Signing Him

(Bonus book)

 

Kayla C. Oliver

 

Chapter One

Marnie

 

The office looked like an auditor’s in tax season. Papers were strewn across the desktop in what equated to confetti. Lights lined the creases in the wall where the roof met the walls, but I didn’t like using them. They were hollowed tubes of personality-lacking fluorescence. That was why I had a desk lamp, the kind that bent over the desk and had a green cover over the top, so that it illuminated only the length of the desk, not the person hunching over it. That would be me, Marnie McKenna. I had seen it when I was a kid at the public library, and after that, I was desperate to have my own.

Some dreams do come true, I thought wryly as I propped my feet up on my cluttered desk. I crossed my ankles, pulling the heel of my right foot slightly off so that I could bounce it lightly by the tip of my toe.

I wound the cord around my finger as I lounged back in my chair. Yes, I had an old phone. The kind with the curly cords that stretched and tangled as I walked around the office until I looked like I was a Christmas tree half-decorated. The cradle and the receiver were both designed to look old-timey. It wasn’t so far as rotary; I made too many calls to fuss with waiting for the damn wheel to spin back so I could dial again. But it looked fancy. All black with golden edges and sleek lines.

Sexy, I thought.

“I feel like they want to change the entire story!” Cathleen Darling burst out, her voice nasally and high-pitched over the phone. “Like I, the fucking author, have no creative freedom to speak of!”

I nodded, though of course she couldn’t see me, and let her rant while I went over several options in my head. Cathleen Darling was an author. I was her editor. Officially, all my edits and revision suggestions went to the higher-ups, meaning sexy Dorian Desmond, but it was pretty rare that anyone said shit about my work. I was a badass editor, but more importantly, I was good with the clients.

Desmond sent me the toughest clients, the biggest pains in the ass, and a workload that would’ve had most quitting by Christmas of their first year—or at least drowning their sorrows in a bottle of the good stuff.

But not me. I was focused and a real brownnoser—in the best sense of the word. I knew how to please people and how to back them into a corner, fight or flight, and get what needed to be done. It was a gift I’d had since about third grade, when I shoved little Billy into the sand for picking on Court. At the time, it had gotten me into a lot of trouble with the teachers, parents, principals, everyone.

Now, it served me well.

“—signed a damn contract, but I’ll take my business elsewhere if they think they can just bully me like this,” Cathleen continued her rant.

I imagined her puffing up like a little rooster trying to pick a fight. I snorted before I could help it and had to quickly turn it into a cough before Cathleen caught on that I was snickering at her. “Ahem. Sorry,” I apologized, then dove into my job—smoothing over difficult clients. “You know that I would never suggest anything to you that I didn’t think would do wonders for your already brilliant story.”

Cathleen paused. I imagined her pouting, her lower lip fat and her arms crossed. “Don’t think you can appease me with flattery,” she told me indignantly. “I’m an author. I have principles.”

I rolled my eyes. Principles, yeah, right. You’d sell out if I gave you a goddamn turkey sandwich. “Of course you do, Cathy, sweetheart,” I told her in my sweetest voice. “That’s why we love you; that’s why you’re such a great author. You have power in your words, and I would never want to lose that.”

“Then why did you cut my baby to ribbons!”

I covered the mouthpiece of my phone so she wouldn’t hear my sigh of frustration. Cathleen did this every damn time I sent her manuscript back. She was the kind of author that thought her words were seamless, perfect, in need of absolutely zero editing to speak of. And every time she sent me something, I had to fix every little grammar mistake, cross out the shit that didn’t make sense, and point out the major plot holes or inconsistencies. For my trouble, I then got a phone call from her telling me that I’d destroyed her “baby.”

She’d had about ten “babies” at this point, nine of them best sellers, and this one likely would be, too—if I could convince her to let me help her.

“Cathy. Stop,” I ordered in a soothing but firm tone. It was all about tone with authors. “You know I love your book. I’ve loved all of them, that’s why I’m sticking with you, you know that.”

That was a small, white lie. The truth was, Dorian had specifically assigned Cathy to me because she was a problem client and I dealt with problems. Go me.

“But sometimes the world isn’t ready for genius,” I continued, leaning back a little farther in my plush chair. “Sometimes, you have to ease people into what they aren’t ready for. Think Vonnegut. Think Kafka. Hell, even Hemingway was misunderstood during his lifetime.”

“You’re saying I should wait until I’m dead to be appreciated?” Cathleen deadpanned.

I smiled, showing teeth. “No. I’m saying you should wait until you’re dead to be understood. To be appreciated, you should listen to what I’m saying. You’re brilliant. I’m just making that brilliance accessible to the general population. I’m getting your words out there in a way that the rest of the world can understand, because you just can’t expect the masses to understand brilliance.”

There was a long pause over the phone, pure silence coming through. I wondered briefly if I’d laid it on a little too thick. The fact was, Cathleen was incredibly intelligent, but she wasn’t an easy read. If I left her manuscript completely alone, she would have to wait until she was dead to be appreciated. Why? Because everyone wanted brain popcorn, light fluff that was easy to process and addicting as hell. You didn’t get that with the complicated shit.

