Chapter Thirty-Two
Mal
“Malcolm Waters,” Amelia said, barely holding back the fury in her voice. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
It had taken Amelia approximately nine hours and forty-five minutes to blow up his phone, about nine hours and forty-four
minutes longer than he’d expected, considering the nature of the email he had sent to Renata and the En Garde team. I try not to involve my personal life in matters of business, he’d written. But unfortunately, I can’t in good conscience move forward with this agreement while my affiliation with your family is causing
harm to someone I love.
Renata’s response had been prompt, a quick Are you free to discuss tomorrow afternoon? followed by a note to her assistant to clear her schedule for him.
“I’ll pay back your percentage if I have to,” Mal said to his irate agent. “And don’t worry. I’ll make you more money later. I can write you a second book. And then a third.” The door to Renata’s office opened, and a reedy man that Mal recognized from his last visit stepped through to tell him that “she’s ready for you.” Mal stood. “Sorry, Amelia, I’m about to go into the meeting. I’ll call you after.”
The last time Mal had entered Renata Kovalenko’s office, he’d done so with a great deal of unease. He’d looked at her long
conference table with trepidation, stared through her massive floor-to-ceiling glass windows and thought, How is it possible that I’m here right now? Renata herself he had regarded like he might a biblical angel, with a pounding heart and an averted gaze. But this time,
when the model-turned-reality-TV-judge-turned-entrepreneur stood to greet him, he looked at her and saw a human being who
was not doing enough.
“Hello, Malcolm,” Renata said, gesturing toward the seat across from her. “I’m sorry that we’re meeting again under these
circumstances. Please, sit.”
“Me too, but it is what it is,” Mal said. He crossed his legs and waited for her to speak. Renata looked, as always, annoyingly
perfect, not a dark circle under her eyes to indicate sleep lost, not a lock of hair out of place, even her white sheath dress
bright and unblemished.
“This is about Jo, isn’t it?” Renata said. “How is she doing? I haven’t been able to reach her.”
“Not well,” Mal said simply.
Renata swallowed, her expression contorting into one of true sorrow. She tapped her fingers against the sleek surface of her
desk, then sighed.
“I assumed as much,” she said. “What’s happening is terrible. My team released a statement yesterday, but I fear it may have
just fanned the flames more. Unfortunately, we may just have to wait this one out.”
Mal looked at her, stunned, then furious. Anger wasn’t an emotion that came easily to him, but he felt it now, building in his bones so rapidly that he had to set his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. It was the Adelmans’ fault that Jo’s name had been dragged through the mud, and all its matriarch could think of to rectify matters was to wring her hands, have her PR team draft a pithy statement, and wait? They hadn’t been there when Jo locked herself in her room. When she’d been so terrified of her phone that she had to throw it in her closet just to keep from having her internal thoughts about her own worthlessness echoed by legions of strangers online. Even with all of their means, they’d done the bare fucking minimum. No wonder Jo had trouble depending on others. If this was the family she’d chosen, she had no reason to trust that her best interests would ever be met.
“Your husband gets involved in a scandal every other week, and that manages to get cleaned up pretty quick,” he said.
Renata’s blue eyes iced over like Lake Michigan in the dead of winter.
“What are you implying?” she said.
“I’m just wondering how much of what they’re saying in these articles is true,” Mal said. “About your family only bringing
Jo close as a cover for your husband beating on a Black man. About you using her. Because it seems really convenient that you were able to cover up something like that, but that this ”—he spun the globe on her desk—“is out of your hands.”
Renata sat back in her chair, her expression suddenly blank. She folded her arms across her chest.
“She hasn’t told you,” she said.
“Hasn’t told me what?” Mal asked.
Renata took a swig from her bottle like it was hard liquor.
“You’re a creative, with a vast imagination,” Renata said. “I won’t keep you from thinking whatever you want. But be assured in one thing: I love that girl like she’s my own. If there was anything more I could do, I would do it. But there are many things money can’t buy, and the silence of millions is one of them.”
