Prince's Passion

But Nik’s assessing gaze beneath lowered lids could see that the other man was as baffled by the attitude of the author J. I. Watson as Nik was himself.

What was so difficult about him wanting to acquire the movie rights to the book that had taken the publishing world by storm six months ago? Surely it was every author’s dream to have their book turned into a movie? A movie—and even if Nik did say this himself!—to be produced and directed by none other than the Oscar-winning Nikolas Prince?

But no, of the four letters sent to the author in the last two months, the first two had gone unanswered, the third one had resulted in a polite but terse refusal of the proposal, and Nik had yet to hear a response after the fourth. But from the resigned look on James Stephens’s face, it was yet another refusal.

To be truthful, Nik had found the last two months of waiting to meet J. I. Watson increasingly frustrating. A month ago he had even wined and dined the female senior editor here who dealt with the author in the hopes that he could bypass James Stephens altogether and get straight to the author himself. After several dinners Jane Morrow had become relaxed enough in his company to confide in him, after making him promise not to reveal his source, that the author’s real name was Nixon. But she had gone on to admit that this little nugget of information wouldn’t be too much of a help to him, because the publishers always corresponded with the author through a PO box.

‘He turned my offer down again,’ Nik guessed grimly now.

‘Yes,’ James confirmed, obviously relieved not to have to say the words himself.

‘What’s wrong with the man?’ Nik stood up forcefully, a big man, well over six feet tall, his dark hair overlong and slightly unkempt, glittering grey eyes dominating his hard-hewn features. ‘Does he want more money? Is that it?’ he speculated. ‘I’ll give him whatever he wants. Within reason.’

James sighed, a slightly built man with receding brown hair, only the shrewd light in his blue eyes to belie his otherwise amiable appearance. ‘Perhaps if I show you the latest letter we’ve received…?’ He opened a file on his desk, picking up the top sheet of paper to hand it to Nik.

There was only a single line printed on the paper: ‘Not even if Nik Prince were to ask me himself!’

Succinct. To the point. An unmistakable refusal.

And yet, irritating as it certainly was, it wasn’t that one-line refusal that caught and held Nik’s attention as he continued to look at the letter. For printed at the top of the letter was the PO box number Jane had mentioned, and it was right here in London, of all places. A fact that James Stephens had probably forgotten when he’d offered to let Nik look at the letter…

Nik looked up at the publisher, silver gaze narrowed as he handed back the letter without comment; he had no doubts that James Stephens was an honourable man, that if he realized he had breached his author’s anonymity by letting Nik see the place of the PO box, he would most likely contact the man immediately and get him to change their point of contact.

‘Have you tried talking to the man face to face—no?’ He frowned as James shook his head.

James sighed heavily. ‘I’ve never met him—’

‘Never?’ Nik echoed incredulously; this was turning into something of a farce. James had stonewalled him from the beginning concerning meeting J. I. Watson, but Nik couldn’t have guessed that that was because the other man had never met the author, either!

The publisher grimaced. ‘Never met him. Never seen him. Never spoken to him,’ he rasped. ‘No telephone number ever supplied, you see. In fact, our contact has only ever been through the mail.’

‘I don’t believe this!’ Nik dropped back down into the chair facing the desk, totally bemused by what he had just learnt. Thanks to Jane Morrow he knew about the PO box, but he had thought that point of contact had been set up after meetings between the author and publisher. ‘All this time I’ve assumed this reclusive thing was just a publishers’ publicity stunt!’

‘I wish!’ James muttered frustratedly. ‘But the truth is we received the unsolicited manuscript almost eighteen months ago. A junior editor eventually read it, quickly passing it on to a more senior colleague once she realized the quality of writing and storyline. The manuscript finally arrived on the senior editor’s desk after being in-house for almost three months—that’s actually not bad!’ he defended as Nik gave him a scathing glance.

‘If you say so,’ Nik murmured, still stunned by the knowledge that no one at this prestigious publishing house had ever met the author who had made millions for them, as well as for himself, over the last six months.

Jane Morrow certainly hadn’t chosen to confide that important snippet of information to him!

‘I do say so.’ James sat up straighter in his high-backed leather chair. ‘We have, of course, asked to meet Mr Watson on several occasions, but all to no avail,’ he continued firmly as Nik would have made another scathing comment. ‘Every approach has been met with a firm refusal.’

Nik shook his head. No wonder he was having such difficulty trying to do a deal with the author if the man refused to even meet with his own publishing house!

‘It’s true,’ James Stephens assured him, obviously misunderstanding the reason for the shake of Nik’s head. ‘The contract, editorial suggestions—although I have to admit there weren’t too many of those,’ he acknowledged admiringly. ‘Everything was done through the post.’

‘But what do you do about fan mail, things like that? Do you send all that off through the mail, too?’ Nik asked.