Finally, Cathleen said, “Well. I guess you haven’t changed that much.”

My grin widened. “I haven’t changed much of shit. Your novel doesn’t need changing, it just needs a little shove to get it out to the audience, you know that. We signed you because we trust you and in your vision. I just want to make sure the world sees that vision just like I do. I’m no author, I’m just an invisible helping hand.”

“I’ll look over the changes again,” Cathleen finally said. “I mean, there’s no harm in that, right? And if you think it helps get my story out…”

She trailed off, but the implication was clear: I had won.

Swiping my feet off the desk, I plopped them back down onto the floor and sat up straight. “You’re a peach, Cathy, and I love working with you.”

“I still want to make sure the story isn’t changed too much,” she added quickly, almost like she just couldn’t be fucking happy without being a little unhappy with something.

“Of course, of course. If you think anything is too drastic, shoot it my way and we’ll come up with a better option. This is your story.”

“Thank you. I hate going through Dorian. He never gets this stuff, you know?”

Shaking my head a little, I told her, “I don’t know if it’s ’cause he’s a guy or ’cause he’s the boss, but some people just aren’t on the same page.”

“Amen to that.”

We chatted a little longer about benign stuff—how were the twins? Did that no-good-piece-of-shit ex of hers ever pay alimony? Did she get that leak fixed?—then hung up the phone. Cathleen was happier for our conversation, and I had another victory story to tell.

Just as I was ending my session with Cathleen, there was a brief, perfunctory knock at the door. A second later, Dorian pushed the door open and poked his pretty head in.

He was a sexy man. Tall, muscular, with dark hair and a broad smile, he was great with the ladies. I had my dirty fantasies of some of the things we could do together, but never really considered pushing for anything more than a business relationship. Mainly because I liked my damn job and I wasn’t about to risk it over some romantic affair that would likely end in a ball of fire. My career was what mattered, not all this romance nonsense floating around out there these days.

“Are you busy?” Dorian asked with a smile.

I waved him in. “Never for you. Besides, Courtney would have told you if I was.”

Dorian laughed as he stepped into the office. He closed the door about 90 percent behind him, which told me that he wanted to talk about something serious and or private. Because Dorian was my boss and a smart man, he never completely closed the door. Too risky. Since I was a female, there was every possibility that I could jump on the opportunity to call sexual harassment on his ass, whether he’d done anything or not, and he’d have to settle before anything went to court.

Not that I would ever do that, but there were assholes out there.

“Very true,” Dorian said, taking a seat in the chair on the other side of my desk. He looked almost comical in it, too big to fit in the chair that was designed for skinny, lanky authors instead of the well-built man in front of me. “Do you mind if I steal a minute?”

“Steal away,” I told him happily. “I just finished up with Cathleen, so I wouldn’t mind talking with someone who isn’t a pain in my ass.”

He grinned at me. “Cathleen’s a pain in everyone’s ass. That’s why you have her.”

I smiled back at him sweetly. “Why, thank you. You’ll be happy to know that her ruffled feathers have been smoothed out and she’s not breaking her contract and going to another publisher.”

“Like I said, that’s why you have her.”

Although I always thought my clients were sort of suckers for buying into the flattery bullshit, I acknowledged that some part of my own nature admitted that I liked it, too. Who didn’t like to be told they were awesome? “So what’s up, boss?”

He folded his hands across his flat stomach. He looked good in the soft gray suit and the purple power tie, not a look every man pulled off. But he had that darker skin tone and a fit body, so he got away with more than most.

“I wanted to say how impressed I’ve been with your work.”

My eyebrows rose. More compliments? Why’s he buttering me up? “Well, thank you. It’s good to know my work’s appreciated.”

“It is. And as a reward, I’d like to give you more.”

I laughed. “Isn’t that always how work is rewarded?”

He smiled and nodded. “That’s the game. Are you still interested in playing?”

I sat up straighter, sensing that the conversation was more important than Dorian was letting on. “Of course. I live for the game.”

“Good.” He gave a single nod. “Because I’m thinking of making you my partner, and I can’t have a lazy partner.”

I froze. Partner? It was everything I’d dreamed of and more. It was what I’d been working for, from the ground up, and had been told by every Tom, Dick, and Harry that I would never get. Partner. It wasn’t just the money—though the salary was pretty slick for the job—it was the knowledge that I’d crawled my way to the top, beat out the boys, and come out lookin’ pretty. I wanted this. I needed this. My mouth watered for this.

“I assure you, sir, that I am one hundred percent not lazy.”

“I believe you, but I do have one more requirement before I give you the job.”

“Name it,” I told him instantly, a fire lit inside me now. What I wanted was within reach, and I’d be damned before I let it go.

“I need you to sign Trent Parker.”

And just like that, my world crumbled. Trent Parker? Otherwise known as the biggest asshole playboy out there? In the publishing world, Parker was the equivalent of Midas—everything he touched turned to gold. Instantly. Just putting his name on something made it sell. But the problem was, he knew he was a gold mine and he milked it. For someone who wasn’t a rock star, he sure as hell acted like one.

