ he interrupted, his pen beginning to tap again. ‘I, of all people, should know how much motherhood means to you, but you usually write at night anyway, when the baby will be asleep.’
‘Babies don’t always keep regular hours, and motherhood is tiring, especially in the early stages. What you’re talking about is the equivalent of working almost full-time. I just don’t want to over-commit myself.’
‘We can be flexible on the deadlines, as long as you give me plenty of notice if you think you’re going to run over. Lots of other women authors write while bringing up their families.’
‘I’m not other women; I’m me.’ Under pressure of his gaze, she snapped, ‘Would you mind not doing that with your pen? It’s very irritating!’
‘Sorry.’ He folded his arms and put the pen to his thoughtfully pursed lips, which was even more of a distraction. ‘You know, this wouldn’t be such a problem for you if you weren’t so damned secretive about what you do.’
She was instantly wary. ‘I told you last night, Mum would be even more upset about the type of stories I write than she would be about my arrangement with Sebastian.’
‘I think you underestimate your mother. Paula’s a survivor; she’s proved how resilient she can be. I’m sure she’d rise above her embarrassment for your sake. You’re good at what you do; that’s something for her to be proud of.’
She stiffened at the implied threat. ‘If you tell her...’
He threw the pen onto the desk, straightening in the hard chair he had brought up from downstairs.
‘Damn you, if you can’t bring yourself to trust me, at least grant that I’m too good a businessman to risk killing the goose that lays the golden egg! Lacey Graham is a very valuable asset to Velvet. I want to work with you, not against you. Stop treating me as if I was the enemy.’
She looked at him incredulously and he ran an impatient hand through his hair. ‘You know what I mean...’ he muttered, his eyes faintly uncomfortable.
Yes, she did. He meant that although he had swooped down on her home like an avenging archangel, and had angrily blackmailed, lied, harassed and seduced his way into her life, he fully expected her to embrace his bone-deep integrity as a fact of life.
She leaned back in her seat, suddenly enjoying herself. Rafe had dragged her out of bed practically before she was awake to hammer out his offer. She had barely been allowed time to pull on her clothes before he was flourishing his contract under her nose and demanding her full attention to business.
‘Maybe I should take advantage of the fact that I’m sleeping with my editor and hold out for a bigger percentage of royalties,’ she taunted him.
His eyes narrowed as he ignored the flagrant provocation of the first half of her statement. ‘The profit margin per book isn’t big enough to offer authors a higher percentage of net. We make our money on volume—our sales grow; your income grows.’
‘I suppose another publisher might have something different to say,’ she said slyly.
He was too canny to disagree. ‘Maybe. But we’re the best. If you want to write for the best you write for Velvet Books. And there’s another reason it wouldn’t be in your interests to write for a rival publisher.’
‘Oh, what’s that?’ she attempted to look bored.
‘You own fifteen percent of Velvet Books.’
‘I what?’ She nearly fell off her chair.
It was his turn to sit back and enjoy her consternation. ‘You didn’t even look at the names on the shares Sebastian left you in his will, or the details of the bequest, did you?’ He grinned. ‘He left you his minority interest in the company that owns Velvet
Books. I own the other eighty-five percent. You and I are business partners.’
