Harlequin Desire January 2021--Box Set 1 of 2 by Maisey Yates (free biff chip and kipper ebooks .txt) 📕

accomplice. If he were honest, Vincent would probably shine in the role of Luke—if he weren’t hogging it for himself. Nina was a foreign film buff, and she melted at the mention of Vincent’s name.

Julian pulled away from her. “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“You sighed.”

“You’re imagining things.”

“Do you sigh at the mention of my name?” he asked.

“I’ve cried out your name at three in the morning,” Nina said. “What more do you want?”

“More!”

She tossed her copy of the script to the floor. Its pages were bloodied with red ink. “Sorry. I don’t have much more to give.”

“Not sure I believe that, Goldie. I’ll have to double my efforts tonight.”

He reached for his phone to check the time. It was 10:35 p.m. and he had two missed calls—from a studio executive in California.

* * *

Eleven p.m. Julian was still on the phone, arguing with the executive. The production company was backing out from its agreement to fund Midnight Sun.

“You hired an unknown to revise the script and Francisco Cortes to direct. There’s a stable of hotshot directors to choose from, and you went with Cortes.”

“Frank has a vision—”

“I’m sure he does. He’s not the right person to direct this film.”

Julian was pacing a hole into Nina’s wood floors. “I won’t drop him.”

“We’re not asking you to. We’re pulling funding from the film, and we wish you luck.”

“You’re making a mistake.”

“Sorry, Knight. It’s done.”

Straightaway, Julian got Frank on the phone. Frank answered on the hundredth ring, his voice raspy. “At this hour it better be important.”

“Spring Pictures dropped us.”

“For what reason?”

Julian hesitated. “It doesn’t matter.”

“How much were they in for?”

“Half the budget.”

Frank fell quiet, and Julian did, too. They were screwed, and they both knew it. Funding from an established production house would lend the film clout. What the hell were they going to do now?

Frank had the answer. “I’ll put up the money.”

“Don’t do this.”

“I’ve always wanted to produce. If we stick to our budget, we can manage. And I can bring in some very rich people who’ve been dying to get into the movie business.”

Julian went weak with relief and leaned against Nina’s breakfast bar. She was folding clothes into her suitcase, pretending not to eavesdrop. He hoped she hadn’t overheard the producer taking him to task for hiring her. It was the one decision he would not overturn. He needed her. They worked well together. More than that, she made work fun and challenging. He did not need Hollywood’s seal of approval on this.

“I have one condition.”

Julian ran a hand through his hair. “You and your bloody conditions, Frank.”

“I come aboard as a coproducer and you take the reins.”

“I don’t follow.”

“This is your movie to direct. You know it.”

“Like hell I do.”

“Trust me, Julian,” Frank said. “I know this business. It runs on stories. This is your comeback story, not mine. Julian Knight writes and directs his first feature film. How does that sound?”

It sounded so good, Julian’s chest ached, but assuming the role of director scared him to death. The best directors he’d worked with were creative geniuses. That wasn’t him.

“I know you can do it,” Frank said. “And I know you want to do it. Take a chance. What do you have to lose?”

“Your money.”

“There’s more to life than money.”

This paternal side to Francisco Cortes was endearing. “Do you have kids, Frank?”

“More than a few.” He laughed. “Can you tell?”

Julian made up his mind. He’d do it under one condition. “I’m not acting in a film I’m directing. We’d have to find someone to play the part of Luke.”

He had to draw the line somewhere. As the writer, director and producer, all the trappings of a vanity project were present and accounted for. Besides, he wouldn’t have the time. He had two monumental tasks ahead: one, to deliver a film on time and on budget, and two, to coax subtle and nuanced performances from the cast. The second goal was arguably the most important. His acting skills were limited, and this film was so different from anything he’d ever been involved in. He’d never had an acting job that didn’t involve a gun as a prop.

“Agreed,” Frank said. “But that’s a question for another day. I’m going back to sleep.”

“Did I wake you, Dad?”

“I’ll tell you what I tell my kids, Julian. Unless you’re calling from jail, don’t call me after 10:00 p.m.”

“Gotcha.”

Julian slid his phone across the countertop and pressed his forehead against the cool granite. “Nina,” he groaned. “I need your loving.”

“I’ve got something better.” She walked into the kitchen, pulled a bottle out of the freezer and grabbed a couple glasses from the cupboard. “What was all that about?”

“The studio dropped us. Frank is producing. I’m directing and dropping the role of Luke.” He looked down at the glass she put before him. “I’m going to need more vodka than this.”

She splashed more Grey Goose in his glass. “I don’t know. Sounds perfect to me. Everything is shaking into place.”

This woman… In an oversize concert T-shirt and fuzzy slippers, hair in a topknot, she was at ease in her home. That overall glow was the result of his handiwork, and he was proud of it. The T-shirt, though, was a relic from the past. He’d asked if she was a fan of Bruce Springsteen. Although she was a fan, she confessed that the T-shirt belonged to an ex.

“Since everyone seems to be expanding their roles, maybe I should, too.”

“Would you like to try acting? We could find you a role.”

“No, Julian,” she said. “I’m not a performer. I’m a storyteller.”

She spoke with the confidence of a lifetime of soul searching, pen to paper, first filling countless pretty diaries with locks, then spiral-bound notebooks and now leather-bound journals. Julian admired this about her above all.

“You hired me to patch up the dialogue, but I could do more with the material if you trust me.”

“Do what you want with it. I trust you more than myself.” He had rushed to reassure her, only now he was