My nerves twitched, but I folded my legs and smiled to cover it. “Oh? Is that all? I thought it was going to be something challenging with the way you were talking.” I forced a laugh and hoped it didn’t sound nervous.

Dorian grinned and stood. “Great. Glad to hear Parker won’t be a problem for you. I knew you were my girl.”

Only two people got to call me girl. My father and my boss and for two very different reasons. Standing, I reached my hand across my desk to clasp his. We shook.

“Thank you, sir. I’ll sign him.”

“Keep me posted.”

He left after that, and it wasn’t until I distantly heard the ding of the elevator that I let my fake bravado drop.

“I am so fucking screwed,” I said aloud. “Court, c’mere!”

Courtney Hughes was compact, short, sexy-curvy, and took absolutely no bullshit. She ate people alive if they weren’t on their toes. She had also been my best friend since we were in elementary school.

“What’s up?” she asked. “This about Dorian?”

I nodded. “I need everything you can get on Trent Parker, or so help me God, I’m going to lose my fucking job and my mind.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Don’t be dramatic. I’ll get you the dirt. Give me a couple of hours.”

She turned and left then to make some calls and work her magic. I sat back in my chair, slumping and rumpling my power suit, wondering if there was any hope that I was going to be able to sign Parker as promised.

Chapter Two

Callum

 

I paused outside the little café that catered to hipsters who liked to pretend they were too cool for Starbucks and liked the indie scene because it was just so “genuine.” This was why I had stopped at Starbucks along the way to have my venti-double-foam-café-caramel-macchiato with extra cream, sprinkles, and two shots of espresso. The café was fine, but its coffee sucked—they did it like real coffee, the bastards—and I wasn’t going to figure out what whole-wheat low-calorie health crap they served as pastries. Nobody got a damn pastry because they wanted to be healthy.

My longtime friend Trent Parker was seated at one of the outdoor tables, with a large coffee mug that was bright red and chipped for the sake of “character” sitting on the table in front of him. But he wasn’t focused on the coffee or the really nice view of downtown and the harbor. Instead, his dark eyes were fixed on a waitress whose skirt was so short I kept expecting to get a flash of the panties beneath and whose chest was large enough that the lettering across her shirt was misshapen.

I shook my head.

Before heading over, I got rid of the evidence of my infidelity. The half-eaten scone disappeared in the trash, and I got only one more swallow of my coffee before it, too, followed. I sighed. I wished Trent would be less of a trend follower so I wouldn’t have to put up with this indie bullcrap.

Checking for oncoming traffic, I made a break across the street and half jogged to the little café.

Trent was still eying the sexy little waitress who was taking way too long to clean that damn table when I came up to him.

“You’re despicable,” I informed him mildly as I plopped down in the seat across from him. I’d picked it deliberately so that I was blocking his view of the girl.

He made a frustrated sound and leaned half out of his chair to look around me. “You’re a prude,” Trent responded, unfazed.

“I’m not a prude,” I argued. “I’m just selective. You should try it sometime.”

Trent switched to the other side, leaning a little farther. “I am selective. I only like hot chicks.”

I rolled my eyes. “Very romantic.”

He snorted. “What would you know about romantic?”

I straightened up in my chair. “I’m romantic. I wine and dine ’em like the best.”

“Sure, sure,” he said. I shifted in my chair slightly to impede his view again and he scowled at me. “Damn it, Callum, just because you want to live the life of a solitary, money-grubbing billionaire with nothing but the bat cave equivalent of a bachelor pad doesn’t mean I do.”

“And just because you want to personally test every woman in the greater Seattle area to see if they have an STD doesn’t mean I want to witness it,” I countered easily.

Finally, the waitress straightened up, glanced at Trent, and then headed inside with a giggle. I knew because Trent finally stopped trying to look straight through me to watch her ass.

Trent leaned back in his seat and sighed. He slipped a hand over his head, rubbing his close-cropped, dark hair like it was a chia pet. Scowling at me again, he said, “Thanks a lot. I was gonna get her number.”

I waved him off. “You’ll still get her number. She was wiggling her ass like an open invitation.”

“She was cleaning a table,” he pointed out.

“No one takes that long bent over to clean a table.”

He shrugged. “Either way. Now I have to look at your ugly mug instead of her fine work of art.” He paused, then added, “I mean her body.”

I rolled my eyes at him. “I know what you meant, jackass.”

Trent’s grin was like turning on a damn lightbulb. It was bright and seemed to lighten everything around him, even more so because his teeth were so white, contrasting with his darker complexion. “How’s life in Seattle treating you?” he asked, lifting his coffee and bringing it to his lips. He took a sip, then made a face.

I laughed at him. “See? Indie coffee is crap.”

Immediately, he was defensive. “No it’s not. I support locally owned businesses. In fact, I’m thinking of investing in this place.” He waved a large hand to indicate the café behind us.

“Starbucks is locally owned,” I deadpanned.

He made a frustrated sound in his throat, maybe a little bit annoyed for real. We’d had this discussion a thousand times before. “It started here; that doesn’t make it local.”

“Sure it does,” I argued, now just to piss him off. “There’s one on every corner. It’s local everywhere.”

