It had been a weird day. First Henry, then Grace. As he made his way home from the rendezvous, Colin tried to puzzle it all out. There was no logical reason for Henry's behaviour, unless he was trying to cover his ass. He'd been right about one thing; the pressure of the business did get to some people. Poor Randy was proof of that, and now it seemed Henry might be as well. But the reason was unimportant. What mattered was that Colin's reputation was on the line, as well as his job. Even worse, some of his colleagues might also lose their jobs because of the advance.
Henry was both clever and manipulative. They'd never exactly been friends, but they'd enjoyed a certain degree of professional trust and respect. Or rather, they had before the meeting. All bets were off now.
Then there was Grace. He'd certainly seen a different side of her. Everyone was allowed to have an off day, and who knows what she'd been pulled out of to attend the rendezvous. Something important was going on with her; that much was certain. On top of it, she was spooked by having broken a rule. But she'd apologized and in this whole awful, wretched day of his, that one act touched him. Holding her in his arms had been balm for his soul.
More and more, Grace was the bright spot in his life.
As he turned into his driveway, Colin sighed. He'd made it through the day and now just wanted to sit quietly in his office and write. The best thing he could do was produce a dynamite biography and then market the hell out of it. A shiver went up his spine. Somehow he had to make sure that Henry didn't pull the marketing budget. If he did, it was game over. Miguel's reputation alone might generate enough sales to break even, but they'd never attract readers outside his fan base.
He let the kitchen door bang shut behind him. His mind was busy flipping through the names of people he knew in the marketing division — someone who owed him a favour, or might side with him over their boss. It was a short list.
Maureen was at the table pouring over blueprints. "Come see what we're doing with the great room," she said.
He'd rather chew glass. "Not right now," he said and walked past her to his office.
Maureen followed him. "You need to start taking an interest in this."
"I'm interested in how much it costs."
She rolled her eyes. "We're putting a fireplace in the centre of the room. Do you want propane or wood?"
"Which one is cheaper?"
"You're a broken fucking record, you know that?"
"I want my house back in one piece."
"Joe is a perfectionist."
He pinched the top of his nose to ward off the forming headache. It was like having a conversation with a jackhammer. "Ok. Wood."
"Hmm, really?" She screwed up her face in disagreement. "It's so messy, and propane is much more convenient."
"Fine. Propane."
"But a wood fire has that crackle. It's so much more authentic."
Colin finally took off his coat and hung it over the back of his chair. "Can we do this another time, please?"
Her eyes narrowed in disgust. "Why can't we do it now?"
"It's been a hard day. I'd like a little quiet time, that's all."
She folded her arms across her chest. "How hard could it have been? You're just writing a story. It's not like you're out there selling houses."
"It's not like you are either." His regret for that statement was immediate. Not because he was afraid of offending her, but because it would prolong her presence in his office. He took another deep breath before speaking. "I'm very tired. I'd like to be alone." An apology was probably in order, but he couldn't conjure one.
She was staring at him now. Scrutinizing him. "What happened at work."
"The usual. We bought some books. Sold some books." The funny thing was that he actually wanted to bounce the day's events off someone to see if it really was as crazy as it seemed. But it was Grace he needed, not his wife.
"Something happened," she said. "Henry called here earlier, and he was pissed."
"Good for him."
"What did you do?"
Colin walked across the room to his liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of scotch. "I didn't do anything," he said.
"That's not the impression I got."
"You know what, Maureen? I honestly don't care."
Undeterred, she continued to forge ahead. "You must have done something. Henry wouldn't have been so upset otherwise."
"He did something. Not me." He pulled out a Glencairn glass and poured himself a generous amount of scotch.
"I find that hard to believe."
"Why?" he asked. He took a swig and held it in his mouth a moment before swallowing. It tasted of smoke and wood.
"He doesn't strike me as that kind of person, that's all," she said as her gaze fell to the floor.
"He told Charles Staadt that I gave Miguel a $1.5 million advance without approval."
Her eyes popped. "What did you do that for?"
"I didn't."
"I seriously doubt Henry would make that up."
"Maureen, why is it so hard for you to believe that I'm the innocent party here?" He'd been trying hard to keep an even temper, but he didn't feel like it any more. He didn't want to have to defend himself to anyone, least of all his wife. "You were in that kitchen when he told me to call Miguel and make the deal."
A deep line appeared between her eyes as she chewed on a fingernail. "Maybe you misunderstood him."
"No," he said, shaking his head. "I didn't, and you know it. You were there." He walked over to the door and put his hand on the knob. "Now, as I said earlier, I'm tired and I'd like to be alone."
She narrowed her eyes and stood her ground, but he was well past the point of intimidation.
"Get out," he said.