Wild Action. Dawn Stewardson
exhaled slowly. She couldn’t feel anywhere near as bad as he did. But it wasn’t her fault there was a new will. And he’d known bad news came in threes, so if he’d used his brain, he wouldn’t have been so damn quick about quitting his job. Then this situation wouldn’t be such a disaster.
“Nick?” Brown said. “Lawyers are always coming across people who want to invest in a business. So if both Roger and I keep an eye out, sooner or later we’ll find someone to buy your share.”
Sooner or later. Nick had no doubt it would be later rather than sooner, and what the hell was he going to do in the meantime? Or maybe he should be more concerned about what was going to happen to the company in the meantime. Carly might have been Gus’s right hand, but that didn’t guarantee she could run things herself.
“Carly?” he said. “Are you going to be able to manage the business on your own?”
She shook her head. “I’ve found a high school kid to help out for the moment, but I’ll have to get somebody who knows more about animals. And hopefully has a head for business.”
“Absolutely,” Harris agreed. “And fast. You couldn’t possibly handle everything yourself even if you didn’t have the Get Real people practically on your front porch.”
“The Get Real people?” Nick said.
Carly looked at him as if she couldn’t believe he had to ask. “Get Real Productions. An up-and-coming player in L.A. Gus landed us a film contract not long ago—for a film directed by Jay Wall, no less. And Get Real is providing the financing.”
Nick nodded. He didn’t have a clue who Jay Wall was, but he could do without another of Carly’s “Did you just crawl out of a cave?” looks.
“They’ve already been filming in Toronto for a week,” she went on. “So any day now, Jay’s going to decide he wants to start shooting the wilderness scenes.
“This was supposed to be our big break,” she added. “Gus said that if a director like Jay Wall was happy with our animals, the sky would be the limit But now…”
“But now?” Nick prompted, the uncertainty in her voice making him nervous.
“Well, it’s still the limit. And this movie will really help with the bottom line. Gus negotiated a great fee for the animals, plus Jay’s doing a lot of the shooting on our land and we’ll get paid for that So Wild Action will have cash in the bank—assuming things go well.”
“You mean we won’t get paid if they don’t?”
“Well…if we don’t fulfill our end of the contract… If the animals didn’t perform well enough or something.”
“Is that a real possibility?”
Carly shrugged uneasily. “I’m afraid that with Gus gone there are some problems. And if Jay doesn ’t end up happy, not getting all our money for the film wouldn’t be our only worry. He’s the type who’d go out of his way to ensure Wild Action’s name was mud.”
That possibility was enough to make Nick break into a cold sweat. He owned forty-nine percent of land that was mortgaged to the hilt and a company that might self-destruct if Carly didn’t please some hotshot director.
If that happened, forty-nine percent of Wild Action would probably be worth about a dollar and a quarter.
“But if you do make Jay happy?” he said.
“It would open the door to more Hollywood deals, and Wild Action would have so much money coming in that you wouldn’t have to look for a buyer. I’d be able to buy you out in no time.”
Which meant, Nick realized, the only intelligent thing for him to do was help make Jay Wall as happy as hell. And if that required a stint of playing zookeeper…
The prospect sure wasn’t appealing, but it seemed like the only sensible solution. Of course, he had to move at the end of the month, but he could always get some of his buddies to put his things in storage for a while.
“How long will this movie take?” he asked Carly.
“It’s hard to be sure. When Jay’s on location he shoots every day—assuming the weather’s right for the scenes. But the animals don’t always cooperate, and without Gus…
“But if things go right, they shouldn’t be filming on our property for more than a month or so.”
Nick nodded, his decision made. He could stand anything if it was only for a month or so. Besides, he assumed that if you weren’t pretty hard-nosed, those Hollywood types would walk all over you. And after a couple of looks into Carly’s big brown eyes, he figured she was about as tough as a marshmallow.
“What if I stuck around for a while?” he suggested. “As a working partner. That would get you through this movie and let you look for someone to hire.”
“You could do that? What about your job?”
He shrugged. Damned if he was going to admit he’d been such an idiot yesterday. “I’m sure I could work out some kind of leave.”
“That would be ideal,” Harris said. “Having someone with a vested interest helping out.”
“Why don’t you see about it right now,” Brown suggested, sliding his phone across the desk. “I’d feel a lot better if I knew things were arranged.”
Nick desperately tried to think of a reason for not seeing about it right now, but no divine inspiration came. So either he had to admit he’d quit his job— barely two seconds after saying he could take a leave from it—or he had to pick up that phone.
“Well?” Brown said.
Wishing to hell he’d been thinking more and talking less, Nick reached for the phone, punched in his own number and had a brief conversation with his answering machine.
“Done,” he said, clicking off. “I can take up to six weeks.”
The sick-looking smile Carly gave him said she wasn’t exactly thrilled about that—which he found darned irritating.
She needed help and he was offering to help her. Of course, he’d be looking after his own interests as well as hers, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that instead of being grateful, she looked as if she were racking her brain for some alternative solution.
“Is there a problem with this idea?” he finally asked.
Carly hesitated. There were several problems with it, but she did need someone. More specifically, she was pretty sure what she needed was a man with a deep voice. Like Nick’s. And her odds of getting anyone else on short notice…
She just wished she weren’t certain Nick would have a fit when he found out what he’d have to do. It was hardly a matter of helping out with horses and cattle.
“No,” she said at last. “There’s no problem. You just took me by surprise.”
“Fine. Then it’s settled. I mean, I’m assuming there’s a spare bedroom in the house?”
“Ahh…yes, of course. It has four bedrooms.” She reminded herself Nick was a police detective, which surely meant he wasn’t into rape and pillage. But that only alleviated one worry.
The scratch he was sporting hardly boded well for his ability to work with animals—in which case he might turn out to be more of a liability than an asset.
Just for starters, what if Attila didn’t like him? Or what if Nick was too frightened of the bear to try working with him?
For a moment, she considered telling him that was what she really needed help with. Then she decided she’d better save it for later. Nick obviously expected her to say something, though, so she asked if he knew anything about the movie industry.
“No,