“You’re such an asshole,” he told me. “Starbucks is a chain, not a small business.”

I shrugged. “Honestly, every big business started as a small one. If we stopped buying from the big businesses, they’d shut down and put a lot of people out of work. At the same time, that means we’d be buying from small businesses and making them larger, which would eventually make them into chains—because everyone wants more money—making them the exact same evil, monopoly businesses that we were all bitching about before. If anything, we should buy from the devil we know, that way we don’t destroy the gentle integrity of the small business.”

There was a beat of silence as Trent just stared at me like I’d grown a second head. He didn’t say anything, didn’t smile, didn’t frown, nothing.

After a moment, I reached across the table and grabbed his coffee. I took a sip, then made a face. “Plus, indie coffee is fucking disgusting.”

Trent made a face that suggested he at least partially agreed with me on that last point. “It’s ’cause it’s cold,” he argued.

I laughed. “Bullshit.”

“No, seriously. It was good when I first got it.”

“You’re a liar. That was the first damn sip you took.”

He shrugged his shoulders noncommittally. “Whatever. I’m going to flag the waitress down and get us some more coffee—fresh, hot coffee.”

I laughed lightly. “Only because you want to get in the waitress’s pants.”

“You’re buying,” he informed me as a retort.

I smiled and shook my head. It wasn’t like I didn’t have the money for it. Honestly, Trent had the money for it, too. You wouldn’t think an author could make money like that in this day and age, but Trent was the exception to the rule. Everyone knew his name. One of his books was almost guaranteed to be in every household—well, at least the ones that read or pretended to read. And if the book wasn’t in their house, then they’d seen the damn movie. He was rolling in it.

And he still didn’t have as much as I did.

The waitress scurried over quickly, obviously waiting to see if we—or Trent, anyway—needed something.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” She batted her extended lashes furiously, making me wonder if she had epilepsy or something.

Trent grinned broadly at her.

What a player, I thought.

“I would love another coffee—for me and my friend,” he told her, emphasizing the fact that I, too, would be having coffee.

The waitress glanced at me and did a quick once-over before returning her attention to Trent. She did what most women did when I was in his presence: glance right past me. It wasn’t that I wasn’t good-looking. I was. I’d been told it by enough women who didn’t know what I made to know it was legit. Instead, it was that Trent was good-looking and famous. I wasn’t. At least, not if you didn’t keep up with Forbes or the publishing circles.

I was Callum Reid, owner of Tarvish Press. I had money to burn for the sake of burning. My summer home was a mansion in the Hamptons. I owned three zooming little sports cars that cost enough to make most people’s heads spin. And I still had my own place here in Seattle, which on its own was possibly the most impressive thing on that list.

It was no easy task to find living space in Seattle.

But the waitress didn’t recognize me, because my face wasn’t plastered on the back of book covers or listed in newspaper articles when people mentioned my upcoming movie.

And I told myself I was grateful for that. While they flirted, I pulled out my cell phone and quickly checked my emails, my notifications, and everything else under the sun. I had a message from my secretary, reminding me of my meeting with the editors later that morning, plus the convention I’d promised to attend, and an email from her fourteen-year-old kid with a cat video.

I never should have given that kid my email, I grumbled in my head. But even as I griped about kids and their stupid cat videos, I watched it. And I smiled.

I put my phone back in my pocket only when the waitress left. “Did you at least get her number for all that work?” I teased.

He leaned back in his chair with a grin. “That’s your problem, Callum. You always think it’s about the sex. Sometimes, it’s about the pursuit. It’s about the hunt. It’s about the flirting.”

I lifted a single eyebrow, waiting.

His grin widened. “And yes, I got her damn number, because sometimes it’s about the sex, too.”

The waitress was prompt with her coffee and brought Trent a scone he didn’t order in an effort to further their flirting. I was grateful that she didn’t linger to talk to him.

When she disappeared again, Trent took a forced sip of his coffee and just barely managed not to grimace. I almost laughed but managed to hold back. Instead, I broached a topic that I knew I shouldn’t. “So. How’s the new book coming?”

Instantly, he held up a hand to stop me. “No. You know the rules. This is a purely social meeting between two friends. If you want to talk business, you can wine and dine me just like everyone else.”

I narrowed my eyes at him and reminded him gently, “I’m paying for this.”

He shrugged. “So? It’s not the same. You didn’t come here with the intention of paying or with the concept that this was some sort of business negotiation. You came here because we’re friends and we’ve been getting together for coffee at least once a week for the last decade. Hell, before that. We used to steal some of your mom’s coffee when we were thirteen and didn’t know what the fuck we were doing. So, no. Not the same. You want a business lunch, you make a business lunch with me. Otherwise, fuck off about the damn book.”

I rolled my eyes at him, letting out a heavy sigh. “Seriously? You and your morals.” But even as I made a big deal about it, there was a part of me that was proud of him for sticking to his guns. I respected him more for it, and I was reminded once again that there were people who were decent just because they were decent.

“You’re still a manwhore,” I grumbled.

Trent grinned like the cat that ate the canary. “You’re still a prudish, lonely businessman.”

“I’m not lonely,” I snapped.

