Almost Like Love(61)

The thought that she might have hooked up the night before made him want to punch someone—like the guy who’d been lucky enough to go home with her.

He closed his eyes.

Had some man been with Kate last night? Had some man run his hands over that incredible body and seen her heart in those blue eyes?

He scrubbed his face with his hands. What Kate had done or hadn’t done with another guy was none of his business. She was none of his business.

He’d made sure of that himself.




It was a three-day weekend. On Tuesday morning he was back at his desk, but he had a hard time focusing. He was so distracted, he considered cancelling a lunch appointment with a producer who was thinking of leaving a rival network. But he’d never yet let a woman affect his work, and he wouldn’t start now.

The lunch confirmed his feelings about the producer, Walter Carey—that he was an untrustworthy weasel who would turn on a new company as easily as he was turning on his current one.

He seemed to think their meeting was going great, though. And he obviously thought he’d be putting the cherry on the sundae by imparting a piece of confidential information.

“You could use a man like me on your side, considering the way your former writers are stabbing you in the back. Of course, I’m sure they feel justified if their shows are cancelled, but it doesn’t make it any easier to swallow, right?”

He asked the question with a smirk on his face, obviously expecting Ian’s curiosity to be aroused.

Oh, well, what the hell. They’d finished eating, but he still had to wait for the check; they needed some way to pass the time.

“Who’s stabbing us in the back?” he asked.

Walter’s eyes gleamed.

“This is strictly confidential, obviously. The boys upstairs are pretty excited, but nothing’s final yet.”

“Yeah?” Ian asked, surreptitiously glancing at his watch. Where the hell was their waiter with the check?

Walter leaned forward across the table. “Kate Meredith pitched a project to us. It’s a surefire winner. And get this—apparently she got the idea for it from your nephew.”

Ian just stared at him.

He knew his shock was showing on his face, because Walter looked pleased.

“Sure, you guys cancelled her show—but that happens all the time. It takes a stone-cold bitch to get her revenge by pitching an idea she got from your nephew to a rival network.”

Oh, God.

It was a hell of a lot worse than this jackass suspected. He hadn’t heard a word about this from Jacob, which meant that he didn’t know about it, either. So Kate wasn’t just pitching an idea she’d gotten from him to Walter’s network. She was pitching an idea she’d stolen from him.

Jacob wrote stories and drew comics—Ian knew that. Jacob must have showed them to Kate. Had it been then that she’d thought of this way to get her revenge, or had her planning started even further back?

Maybe when he’d asked her to watch Jacob, it had occurred to her that his nephew might be a vulnerable spot. A way to get back at him for cancelling her show.

Or maybe it wasn’t about that. Maybe her plan was more recent, and she was getting back at him for breaking her heart—not that she had a heart to break.

“When . . .” He had to clear his throat. “When did Kate come to you with this pitch?”

Walter shrugged. “I’m not sure. I heard about it for the first time yesterday.”

Yesterday. It all fit in.

But whether she’d done this to get back at him for cancelling her show or to punish him for Friday night didn’t matter. What did matter was the fact that Kate Meredith was manipulative, vindictive, and a first-class liar.

But to involve an eleven-year-old boy in her plot? That took a rare breed of nastiness.

He felt sick.

Boy, he sure could pick them. He’d fallen hook, line, and sinker for Paula, and she’d never given a damn about him. And years later—long after he should have known better—there’d been that actress who’d declared her undying love . . . all the while hoping he’d get her a part on one of his shows.

How could he have been so stupid? He might have great instincts when it came to business, but when it came to women he didn’t have a goddamn clue.

He’d better stick to one-night stands.

Unable to look at Walter’s self-satisfied face any longer, he shoved his chair back and got to his feet. “I’m going to find our waiter and pay the bill. It’s on me, of course. We’ll be in touch.”

Walter looked a little startled, but he nodded and held out his hand. “I look forward to hearing from you.”

Ten minutes later, Ian was striding away from the restaurant with his cell phone in his hand, trying to reach Mick.