James shook his head, pulling another file on his desk towards him, a file filled to overflowing. ‘We send him a selection every now and then, just so that he knows how his public feels about the book. But none of the nastier ones, of course; those are all dealt with in-house.’

‘Nastier ones?’ Nik raised an eyebrow.

‘The insulting ones.’ James shrugged. ‘Death threats,’ he clarified. ‘This much overnight success tends to bring out the worst in some people.’

Oh, Nik could believe that; he had received more than his own fair share of nasty letters over the years. ‘The contract.’ He picked up on the one point in James’s earlier statement that might have relevance to his own needs. ‘Surely—’

‘The clause concerning film and television rights was taken out,’ James cut in as he easily guessed Nik’s next question. ‘At the author’s request, of course.’ Blue eyes twinkled merrily.

‘Of course.’ Nik scowled; why shouldn’t the other man’s eyes glitter with laugher—after all, Stephens Publishing was already laughing all the way to the bank!

James grinned unrepentantly. ‘We wanted the book, under any terms we could get it.’

Nik felt sure that a book like No Ordinary Boy only came along once in a publishing lifetime, so he couldn’t blame the other man for grabbing the manuscript, regardless of any terms the author cared to make. If he hadn’t, then another publishing house certainly would have done.

Not that any of that was of help to Nik now; he wanted to make a movie of the book, and without the author’s cooperation there was no way he was going to be able to do that.

‘You think you feel frustrated?’ James shook his head. ‘Can you imagine the mileage we’ve lost by not being able to produce the author, to provide personal interviews, book signings, things like that? Watson’s reclusive attitude has probably lost us millions in sales.’

‘But you’ve made millions, anyway,’ Nik drawled knowingly. ‘And I don’t suppose my acquiring the movie rights would do you any harm, either.’

‘No,’ the other man acknowledged with a smile. ‘But as you aren’t going to acquire the movie rights—’

‘Who says I’m not?’ Nik cut in ruthlessly, his expression once again grim as he stood up.

James looked up at him curiously. ‘What makes you think you’ll be successful in meeting and talking to the man when we’ve been trying for months to no avail?’

‘That’s easy.’ Nik smiled confidently. ‘I don’t play by the same rules as you do, James.’ And now that he had the PO box number, and its point of origin, he had every intention of pursuing J. I. Watson—or should he say Nixon?—in any way open to him. ‘Watson’s claim “not even if Nik Prince were to ask me himself” is shortly going to become fact,’ he assured James grimly. ‘And, I should warn you, I never take no for an answer!’ Nik added harshly.

Neither did he intend doing so this time. As J. I. Watson was shortly going to find out!

CHAPTER ONE

‘THANKS for inviting me, Susan.’ Jinx smiled brightly at the other woman as she opened the door to her, the sound of a party audible in the background.

The two women had been at school together, and Susan was now married to a partner of an accountancy firm, their two small children safely asleep upstairs. Or, if they weren’t, the live-in nanny would make sure they didn’t interrupt the party being given to celebrate their parents’ fifth wedding anniversary.

Susan gave a disbelieving snort. ‘Don’t give me that, Jinx; you and I both know you would much rather be at home with a good book, that I had to practically twist your arm at lunch earlier this week to get you to agree to come tonight! But thanks, anyway; it simply wouldn’t have been the same without the presence of our one and only bridesmaid.’ She moved to kiss Jinx warmly on the cheek before standing back and looking at her frowningly. Jinx was small and slender, the black dress she wore perfect with her long, flowing, fiery red hair. ‘Tell me, how is it that you seem to get younger every year and I just get more matronly?’

‘Flatterer,’ Jinx scoffed, handing her friend the peach-coloured roses she had brought with her as a present; the same colour roses that had adorned Susan’s bouquet at her wedding five years ago.

‘Oh, Jinx, they’re beautiful!’ Susan beamed. ‘But tell me, how’s Jack?’

Jinx’s smile didn’t falter, although her eyes shadowed a little. ‘About the same.’ She shrugged. ‘But where’s your handsome husband?’ she prompted mischievously, deciding the subject of her father was something better not discussed at her friend’s celebration party.

‘Here I am,’ Leo announced happily, moving past Susan to easily sweep the diminutive Jinx up into his arms and kiss her firmly on her lips. ‘It’s still not too late for us to run away together, you know,’ he told her sotto voce, blue eyes twinkling merrily as he received a playful punch on the arm from his grinning wife.

‘Sounds like a good party.’ Jinx nodded in the direction of Susan and Leo’s drawing-room where the sound of chatter and laughter, the chinking of glasses, could easily be heard.

‘We have a surprise guest,’ her friend told her excitedly as she linked her arm with Jinx’s to walk down the plushly carpeted hallway in the direction of the noisy enjoyment. ‘You know we had Stazy Hunter design our drawing-room last year?’ she prompted as Jinx did her best to look interested; as Susan knew only too well this sort of scene really wasn’t her idea of fun.