And I meant it. If she wasn’t a one-night stand, she wasn’t for me.

Women were the one complication I didn’t fucking need.

Chapter Three

Callum

 

The meeting with the editors was blissfully short. I told Sandy to get her act together, reminded Larson to stop being a dick to everyone, and gave the new girl a pep talk in the hopes she might break out of that newbie shell a little bit. Then I okayed several of our big names to go ahead to print, rejected two of the worst covers I’d ever seen—and that included the ridiculous trend of ballroom dresses for young-adult dystopian novels—then proceeded to smooth things over with clients whose names I remembered only because my secretary put them in front of me when I called.

By the time that afternoon rolled around, I was almost relieved to have to go to the damn convention. Better that than to handhold a bunch of kids who hadn’t quite figured out what they were doing yet.

Sandy’s older than you, and Larson’s been doing this for ten yearsˆ I had to remind myself. Although I felt like an old man a lot of the time, the truth was I’d only just turned thirty-three. By many people’s standards, I was the kid.

Shaking those thoughts off, I got into my car and headed to the convention. It was located out toward Everett—for the scenery, they said—so I had a drive ahead of me. I’d be lucky if I made it by the last panel. I wasn’t too worried about it, though. I was going to make an appearance for Tarvish Press, but I wasn’t in the market for new editors, and while I kept my eyes open for additional clients, I didn’t need any at the moment. In fact, my quota for the year was nearly filled.

I pulled around to the hotel at just after six. There were still a few panels, but most would be closed up. “Damn,” I said half-heartedly. I couldn’t really make myself care too much about it.

I bravely let the valet park my baby, with a silent warning passing between us for him to not scratch my very expensive car, then headed inside. I straightened my suit and tie as I walked into the lobby and registered with the lady at the desk. I’d be staying that night and the next, then head home after the final day of the convention.

Key in hand, I headed toward the back half of the hotel where most of the convention itself would be held.

As I entered the room, I was already on my phone. I was texting with an editor and checking emails at the same time, answering query letters and discarding unsolicited manuscripts, because that was what I did with my life. When my phone pinged again, informing me that I had yet another new message, I braced myself for another complaint from “fill in the blank”—anyone from my editors to the automated voice-messaging system we were trying to revamp on our customer service line.

Instead, it was from Trent.

Got a date tonight. Waitress is hot.

I laughed a little and shook my head. Quickly, I answered, Lucky you. I’m stuck at a convention.

I waited a moment before another ping sounded.

Better you than me. Want pics? She’s kinky.

Making a face, I shook my head. You’re deplorable.

Almost instantly, he answered, Big word. Thought I was the author.

We went around like that a few more times, but eventually I had to go and invest a little time in actually being there. As I pocketed my phone, I headed toward the booths and checked in with the one for Tarvish Press. It was being handled by Dolores, a middle-aged woman who looked like she was a housewife but was actually one of the best talent agents we had on staff.

“Mr. Reid,” she greeted me excitedly. She adjusted the bug-glasses she wore and smiled broadly. “We’ve got an excellent turnout today. I didn’t think you’d show, though.”

I shrugged. “I was informed that I’d committed to be here.” I shook my head and sighed dramatically. “What idiot signed me up for this? Oh, right, me.”

I winked at her, and she laughed. “Well, I’m glad for your lapse in judgment.”

We talked about a few of the people who’d stopped by and whether or not I was interested in receiving a manuscript from them. I told Dolores the same thing I’d have told them in person: “Not without an agent.” We didn’t have the time to wade through unsolicited bullshit to find the good stuff. That was what agents were for.

I told Dolores I was going to make a lap and check out the other booths, scope out some of the competition this year, and that I would check in again with her before the evening was out. She waved me off and told me to get her a coffee if I could manage it.

As I headed toward a booth that was advertising several young-adult novels—I went back and forth between breaking into that market, but I couldn’t decide if it was worth the headache or not—I spotted a young woman in a pencil skirt. She was tall and not just because she wore three-inch heels. Her legs were long and shapely, going on for what felt like eternity before disappearing beneath her skintight skirt. Her pale blouse was tucked into the waistband, emphasizing her hourglass shape, and I noted instantly that she had a couple of those top buttons undone. Not unseemly, but damn if those few missing buttons didn’t grab my attention.

She was standing near a booth for S&W Publishing, one of my biggest competitors, and by the way she was mulling over the brochures, book selections, and business cards, I thought she was likely looking for a job.

She can work for me any day, I thought as I let my eyes roam over her once more.

She flipped her long auburn hair over one shoulder, revealing a heart-shaped face and a pair of bright green eyes. Freckles dotted her cheeks and nose, and I found it strangely endearing.

Adjusting my tie, I put on a smile and walked over to her. I pretended to peruse the table, looking over S&W’s offerings—not a bad way to get the lowdown on the competition, either—then glanced up when I “accidentally” bumped into her.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I wasn’t even paying attention,” I lied.

She pursed her lips together for a moment, then allowed herself a smile. It looked a little forced, but that didn’t dim the beauty of it. She had full kissable lips that I found my gaze lingering on, and the red lipstick that should have clashed with her hair only served to lure me in further.