Her refusal resonated like a slammed door. Mal gritted his teeth. He wanted to fight her harder, but he realized that they’d
reached an impasse.
“Now, on the topic of our business together,” Renata continued. “I understand your concerns about continuing to work with
En Garde. But I would like to give you some unsolicited advice.” She paused, but not long enough to give him time to interject.
“Be choosy about when you let your personal life interfere with your business. En Garde has full intentions to bring Dusk to the screen within the next year. You’ll make a million dollars when we do. If your goal is to be the best partner possible
for Josephine, it might do you well to have that money in hand. So why don’t you sleep on this for a few days and reach out
to me again if you still think it best that we part ways.”
“I’m good,” Mal said.
Renata raised both eyebrows. “Mr.Waters,” she said. “Do you understand what you’re doing?”
“You said it yourself. You’re a small production company, just starting out. One of your jobs is to shape perception of my
project. If you’re telling me you can’t influence a little controversy, maybe you can’t manage my work as well as you think.”
Renata stiffened, her smile a stricture on her face, but he continued. “I’ve already told my agent. You just need to get your
assistant to send me the bank info, and I’ll return the option money.”
His piece said, Mal stood, smoothed his hands down his pants, and made for the door.
“Malcolm?” Renata called, when he had nearly reached it. Mal turned, looking back at her.
“Thank you for looking after Josephine,” she said. “Seriously. I’ll admit, when I first heard you were together, I worried
that she might need someone a bit more... ferocious by her side.” She smiled, as if fully aware that her compliment was
backhanded. “But now I see that you are more than up to the task.”
Mal nodded, then threw the door open.
“You here about Jo?”
It shouldn’t have surprised him, that Ezra Adelman was leaning against the wall across from his mother’s office. If he were
in Ezra’s shoes, he would be stalking him too.
Except maybe he wouldn’t. Except, if he had Ezra’s power, a meeting like this wouldn’t be necessary, because he would have
already put the rumors to rest.
To his credit, Ezra looked like shit. Unlike his mother, who seemed to be made of marble, his skin was wan and slack, his
normally artfully rumpled hair unkempt. Mal would have felt sorrier for him if he hadn’t been paying attention to the headlines.
For all intents and purposes, Jo’s downfall had been great for Ezra’s image. He’d fallen for a relatively ordinary woman,
his best friend even, only to have his heart dashed into the dirt. It was the perfect scenario for a romantic male lead, the
tragically handsome aristocrat awaiting comfort from a woman who could heal his wounds.
“I can’t reach her,” Ezra said. “I was an ass to her after the hospital. Messed everything up.” He gave Mal a beseeching look,
and he realized that despite his assumptions, Ezra wasn’t here to pick a fight. “Can you tell her I’m sorry?”
Mal stared Ezra down, unmoved. After she’d told him about Ezra’s confession, Jo had informed him of how he’d reacted to her rejection by blocking her number. I know he was hurting , she said. But I really needed him.
“I’m not a messenger pigeon, Adelman,” he said simply, then made for the exit. Ezra shifted to stand in his way, and Mal bristled,
resisting the urge to push him aside.
“My mom’s not just bullshitting, you know,” Ezra pleaded. “We’ve thrown money where we can. Talked to our lawyers, put out
statements. I don’t know what else there is to do.”
The amount of grief Ezra had given him was laughable now. Not so long ago, Mal had worried that he could never give Jo what
Ezra had at his fingertips. He needn’t have wasted his energy.
“You don’t actually love her,” Mal said. He watched Ezra’s expression tighten with indignance. “Because if you did, you would
have figured something out by now.”
Then, bumping his shoulder, Mal walked away, leaving Ezra behind to ruminate. He was almost down the hall when he heard Ezra
call out his name.
“Malcolm,” Ezra said. “Wait. I have an idea. Can you help me?”