Seduced by the Screenwriter

Chapter 18, Spring Thaw, Part 18

Chapter 18

Spring Thaw

April runoff had gouged deep groves in Jenna's lane. Catrina was so focused on maneuvering over them as she drove down the sloping driveway that she failed to notice the late model sedan parked behind the garage, its trunk open, until she braked.

"What's this, Titan? Another unannounced guest?" Catrina groused to the dog in the back seat. Yet again Jenna's assistant had failed to inform Catrina in advance so that she could ensure the lake house was ready. She pulled out her smartphone to dial the woman in California.

With a finger poised over the call button, she heard a door slam. A familiar figure strode across the porch and across the pea gravel in her direction.

Chett de Groot.

"What the-" She swore under her breath. "I never expected to see him here again." Titan's thunderous growl magnified the consternation rattling her voice, her nerves, her hard-won peace.

As he approached the driver's side door, she remained behind the wheel, fighting the chicken-hearted impulse to reverse the SUV and hightail it up the lane to the main road. He's Jenna's guest. It's my job to welcome him.

She rolled down the window. What do you say to a former lover who'd moved on, and you hadn't? Her stomach flipped like a gymnast in the Olympics.

A couple of feet from the vehicle, serious blue eyes stared into hers. Dimples were nowhere to be found in cheeks sporting a couple days' sandy stubble.

"Shut off the engine, Catrina, and come in the house. We need to talk."

She switched off the engine but didn't make a move to exit the vehicle. "Is Jenna inside?" she asked finally.

His brows flew to his hairline, as if he had not expected that question. "No. I'm alone. We're alone," he qualified. "I've been trying to call. I was worried." Pain pinched wan features.

He was hurt, she intuited. But hey, she hurt more. "You left me," she blurted.

"I left messages. Dozens, maybe hundreds."

"I was angry." The soul-deep pain of betrayal erupted from the deep place it had been buried. "You stole my story of those trafficking deaths in Lake Ontario for your screenplay."

The accusation had the effect of a slap. His upper body recoiled, but he held his ground. "The word 'stole' is rather harsh. I prefer 'acquired'. I've been trying to explain and give you this." He reached into his leather jacket's inside pocket and pulled out an envelope. He handed it to her through the open window. "It's a check for ten thousand dollars."

She ripped open the envelope. It indeed contained a check from a major studio made out in her name. Suspicion clawed her insides. She'd been a cop for too long to believe in gifts of cash in return for nothing. "What's this, hush money to buy me off so I don't sue the studio?"

His eyes narrowed. "Hey, there's no copyright on ideas," he shot back. "You wouldn't have a legal case."

She waved the check at him. "Then what's the money for?"

He stepped up to the vehicle and leaned in, one arm along the window frame. "Because it's the moral thing to do. It's payment for partial story credit for Sunk. My agent negotiated your compensation as part of my development deal with the studio."

Titan thrust his head between the front seats, over Catrina's shoulder and panted. Doggy breath washed her face. Less than a couple of feet away, Chett didn't budge. He continued without a break, practically nose-to-nose with Catrina. "I had to leave for LA before I had a chance to talk to you. However I intended all along to acquire your death-in-a-sailboat-cabin story concept."