“It’s fine,” she told me. “Are you looking at S&W Publishing?”

I shrugged. “Not really. I mostly wanted to see what others are doing right now. I’m already at a publishing house.”

She lifted a single slender eyebrow. “Oh? Author?”

I shook my head. “Editor.” That wasn’t strictly true. Technically I was the owner of Tarvish Press, but I also did some editing when there was overflow, and in the end, I was the one who okayed everything before it went to publishing.

“Ah,” she said.

I put my hands in my trouser pockets and smiled at her. “It’s a rough job sometimes. Long hours, lonely nights.” I let my eyes do a quick once-over again so that she knew I was interested. “But it’s rewarding, too.”

She gave a little laugh. “I’m sure.”

 

 

Marnie

 

I’m sure you think you’re a bigshot because you work for a publishing house, I thought but politely didn’t say. Although the man was attractive, the kind I didn’t mind having a quick roll in the hay with, I wasn’t really interested in sleeping with the competition. Mostly because I thought editors tended to be full of themselves and self-assured. Granted, I was also an editor, but that was part of the point. I knew the kind of people I worked with. I didn’t need to date one of them, too.

Still… he was attractive.

He had short dark hair that was styled very deliberately and cut fashionably short. His eyes were a light hazel that was a mixture of greens and golds mostly. He was dressed for work, like me, in a suit complete with tie. It was a dark, silky black that was tailored obviously for him. It showed off his trim waist and those broad shoulders that I was immediately drooling over.

Jesus, I just need to get laid, I thought, chastising myself for spending such a long time looking him over.

“If you’re interested in a job,” he told me, gesturing toward the S&W Publishing table, “I could get you a meeting with my publishing house. Hell, I could even get you an interview with the owner himself.”

He smirked, smug and self-important, and it made me want to slap it right off him. Clearly the guy had no idea that I already worked for a publishing house—the one that I was standing in front of as a matter of fact.

“How generous of you,” I said sweetly. “But I’m not sure I’m qualified.”

His smile grew and he took a step closer to me. “Honey, I’m sure you’re qualified.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. Yeah, maybe to be your late-night plaything, I thought, then instantly regretted it because all of a sudden my mind was filled with R-rated images that involved our naked bodies getting kinky in the bedroom.

Ignoring that familiar heat between my legs, I batted my eyelashes at him and said, “I wouldn’t want to waste anyone’s time.”

“You wouldn’t,” he said. His eyes darted deliberately down to my shirt and what little cleavage was showing.

I had some weight on my chest, so I was more aware of how shirts fit me and how many undone buttons I could get away with before things got raunchy.

“In fact, I think you’d make everyone’s time a little more pleasurable.” He moved closer still until one more inch would put our chests pressing together. “You’ve certainly made my day better.”

A thrill ran through my body. Yes, he was a self-assured editor who was trying to use the promise of a meeting with his boss as a means of getting into my panties. But he was also sexy, and I’d hit a hell of a dry spell in the sex department. These days, it was me and a dirty book coupled with a late-night fingering session to fill those very special needs. So it really wasn’t my fault that I was thinking of jumping his bones and seeing if that one between his legs was hard, ready, and willing.

“Happy to help,” I told him simply, my voice a little breathier than I’d intended.

“Here.”

He offered a card, holding it up between us. I didn’t even glance at it, because I already knew I wasn’t going to do anything with it. I wouldn’t be lured into his bed with bribes and offers to meet his boss. I had standards.

Even if my body didn’t in that moment.

“What’s that?” I asked innocently.

His grin was smaller now, hungrier and more predatory. It was also sexy as hell and did lovely things to that hotspot between my thighs. “It’s my card. You’d probably have to start as a secretary,” he murmured, his voice low and husky. “But I’ll show you the ropes.”

My mind pictured him wrapping lengths of silky braided rope around my wrists, holding them behind my back as I arched my bare breasts forward. I imagined him tightening the cord, just enough to pinch a little, then lean forward to slide his teeth on the lobe of my ear. I could all but hear the way I’d beg him to do more, to get to it, to be as dirty and kinky as he wanted.

The fantasy was visceral and had me wet instantly. I swallowed thickly.

“There might be some late nights,” he promised, his eyes flashing, “but you’ll enjoy them.”

I shuddered. I’m sure I would. Reaching up between us, I took the card from him. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to seduce me.”

His smile turned downright wicked. “Maybe. You don’t seem to mind too much,” he pointed out.

“Maybe I don’t,” I answered. “But I’m not sure I want to sleep my way into the company.”

He shrugged. “Don’t worry. It wouldn’t be like that. You seem very capable.”

Yeah, I’m sure I fucking do. Asshole already thinks I’m a damn secretary. But to him I said, “Then maybe I’ll give you a call.”

“I’d like that.”

He might have tried to kiss me then, or take me up to the room that the company had likely booked for him, but I wasn’t interested in playing this game. Well, not really. Yes, I was starved for sex and my body felt ready willing and able, but that didn’t mean I was interested in giving it up to some stranger just because he promised me a pointless job that I didn’t need.

