Triple Cross

One

Suzanne Liu lived for days like this, days when her world seemed like a great game and the sweet smell of opportunity and cash hung in the air like lavender and sage.

In her late thirties, stylishly dressed, attractive, and very tall, Liu arrived at work in Lower Manhattan two hours before her crucial first appointment. She opened the door to a corner office with dramatic views of the Hudson River, stepped inside, shut the door, and paused a moment to take it all in.

On the inner wall to Liu’s left hung her diploma from Yale and a photograph of herself playing Lady Macbeth in her first and only year in the graduate program at that university’s fabled drama school. She did not give them a glance.

Her attention was drawn instead to the wall to her immediate right and three framed jackets of books by mega-bestselling nonfiction writer Thomas Tull.

Liu took a step closer to the framed jacket of Tull’s most recent work, Doctor’s Orders, which had been on the bestseller list for sixty-three weeks and showed no sign of fading anytime soon.

Liu studied Tull’s author photo, and despite herself, she felt her breath and heart quicken. God, he was handsome and photogenic. His charisma seemed to jump out at you.

In his early forties, with chiseled facial features and built like a brick, Tull sported an unruly shock of sandy-brown hair. He also had piercing gray-blue eyes and a smile so easy and dazzling, it had played a big part in attracting female readers. Tull’s natural good looks tended to disarm people, and Liu could not afford to be disarmed.

Not today. Not with so much at stake. My entire career, really.

That last thought almost triggered a panic attack, so Liu went quickly to her desk and put down her purse, her grande latte, and the canvas bag she used to carry manuscripts. She sat and forced herself to close her eyes and breathe deeply.

After fifteen minutes of meditating, Liu had calmed enough to focus on her intention for how the day would go.

“I made Thomas Tull,” she muttered to herself. “He’s mine. Tull is still mine. And no one is taking him from me.”

Liu said it five times before opening her eyes and smiling. This was her day. She could feel it in her bones.

She took out a legal pad, and for the next hour, the editor in chief of Alabaster Publishing sipped her latte and wrote out four negotiating scenarios, every one of them involving a ridiculous number. That was what it was going to take, wasn’t it? A ridiculous number. Liu was sure of that. There was no way around a ridiculous number, given Tull’s repeated monstrous successes. And he’d made it clear he would entertain other offers.

How could he not?

At eight fifteen, Bill Hardaway, the founder and publisher of Alabaster, knocked on her door and entered.

“Ready for battle?” Hardaway asked as he took a seat opposite her.

“Always, Bill,” Liu said. “When have I not been a fighter?”

“Just don’t bankrupt us, Suzanne.”

Hardaway was in his early fifties and people tended to underestimate him because he dressed like a stodgy college professor. But while other publishing firms crashed and burned around him, he had managed to build a thriving company. Hardaway had a keen understanding of what books could touch a nerve and reach blockbuster status, but he also ran a tight ship when it came to expenses.

“What’s our top number?” she asked.

Hardaway shrugged. “I haven’t decided yet. But we can’t afford to lose him.”

“We won’t, Bill,” she said. “I promise you that.”

Two

Bill Hardaway stood up. “I’m holding you to that promise, Suzanne. Sorry I can’t be here for all the horse-trading. Cynthia’s got tests and I need to be there.”

Hardaway’s third wife was carrying twins. She was in her second trimester, and the pregnancy was considered high risk.

“Of course, Bill,” Liu said. “And don’t worry. I’ve got everything under control. You just do what you need to do, and we’ll celebrate with champagne when you get back.”

Hardaway left and she tried to return her focus to her legal pad. Fifteen minutes later, Liu was interrupted by another knock at the door.

Thomas Tull stuck his head in and threw a thousand-watt smile at her. “How’s my favorite editor?” he asked in a teasing voice.

Feeling a little rattled, Liu got to her feet. “You’re forty minutes early, Thomas.”

“Because I knew you’d be here already, and as you might imagine, my day’s full as well,” Tull said. He came over to her, took her hands, and blew a Euro-kiss past each cheek. “You look stunning as always, Suzanne.”

Liu tried to ignore the little thrill that went through her and said, “And you’re looking better than ever. How often do you bleach those teeth?”

He grinned. “No need. Good genes.”

“Something to drink?” she asked as they both sat down.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Bill going to join us?”

“Cynthia’s going in for tests. He left me to deal with you.”

Tull laughed. “Okay, then. As soon as we finish here, I’ll e-mail you a detailed proposal for the next book. But it’s about the Family Man murders going on down in the Washington, DC, area.”

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—”

“So what?” Hardaway snapped, red-faced. He got to his feet. “You should have counteroffered it.”

“There were no counteroffers heard, Bill,” she said. “His terms. Make the best offer by five, that’s it, winner takes all. I tried to tell you that this morning and—”

“What was your best offer?”

“Ten.”

“Ten?” he shouted and then shot her a disgusted look. “Were you trying to insult him? Drive him out? The man who made your career and this house? The man you still have—”

“No, I don’t,” Liu shouted back, cutting him off. “And we made him, Bill. Not the other way around. I thought ten million was insanely generous. I thought—”

“You thought wrong,” Hardaway roared. “You lost the golden goose on the worst day of my life, Suzanne! For that, you’re fired!”

“Fired?” she said, shocked into a whisper. “Bill, you can’t—”

“I just did,” he said coldly. “Get your things and clear out. I need new blood in here before everything around me dies.”