Liu had heard of them, of course. Who hadn’t? “You on the inside?” she asked.
“I will be shortly,” he said. “I’ve already been down there several times doing research. Every time I leave, I wonder why. The story’s gotten hold of me, Suzanne, and you know what that means.”
She did. Tull favored total immersion in his subjects. When he got into that kind of all-encompassing state, he came up with a remarkable story, the kind that few readers ever forgot.
“I do,” Liu said. “I’ve been with you all the way, haven’t I?”
“Not all the way,” he said.
“No one else would give you an offer on Electric, Thomas.”
He chuckled. “Look who benefited from one of the all-time-lowball advances.”
“We all benefited,” Liu said, shifting in her chair. “As I remember, you bought a Tesla with the first royalties. The fact remains that we stepped up. We made you.”
Tull’s good cheer faded. “I made me, Suzanne. You and Bill helped. And I’m forever grateful. But your offer has to reflect the market and the interest in my work. I’ll expect your best offer for world rights by five.”
“World rights?” she said. “Best offer?”
“No negotiations; I want it to be clean,” he said, getting to his feet. “I want a home and a partner and clear income for the next few years. And I want it to be simple.”
“This is simple, and you’ve got a partner,” she said, feeling anxious as she followed him to the door.
“We’ll see,” he said, blowing a kiss past each cheek again. “May the best editor and publishing house win. And remember, this isn’t personal. It’s business. I love you and Bill no matter what.”
“Of course,” she said, putting on a brave smile. “Good luck.”
Tull grinned and walked off, looking at his phone. “I’m sending you that proposal now. I’d read it soon if I were you,” he called over his shoulder.
“Right away,” she said and hurried to her desk.
An hour later, Liu shook her head in admiration and a little awe. How did Tull always manage to find the powerful angle? How did he get so many people to speak to him? Even the people with something to lose!
Her cell rang.
“Sorry I didn’t call earlier,” Hardaway said. “Cynthia’s been admitted and the wing she’s in at Lenox Hill has zero service.”
“Admitted? I thought she was just getting some tests.”
“She was until she started bleeding.” The publisher sighed. “Right there in the ob-gyn’s office. It’s touch and go.”
“Oh God,” Liu said. “I’m so sorry, Bill. I’m praying for her and you.”
“I’ll take the prayers,” he said. “How was Tull?”
“Smug,” she said. “But he has a right to be. The proposal is dynamite, blockbuster material as strong as the others. Maybe stronger.”
“I wish we could clone him,” he said and then paused. “Hold on.”
The editor waited, tapping her pencil, looking at her legal pad and her negotiating strategies. They would have to be adjusted in light of—
“Suzanne, I have to go,” Bill said. “It’s not good.”
“I’m sorry, Bill,” she said. “But I need some guidance here. He wants—”
“I trust you,” he said. “Make your best call and keep him in the fold.”
He hung up.
THREE
AT SIX THAT EVENING, Liu kicked off her heels and began pacing again.
She’d been doing it off and on since sending Tull Alabaster’s formal offer, which she’d made without Hardaway’s final approval because she hadn’t heard from the publisher since that morning.
Even her texts had gone unanswered.
It’s a good offer, the editor thought, ignoring the beautiful sunset over the Hudson. No, it’s a great offer for world rights. And we made him. I made him. Rescued him when there were no other offers. He’ll take that into account, won’t he?
An hour passed. It was dark. She could hear other employees calling it a day and leaving.
Liu looked at Tull’s framed book covers once again: Electric, Noon in Berlin, Doctor’s Orders.
Every one of them had sold millions of copies, even Electric, which he’d written while an older undergraduate student at Harvard after a stint as a military police investigator with the Marines and NCIS.
“I was the only one who saw your talent back then,” Liu whispered to Tull’s most recent author photo. “You owe me, Thomas. You owe me big-time. And it’s a great offer. No one will be more generous than me. You know that. I’ve given you everything, haven’t I? You know I—”
Her cell phone buzzed. She walked over, saw a message from Tull.
“You’re mine, Thomas,” she said, opening the text.
Liu’s stomach began to drop even before he’d stated it plainly.
“No,” she whispered. “That’s not right.”
Anger surged up through her and she punched in Tull’s number. The call went straight to voice mail. “Call me,” she said. “You’ve got to allow me some time to counter. I can’t—”
The line went dead. The editor stared at her phone, her anger turning to the kind of rage only a scorned woman knows.
“No, no, no,” she said, punching in the number again. The line disconnected after one ring.
Liu grabbed her coat and shoes. “This is not happening! You are not ghosting me, Thomas Tull! You owe me!”
The editor charged out her door and down the hall, muttering, “He’s at the Ritz. Thomas always stays at the Ritz. He’ll be at the bar and—”
Glass shattered. A voice roared in pain from the office on the opposite corner of the building, near the elevators.
Liu stopped and stared; she heard choking noises coming through the open door. She hurried over and saw Hardaway sitting at his desk, hunched over and sobbing.
“Bill?” she said, the bad feeling in the pit of her stomach growing. “What’s happened?”
The publisher looked up at her, ruin in his face and rheumy eyes. “They’re gone,” he said hoarsely. “Both stillborn.”
“No,” she moaned, stepping into his office. “You must be crushed. Cynthia?”
“In shock,” he said. “We’re both in shock. It was our last chance to have kids and … she’s sedated. I want to be.”
Liu swallowed. “Bill, I know this isn’t the time to talk about the offer I made.”
Hardaway stared at her blankly. “How much?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Liu said. “He didn’t take it.”
He blinked. “Tell me that’s not true.”
“He took a higher offer. One book. Eleven point two million for world rights.”
“Eleven point two?” the publisher said, sounding stunned. “Well, that’s … why didn’t you offer twelve?”
“Twelve million?” she said angrily. “We’d have to sell almost a million and a half copies in hardcover to make that—”