Triple Cross

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.”