Page 60 of Honk if You Love Real Men (Tempting SEALs 1)

“The Berkshires.”

“Why would I need to know about the weather in the Berkshires?”

“Winifred. I’m sending you to my place for three weeks. You’ll be comfortable. You can concentrate. You can immerse yourself in the story, let it flow out of you.”

“No, thank you.”

Artie patted the pile of pages and gave her a malignant grin. “I’m afraid I must insist.”

Winifred didn’t like the tone he’d just used, or that menacing smile. It reminded her of something one of Maximillion Mercy’s evil antagonists might do while holding a gun to the hero’s temple.

She placed the latte mug back on its saucer. “Let me see if I understand this correctly, Artie. I am being kidnapped by my seventy-two-year-old agent?”

He howled. He hooted. He wiped his eyes and sighed contentedly. “No, darling. You’ll be going alone. Trust me when I tell you that there is nothing you’ll want for up there. The place is Park Avenue meets Paul Bunyn. If Barbara can stand it, you know you won’t exactly be roughing it. As you know, my wife does everything first class.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s settled then.”

“Excuse me?”

Artie patted her knee again. “Do you honestly think you’re going to get back in a taxi, head back to your nice little home office and whip this out in twenty-eight days?”

Win gulped. Of course not. “Yes,” she lied.

“Fibber. Dirty rotten fibber.”

Win snatched the screenplay, briefly noting the large black letters that she’d carefully printed out dead-center, halfway down the cover page: Have Mercy. She shoved it inside the briefcase and decided she’d simply complain her way out of Artie’s offer. He couldn’t exactly drag her bodily to the car, right?

“I’ve lived in Manhattan for fifteen years, Artie. I don’t do the woods anymore. I have nothing to wear to the woods, and I don’t like to be alone like that. I like people around me. Noise in the streets. Activity in the night.” With that, she stood up, now towering over her agent. “I will feel vulnerable. I don’t like to feel vulnerable. Vulnerable is not a good vibe for me.”

Artie grinned up at her. “Activity in the night, eh?”

“I’m not going.”

Artie stood up and put his hands on his hips. “Come now, Win. It’ll get your juices flowing. How about this—if you don’t absolutely love it in three days, I’ll send the car back for you. Fair enough?”

Win was about to say something testy but noted the sincere look in Artie’s eyes. He really did want to help her. More precisely, he really wanted this script turned in on time. And could she blame him?

“I don’t see how pine trees will get my juices flowing.”

Artie shrugged. “You might be surprised, doll.”

She nodded. She suddenly understood. “Is this about the sex scenes, Artie? Are you sending me to the hills to sit around and daydream about sex?” She grabbed her briefcase. “Because if so, then let me assure you I’m capable of obsessing about sex in the comfort of my own apartment. Trust me on that.”

“You have four weeks to finish this script, Winifred. As your agent, I must tell you that if you don’t, your stock will plummet. You cannot afford to miss this deadline.”

Win squeezed her eyes tight. Of course he was right. “Oh, hell,” she whispered.

Artie guided her toward the door. “I want you to take this one over the top, babes. Give Max Mercy exactly what the fans want for him. Make the men want to be Max and the ladies want to screw his brains out.”

“More of the usual, then.”

“Oh. And if you should have any problems with anything—the electricity or the heat or what have you, my nearest neighbor will help you out. His name is Mr. MacBeth.”

She swung around, mouth ajar. “I thought you said the place was Uptown all the way? Why should I have trouble with any of that stuff? Does this guy have a first name?”

A corner of Artie’s lips twitched. He shrugged. “Just call him Mac. He’s a good guy. I’ve known him all his life. I’ll fax you all the particulars about the house.”

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