to focus more on growing poppies and wheat than killing their enemies.
It was the kind of detail that belonged in his book. And if it was just a succession of those kind of details, he'd have racked up the pages by now. But Jane was insisting on emotions too, which meant writing about Erica and Randolph and all the other young and innocent cherries who'd stepped off the Chinooks as rookies and had been exposed to death within thirty seconds.
Which made them feel so damn alive. So damn alive until they went home...or weren't alive at all anymore.
If he wrote about all that, would his calm last?
Maybe he should raise the idea of not completing the project, Griffin thought. Though it was true that he'd never missed a deadline and he didn't want to start now, when each morning came, he couldn't dredge up a shred of motivation. Backing out was going to be a pain in the ass, and he wasn't happy about how it might affect him professionally, but waiting for the will to begin work became less viable an option with every passing day.
Torn, he pushed both hands through his hair. "Look, Frank. I've not completely made up my mind, but I need to tell you I'm considering - "
"You should cut Jane loose if you're not going to get serious," Frank said.
Grimacing, he leaned forward on the cushion. "I said I'm only considering - "
"This is about her, Griff, not about you."
Griffin stared at the other man. Then he glanced toward the bedroom door, not sure if he wanted Jane to step out and interrupt the conversation or if he wanted Frank to finish. "I - " he started, then stopped, resigned. "What are you getting at?"
"Ian Stone."
The name made him want to spit, even though Ian Stone was exactly why Jane had ended up in bed with Griffin last night. Knowing she was still hung up on her literary superstar had made it safe for him to even consider sex. And it was clear why she'd accepted - she'd been willing to take her night out of time because a little self-esteem boosting had been in order after coming face-to-face with that ass and the other woman.
"I know about all that," Griffin said.
Frank raised an eyebrow. "Then you'll understand me when I say it's not right to fuck with her."
Griffin twitched. Jesus! Did it show on him? Was there a sign on his forehead that read I Boffed Jane? He frowned at his agent. "I don't think it's right to call it fucking, either."
That word implied callousness. He hadn't been uncaring. To the contrary, he'd wanted to pleasure her. Was it his fault that she hadn't trusted him to make that happen? His own ego had taken the blow last night, but next time he was going to tie her up -
No, of course there wasn't going to be a next time.
"That's what it will be, though," Frank said, "if it gets around that you reneged on your obligation when you were working with Jane."
The words took a minute to sink in, because Griffin's mind had spun away on images of Jane bound by soft rope. Blinking, he came out of his brief reverie to focus on Frank once again. "I'm not sure I'm following you."
The agent narrowed his eyes. "She told you about working with Ian?"
"Yeah. Heard all about that."
"And that she left him?"
"Because he two-timed her," Griffin protested. "Hell, any thinking person would walk away."
"Ian Stone hasn't turned in a book since. He'd been a blockbuster well, and without Jane it dried up."
"Serves him right." He was supposed to feel sympathy?
"But the blame has fallen on Jane's shoulders. Ian claims to any who'll listen that it's her fault. That her defection eroded his confidence."
"What a pussy," Griffin said, disgusted.
"But a talkative, loud one. Loud enough that she hasn't been able to find more work. He's dragged her good name through the mud. Spread it around that she's willing to leave a writer in the lurch."
Griffin froze. While he'd been loath to ditch his deadline because of the ding to his rep, he could see how much harder Jane would take the professional hit. He heard her voice in his head on the day she went to visit her father: success is the only option.
"You said you know her dad?"
"Brilliant guy. Cold as a fish."
His legs suddenly restless, Griffin popped up from the couch, crossing to the window, then circling the room. There on