Cease and Desist

August Belcourt arrived at nine o’clock sharp. Naturally. I made him wait in the lobby until nine-oh-five—also naturally. By the time I finally pushed open the mahogany doors to my executive office, he was standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows with one hand buried deep in his trouser pocket, staring out over the empty auditorium below like a cold-blooded real estate tycoon considering buying the entire venue just to demolish it for a parking structure.

"Good morning, Mr. Belcourt," I announced, letting the door click shut behind me.

He slowly turned, lifting his arm to check his polished steel wristwatch. "You’re late."

"I own the building, August. I'm right on time."

His dark eyes locked onto mine. "Owning the venue doesn’t make you punctual, Melody."

"No, but it does mean you can leave if my hospitality disappoints you." I glided behind my heavy oak desk and sat in my leather armchair, gesturing to the space before me. August didn't sit. He wore another perfectly tailored dark suit—no tie this morning. The top two buttons of his crisp white shirt were undone, exposing the strong line of his throat, which somehow made him look less like a board member and considerably more dangerous.

"What can I do for you?" I asked, lacing my fingers together.

August crossed the Persian rug with slow, deliberate steps and placed a sleek leather folder directly onto my desk blotter. "You can read that."

I glanced down at the smooth leather, then looked up at him through my lashes. "Is it a love letter?"

"No."

"Shame."

His expression didn’t move an inch.

I flipped open the folder. Pages of financial breakdowns, acquisition terms, and formal contracts stared back at me. My eyes scanned down to the bottom line, where a series of bold, massive numbers sat. The buyout figure covered my initial production costs, my personal investment, projected ticket revenue for the entire six-month run, and a lump-sum payout large enough to let me retire to a private island for three years.

I closed the folder with a sharp snap. "No."

August didn't flinch. "You barely looked at the breakdown."

"I saw enough zeros to know what you're doing." I leaned forward. "You’re trying to buy my play so you can bury it in a vault and pretend it was never written."

August pulled back the leather guest chair and sat down across from me, his massive frame making the chair look tiny, his long legs taking up half the space beneath my desk. "I’m trying to prevent an unnecessary problem for my family. The concern is what happens when local critics and high-society tabloids begin connecting the specific details in your script to real people."

"They are fictional characters."

"You and I both know that’s not entirely true."

A slow, dangerous smile pulled at my lips. "And yet, you’re the only person sitting in my office saying it out loud."

August stared at me, his dark eyes intense. "The main male character is recognizable to anyone who knew the two of you six years ago."

"Until someone starts talking to the press," I said, shrugging as I spun a pen lazily between my fingers. "Then I suggest you tell your family to keep their mouths shut."

His expression hardened into stone. "This is a fair offer, Melody. It’s more than fair."

"You could add another zero to that check, August, and the answer would still be no."

"If you continue the production without signing over the rights, Belcourt corporate counsel will issue a cease-and-desist by noon."

I stared at him for two seconds, letting the silence stretch between us, then I threw my head back and laughed. Really laughed.

August’s dark eyes narrowed into sharp slits. "Find something funny?"

"A cease-and-desist isn’t a magic spell, August," I said, wiping a tear from the corner of my eye. "I had my script reviewed by three separate entertainment lawyers before we opened rehearsals. Names changed. Locations changed. Dates altered. Identifying details stripped."

August stayed motionless, but I caught the faint tension in his broad shoulders.

"If Paul wants to personally sue me for libel," I added, stepping on the gas, "he’ll have to stand under oath in front of a judge and explain which fictional, cheating bastard in my play he believes is an exact mirror of himself." His jaw tightened. "Send the letter. I’ll frame it and hang it in the lobby next to the box office."

For the first time since he walked into my building, August looked genuinely, undeniably irritated. A faint flush of dark color touched his cheekbones, his jaw clenching tightly. "You’ve had six years to move on. Turning your heartbreak into public theater six years later doesn’t exactly signal indifference."

A sudden wave of hot blood rushed straight to my face. I stood up so fast my office chair rolled back against the credenza. "You think I spent four years renovating this theater and two years writing a script because I’m still in love with your cheating brother?"

August stood up too, his massive height immediately dominating the room, towering over my desk. "I came here to solve a legal and social problem for my family."

"I am not your problem, August!"

"The production is!"

I walked around the side of my desk, stopping two feet from him. "You watched an actor cheat on a fictional woman on stage for ten minutes last night and immediately decided the entire play was about Paul! Maybe you should ask yourself why."

August folded his arms across his chest. "I’m not defending what Paul did to you six years ago. I know he wasn’t faithful to you."

"You say it like he forgot to return a library book, August!"

"I’m not interested in dramatic hyperbole, Melody."

"You walked into a theater!" That almost got him. His hard mouth twitched, the ghost of a smile threatening to break through his cold mask before he forced it back down.

"You understand that Paul cheated," I said, taking a step closer, my chest heaving beneath my silk blouse. "Paul cheated. My brother knew. My mother knew. My father knew. Every single person in my inner circle knew, and not one of them had the decency to tell me."

Something strange shifted in August’s eyes—a sudden, subtle drop in his cold demeanor. "James knew?"

"Of course James knew. He was Paul's best friend."

August went dead still, his broad frame locking up entirely. "My understanding was that James found out after you broke off the engagement."

"Well, your understanding is dead wrong."

"And my mother?" I continued, the six-year-old wound stinging like fresh salt. "She told me men like Paul had options. That I should be realistic. That I was lucky because I was the woman he was actually going to marry."

August looked away from me for the first time all morning, his gaze drifting toward the empty stage visible through my office window. "She said that to you?"

"Yes." He turned back, studying my face with quiet, intense scrutiny. "I didn't run away because he cheated, August. I left because every single person I trusted knew I was being humiliated and decided I should just smile, shut up, and accept it."

August stood frozen in the middle of my office. For once in his life, the powerful, untouchable August Belcourt had no immediate corporate response.

I folded my arms tightly. "Still want to buy my play?"

His dark gaze flicked back toward the leather folder resting on my desk. "Yes."

I blinked, taking a half-step back, then let out a helpless laugh. "You really are an unfeeling asshole, aren't you?"

"The offer stands. The terms remain valid for forty-eight hours." He reached out, picking up the folder and sliding it smoothly into his leather briefcase. He turned toward the mahogany door, adjusting his cuffs.

"August," I called out softly.

He paused, his shoulders tense beneath his suit jacket. "What?"

"What exactly did Paul tell you happened six years ago?"

His hand remained locked on the brass handle. For three long, suffocating seconds, he didn't say a word. Then he looked back at me over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. "He told me you caught him with another woman, panicked, threw a hysterical fit, and vanished from the city before anyone in the family could talk reason into you."

I stared at him, my mouth dropping open slightly. "That is not what happened," I breathed.

"I’m beginning to realize that, Miss Brooks," August murmured. Then he opened the door and walked out, leaving me alone in the quiet echo of my office.

I stood there for a long time, my heart hammering against my ribs. Paul had lied to his entire family to protect his own pathetic pride. And last night, Paul had looked at me like he wanted to pick up right where we left off.

A cold, calculated thought began to bloom in the back of my mind. Paul wanted me back. He wanted the new, untouchable, gorgeous version of Melody Brooks. And if he wanted a second chance, maybe I would give him just enough rope to hang himself... while his broad, arrogant older brother watched the whole fire burn.