But he didn’t get the chance to insult my integrity because his phone went off then. He made a frustrated sound in his throat but dug into his trouser pocket to fish out his phone just the same. He scanned it briefly, then glanced up at me again. “Sorry about that. I have to take this. But please, call me.”

I told him I’d think about it, then waved with fluttery fingers as he walked off, answering his phone as he did so.

About a second after he left, Courtney came up beside me. She was manning the booth while I was supposed to be chatting people up, but she’d disappeared briefly for a potty break.

“Who the hell was that sexy slice of manly goodness?”

Courtney was 90 percent serious and 10 percent horny. Lucky me, I got the 10 percent in that moment.

“Some asshole editor.”

“You’re an editor,” she reminded me bluntly.

“Yes, but I’m not an asshole.” When she didn’t say anything in response to that, I shot her a glare. “You’re an asshole.”

She laughed. “Are you going to bang him?”

“You didn’t just say that,” I groaned.

She shrugged. “What? Banged is a thing. It’s sexual intercourse, but no one thinks ‘are you going to have intercourse with him’ is sexy.”

“I’m not going to sleep with him.”

“I’m just saying, you’ve had a dry spell—”

“I have not!” I argued, knowing even as I did it was a lie. “I go on dates.”

“That Single Mingle website does not count. Do you remember that balding, dead-cat-on-his-head-for-a-toupee-wearing accountant you got last time? I mean, please. My grandmother gets more action than you do.”

“Your grandmother’s dead,” I pointed out carefully.

“Exactly.”

I frowned. Courtney was a damn pain in my ass, and if she weren’t a fucking excellent secretary in addition to being my best friend, I’d have fired her ass and told her to stop being so damn nosy. “You’re lucky I don’t have time to hire a new secretary,” I muttered.

“Seriously. Are you going to sleep with the guy or not?” she asked, taking her seat behind the desk and straightening our business cards again.

I considered her words—tried and failed not to be offended by them—then said, “It wouldn’t be terrible to call him, right?”

She nodded. “Definitely nothing wrong with that.”

After a moment, I finally caved and looked at the card. I was seriously considering calling him when I noticed the name on the card. “Oh, hell no,” I said instantly.

Courtney raised her eyebrows from the other side of the desk. “What?”

I flipped the card over and held it out so that she could read the embossed lettering. “Tarvish fucking Press.”

“Jesus, Marnie! Leave it to you to sleep with the damn enemy!”

But I wasn’t sleeping with him, nor would I ever do so. If he worked for Tarvish Press, then I wanted nothing to do with the bastard. Tarvish had stolen twelve of our clients in the last six years, largely thanks to the fact that the asshole billionaire who owned the place was independently wealthy and could promise all kinds of things to the clients that he could fulfill even if the company wasn’t set up for it. He and Dorian had had a rivalry that went back years, possibly from their college days, and my loyalty to Dorian was enough on its own to keep me from so much as dialing a Tarvish Press number.

Gripping the card between my fingers, I tore it up into tiny squares, then dumped them into the trash can.

Courtney sighed. “Too bad. He was sexy.”

“Sexy and working for the devil.”

She shrugged. “We all sell our souls to the company store,” she reminded me.

“Yeah, well, at least our devil is sexy.”

She agreed easily. We went back to hustling for S&W Publishing, and I made a point of forgetting all about that sexy, devil-worshipping editor from earlier.

Fuck that. I didn’t need a man in my life, dry spell or not. My career came first, and that was the way I liked it.

Chapter Four

Trent

 

I was seriously looking over my manuscript, with my legs propped up on my writing desk and my reading glasses sliding down my nose toward the tip. I leaned back heavily in my chair, with a cup of coffee cooling near the window and a typewriter sitting off to the side. It had been years since I’d even used it, but it was a nice little reminder of how much more difficult writing used to be. I wrote everything on my laptop—triple backed up on different hard drives and uploaded to iCloud just to make sure I didn’t lose a fucking thing—but every once in a while, I dicked around with the old girl.

Just a friendly reminder that writing is difficult and should be treated with respect, I thought. And that technology is fucking awesome.

I was in the editing stages of my latest novel. Callum had been nosing me about it for months, asking if I’d decided who to sign with yet, but I was leading him on. I hadn’t, as it was, and since the contract was up with my last publisher, I wasn’t sure I wanted to go back. They’d done well for me on a number of projects, but they were getting greedy—and they expected my business like they were entitled to it. I didn’t like that.

So I was still keeping my options open, and I acknowledged that there was a good chance I’d end up signing with Tarvish. I didn’t like mixing business with pleasure, but I was confident that Callum could keep things separate.

While I was working, my phone went off. It was the basic ring tone, telling me I didn’t know the caller.

I considered letting it go to voice mail, but I was annoyed by the suggested edits for the manuscript. I had Sara look it over and give me feedback before I submitted it to a publishing house—whenever I’d decided on one—and generally, she was spot-on. Officially, she was a friend who I paid generously to help me out. Unofficially, she was my secretary, my editor, and on occasion, my therapist and romantic-date counselor. We were purely platonic, one of the few beautiful women in my life who I’d not been interested in sleeping with, and that made her special.

But not special enough that she didn’t get a day off, which was why I was fielding my own calls and griping about the notes she’d made on my manuscript.

