Page 16 of The Attic on Queen Street
“Yes.”
“And we step back and allow the film crew to come into our home without any interference.”
“Yes.”
“Make it fifty percent. Of gross.”
“That’s...” Marc began, but was cut off by a sharp look from Rebecca. “Thirty-five,” Marc countered.
“Fifty or we’re walking. It’s not negotiable.”
Marc nodded, his lips pressed together tightly, making them nearly as white as his hair.
Jack looked at me briefly, then turned back to Marc. “I’m not convinced that trusting you is in our best interest. My first instinct is to run. But my wife, for reasons I don’t understand, considers you and Rebecca family.” He was silent for a long moment, his eyes not leaving mine. “Melanie and I will need to discuss this together.”
My heart did a flip-flop at the word “wife.”
“And if we somehow lose our good sense and agree, we’ll need a few concessions to be made. One—the filming is restricted to the bottom floor of the house and the garden since that’s where most of the action takes place. Harvey can use a soundstage elsewhere for the rest. That’s not negotiable. Mellie and my children do not need to have their lives disrupted. I know the contract allows for hotel accommodations for the duration of the filming that, as previously agreed, is not to last one day longer than eight weeks. This is our home. We’re not leaving. Don’t even try to talk us out of it—that’s a nonstarter.
“Two—and again this is a major ‘if’—if we decide to do this, we’ll want our lawyer to draw up the contract with all the provisions of the loan, including an inflated interest rate that will increase with each week the principal isn’t repaid in full past the term of the loan. And three”—he grinned—“the party or parties responsible for a breach in contract will have to fulfill their part of the agreement without the wronged party being held responsible for theirs.”
“I’m not sure if Harvey—” Marc began.
“Of course,” Rebecca said, cutting him off. “Marc will settle the terms with Harvey. Harvey has a lot riding on this production and is as eager to get started as Marc, so he’ll want to agree. And we’ll also allow your lawyer to work out the details. After you and Melanie have had a chance to discuss it, of course.” She stood and approached me with herarms outstretched. She clasped both of my hands in hers. “I’m so glad we’re family.”
Jack pulled himself away from the desk and moved to put himself out of Rebecca’s arm range. “I think I’m going to subscribe to ancestry.com to confirm that.”
Rebecca laughed. “Because I’m so petite and blond and Melanie... isn’t? Oh, don’t be silly. We’re from Charleston. Our family tree is practically tattooed on our chests the moment we’re born.” She sobered. “Not that we have tattoos, of course.”
“Of course not,” Jack said, his eyes frosty.
Jack and I escorted Marc and Rebecca to the door. “We’ll be in touch,” I said as they moved into the corridor.
“How soon?” Marc asked, a note of panic detectable in his voice.
“Good-bye,” Jack said in response, shutting the door firmly in Marc’s face.
There was a long silence from the other side of the door and then the sound of slow footsteps retreating down the hallway.
I looked at Jack, realizing my nose was almost touching his chin. He didn’t step back and I couldn’t move at all.
“So, what do you think?” he asked, his voice low. I thought it also sounded sultry, but that could have been just my wishful thinking.
I cleared my throat a couple of times and swallowed. “I think you agreed to think about it too easily. It’s nice that you would consider my feelings about helping family, but you and I both know my feelings don’t extend to Marc. Which makesmethink you’re working on your own plan.”
He smiled lazily. “You know that saying about keeping your friends close and your enemies closer? Let’s just say that I see an opportunity here that Marc isn’t aware of. I just might finally have a chance to beat him at his own game.” He looked at his watch. “And I’ll tell you all about it later. Right now I’ve got to run.”
“Chest waxing?”
Jack chuckled. “Not exactly. Yvonne Craig needs my help movingboxes for her garage sale,” he said, referring to the octogenarian and long-term research librarian. His gaze turned serious. “If we agree, it will mean having a film crew in the house while you’re living in it. But there’s no way we can allow Marc free run of our house.”
I nodded, my eyes trying not to focus on his mouth. “I know.”
“And more bumps in the night from all the extra activity.”
“Yes. But you’ll at least get paid foryourstory. There’s some justice there, don’t you think? Even if it’s only fifty percent and not the one hundred percent that you deserve. But it’s something. And we won’t have to spend the children’s education funds on a lawsuit.” My voice sounded almost as husky as his.
His eyes drifted down to my lips, and I found myself leaning forward, my eyes closing, my heart racing, a brief worry that I might still have whipped cream on my face.
