One Night for Love
the paperwork we expected. He’s not sure he wants to give us the deal.”
    “What?” The skin between Prim’s eyebrows crinkled. “I’ve worked on that deal for months. That dinner with all three of us was simply a formality. We are closed.”
    “We’re not closed until he signs the contract. Which he hasn’t done. He’s gotten cold feet.”
    “Are you kidding me?” The elevator doors opened onto the executive floor and Prim walked down the hall to Tristan’s office. She opened his door, pulled her phone from her ear, and gazed at Tristan.
    “Do I look like I’m kidding?” Tristan asked. Morning freshness and sexuality oozed from him even in this moment of irritation. This wasn’t a joke. Roger was balking on the Flixster deal.
    “We’re going to see him. We leave for San Francisco at four.”
    She turned and walked away from Tristan’s office. What was going on with Roger? She’d played countless rounds of golf with him, taken him to premieres, gotten courtside seats at Lakers games. What the hell else could he possibly want? He’d been sufficiently courted and now it was time to walk down the aisle.
    Prim scrolled through her e-mail and got to the one from Tristan in which he’d forwarded Roger’s e-mail to her. There was nothing of substance within the e-mail. No new deal points, nothing left to negotiate. All the e-mail from Roger contained was a bunch of pansy words about how he wasn’t sure and maybe Metro Media wasn’t a good fit for Flixster.
    “For fuck’s sake,” Prim mumbled under her breath. “Grow a fucking pair.” She waved at her assistant and walked into her office. She did not want to fly to San Francisco and then drive to Napa so that she could further convince Roger that Metro was the right fit for Flixster. But she would. She would meet face-to-face with him and hold his hand while he signed the contract. She wasn’t about to let some wishy-washy, overemotional CEO renege on his deal with Tristan, much as she would never renege on hers.

Chapter Thirteen
    To take Prim on the plane in the private suite, thousands of feet above the earth, was a tempting idea, but now wasn’t the time. One reason Metro had been a good buy even at Ryan’s asking price was the pending Flixster deal. The Flixster deal was the original reason why Tristan had agreed to keep Prim on at Metro for three months. Prim had wooed Roger Macon over the last year. Ryan Murphy was too deep in his grief to put forth the effort necessary for Flixster. While Ryan appeared at Metro events in which his presence was needed, after the death of Paloma, his heart had no longer been in growing his business.
    Prim had held Metro Media together for the year. She’d never let anyone know that it was she and not Ryan building the business of Metro. She could have ousted Ryan. She could have scooped up the company for herself. She could have even helped with a hostile takeover and paid much less than Tristan had paid, but Prim hadn’t done any of those things.
    Why not?
    Across the aisle, Prim sat with her iPad. Big thick glasses sat on the bridge of her nose, the kind of ocular device that if not worn by a beautiful woman would look very old and very unhip. Prim hadn’t stolen Metro from Ryan because she was loyal. A rare trait in business, one absent in even Tristan’s own family. She was studying a recent report sent to her by a contact at Flixster, attempting to decipher what was wrong with Roger.
    “I don’t understand,” Prim said and shook her head. “Every deal point remains the same as the night we had dinner.” She looked up and a sharp frown creased her brows. “Roger stood in front of us and shook both our hands.”
    Tristan pulled at his tie, loosening the knot at his throat. He tilted the glass of bourbon to his lips and took a slow sip. “He didn’t change his mind because of the deal.”
    “He’s scared.”
    “Why?” Tristan had his own theories about Roger Macon, but he wanted to

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