Aphrodite and the Lost Scribe by Winsomeone

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Chapter 18: Money

Chapter 18- Money

Money, it's a gas
Grab that cash with both hands and
Make a stash
-Pink Floyd
- Money

Ethan's office door opened and his secretary Lily poked her head in. “Sir, Ms. Morgan is here.” He nodded to her as the door opened wider and Lilah swept into the room smiling radiantly. “Ethan, My God, how long has it been?”

“Lilah cut the crap. It's not like we travel in the same damn social circles. In fact, you're a bit out of your mien, aren't you?” His eyes narrowed speculatively as he motioned to the chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat.”

Lilah sat down gingerly, frowning slightly at the unidentifiable stains on the seat cushions.

Sweeping a pile of papers out of the way, he barked into the intercom. “Lily, hold my calls.”

Turning back to Lilah, Ethan smiled sourly. “So, Lilah, you wouldn't be down here with us mere mortals if it wasn't important. I have to assume that someone on my staff must have leaked my Spike expose.” He sighed. “You know it's really hard to get good help these days.”

Lilah looked at him through hooded eyes, her manicured hand picking an infinitesimal piece of lint from her Fendi bag. “To get good help, first you must be a good boss.” She smiled thinly. “That's a difficult thing to fake.”

Ethan leaned back in his chair. “Speaking of faking it how is Wesley these days? Still fucking secretaries for you?”

Lilah chuckled. “As much as I love fencing with you Ethan, I really must return to L.A. later today, and my plane is waiting.” She sighed dramatically. “You just wouldn't believe the cost of jet fuel these days. It's absolutely appalling.”

Ethan suddenly felt like a mouse venturing from its hole completely blind and having no clue where the cat could be waiting. He grimaced. “What the hell do you really want Lilah?”

She leaned forward intently. “I know you're planning to run a front page series on Spike. I also know it's going to be about his previous and current personal relationships.”

Ethan laughed harshly, “That's a damn polite way of putting it, considering that it's Spike. His 'relationships' could fill the grand canyon. So what? We're a fucking tabloid, best in the business, but still, it's what we do.” He smirked. “Spike always did know a thing or two about fucking.”

Lilah sat up straighter. “Ethan, you know Spike, you've met him before. He's basically a good man who's had a rotten couple years. Artists are like that, they're temperamental; they tend to go off the deep end occasionally.”

She waved her hand in the air. “I know, I baby sit a lot of them. Spike's the best writer of the past decade; he's entitled to a fall occasionally. You know he just got out of rehab; he's clean and sticking with it. He's fallen in love with a really decent girl. Hell, Wesley's smitten, so that's saying a lot for her. As you know,” Lilah smiled tightly, “he's writing again. A lot of ugly publicity could screw him up permanently. I'm asking you, professional to professional, to leave him alone. I'll owe you one.” She sat back gingerly against the chair.

Ethan shook his head. “No way, Lilah. You know better than that. Spike's really popular with our readers. He's got that perfect mix of raw sex appeal and brains that make all the women go crazy. You know my demographic; eighty percent of my readership are fucking women.” He smiled a toothy smile. “And they all wish they were fucking Spike.”

He laughed. “If they can't fuck him, the next best thing is reading about him. They think they need to know every detail about his life. I can't pass it up. Our advertisers would barbecue me over a hellfire if I passed on a Spike story and another rag picked it up.”

He looked sour. “Any fucking story with that perfect face on the front sells through the roof.”

Lilah's throaty laugh sounded again. “Well, it was worth a shot. At least I got you to admit that any Spike story sells whether good or bad.”

She smiled the first genuine smile since she'd arrived. “Now let me tell you about my real offer.” Opening the Fendi, she pulled out two travel cups and a silver flask. “While you're listening to my proposition, how about having a drink with me?”

The scotch was very good and the offer even better. Lilah offered Secrets an exclusive insider view of the upcoming marriage between Buffy Summers and well known novelist Spike. They would have sole ownership, aside from the participants' own personal shots, of any pictures before and during the wedding ceremony. They would be given personal interviews with the participants in exchange for killing any current stories concerning Spike, Buffy or his upcoming book.

The agreement also required that Secrets would not print negative publicity about any past drinking or previous relationships. The magazine would wait for the actual wedding date and not leak any information beforehand or the agreement was immediately void. Lilah's office would be able to read the articles before they went to print to allow for any needed changes or corrections.

Ethan jumped at the chance for the exclusive. He knew weddings sold even better than smut. Visions of a brand new space heater ran through his head, not to mention a nice fat bonus.

Because everyone loves a fucking happy ending. Hell you never know, maybe Spike will get a divorce and I can use these pictures a second time, or even a third.

Lilah stood up to leave, but paused at the door. “Oh, and Ethan?”

He looked up from his hastily scribbled notes. “What is it Lilah?”

Her voice hardened. “The reporter that orchestrated the burglary of Spike's cottage? Not to be on the guest list. Understood?”

He quickly nodded his agreement. He went back to his work, already deeply involved in outlining the series of articles and thinking about placement of the many glossy pictures Robin would shoot. This series had the potential to place the magazine on another footing entirely within the publishing world. Visions of other celebrity weddings ran through his head.

Once on board her plane, Lilah toed off her heels, poured another drink and smiled smugly to herself. Mission accomplished.

She pulled out a galley copy of Spike's new book, found her bookmarked page and began to read. An hour later, she poured another drink, this one celebratory. He's done it again. This is the best one he's ever written.

She silently toasted Spike. Here's to the greatest writer I have ever had the pleasure of reading. She swallowed another drink. And here's to a writer and his agent who are both going to be much richer when this comes out in print. She laughed happily.

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