“I like the damn mage,” I grumbled, tossing the manuscript aside and going for my phone. I glanced at the screen. It was a number here in Seattle, but beyond that, I didn’t recognize it.

After a moment, I answered. “Hello?”

“Hello, I’m trying to get ahold of Mr. Trent Parker’s agent,” came a serious but sexy woman’s voice over the phone. Her timbre was deeper than most women’s and lacked a lot of that high-pitched charm that a lot of women tried to use to get their way. Instantly, I appreciated the dark chocolate tone that came through the receiver.

“Agent?” I asked, a little surprised. I hadn’t had an agent since my first novel, and I’d been burned bad enough that I wasn’t interested in changing that. Sara handled a lot of that for me, too, but… But she’s not here right now. A grin slid across my features before I could help myself. “This is him,” I told the woman. I paused, scrambling to come up with a name to use. “Uh, Malcom. Malcom…” I searched the books on my shelves to come up with a plausible last name. When I landed on Resner, I blurted it out before I could reconsider. “Resner.”

There was a pause, and I wondered if I’d just screwed myself with my sloppy naming practice right there. You’d think I’d be better at this, given my profession.

But then she said, “Mr. Resner, this is Courtney Hughes. I’m calling on behalf of S&W Publishing. I assume you’ve heard of us?”

“Malcom,” I told her, ignoring her question.

“I’m sorry?”

A grin spread across my face. “Please, call me Malcom.”

There was another pause then. “As I was saying, Mr. Resner, I work for—”

“Nuh-uh,” I said, deliberately being a pain in the butt. “I only talk business with people who are willing to use my first name.” Or middle name as the case may be.

I waited a beat, then the woman sighed. “Fine. Malcom. I work for S&W Publishing, and I’m calling from the office of Marnie McKenna. She’s one of the best editors in the business, and she’d be very interested in meeting with Mr. Parker to discuss his latest novel.”

All my playing with the poor woman aside, there was honest business to be discussed here and I had to acknowledge that. “I see. And why should Mr. Parker consider S&W?”

In all honesty, I was 98 percent positive that I couldn’t sign with S&W. I could go just about anywhere and not get a lot of flak for it, but S&W was Tarvish’s main competitor. If I signed with them, Callum would fucking lose his shit. I couldn’t do that to a friend.

But I was all about equal opportunity. I wouldn’t completely write someone off without at least giving them a chance.

Plus, this Courtney person had a fucking sexy voice.

“We’re a highly rated publishing house,” she informed me, that low voice firm and serious. “We have services that range from cover design to marketing to—”

“Which any publishing house worth their salt will have,” I interrupted her rudely.

“In that case, maybe Mr. Parker should go indie,” she snapped. “Hire a bunch of no-names and give them a chance—they all offer the same services. See if he can’t make them some gold at the cost of his latest novel’s success, what do you think?”

Before I got the chance to answer, she pushed forward.

“Or he can go with the best. High-quality design and printing. An impressive, unprecedented e-book deal, not to mention editing from one of the best in the business today and a firm that has made a point of doing all it can for the sake of their clients. We don’t make money until you do. That’s the policy here, and if you think Mr. Parker can do a halfpence better anywhere else, then I invite you to risk it. Just keep in mind that he wasn’t happy enough with the last ‘any publisher worth their salt will have those services’ publishing house to renew a contract with them.”

I was grinning like an idiot with my eyebrows high on my forehead when she was finally done. I was impressed, I could admit it. She was a ballbusting, broke-no-shit kinda woman, and I found that insanely sexy.

All of a sudden, I wanted to know what she looked like. What she was wearing. How she liked to touch herself in the middle of the night when no one was around.

And yes, I was a horny bastard and I didn’t care. Getting told off by a woman was fucking sexy.

When I got myself under control again, I cleared my throat and said, “You bring up some interesting points.”

“Will you consider a meeting with my boss?” she asked instantly.

“Well, that depends,” I said, pretending to be thoughtful.

She waited a beat, then, “On what?”

“Can I call you Courtney?”

She hesitated. I could picture her in my mind—well, my fantasy version of her which was big-busted with wide hips and pouty lips—rolling her eyes, annoyed with me already. But she said, “I suppose.”

I was grinning again. “All right, then. I’ll make you a deal. I’ll make sure that I—” I broke off, forgetting that I was Parker’s agent, not Parker. “I mean, that Mr. Parker will meet with your boss—what was her name again?”

“Marnie McKenna.”

“Right. Ms. McKenna. He’ll meet with her—under one condition.”

“Which is?” she asked impatiently.

My smile was downright wicked and I knew it. “Which is that you will owe me a favor.”

She hesitated. “A favor? What favor?”

I shrugged, which of course she couldn’t see. “A favor to be decided at my discretion at a later date. Do we have a deal?”

There was a long, extended pause. It was long enough that I checked my phone to make sure that the call hadn’t been dropped, but she was still there on the other end. I wondered if she was sitting at her desk, cursing her unfortunate stars, or if she was imagining some of the naughty favors I might ask her.

I hoped the latter.

Finally, she spoke again. “Fine. Deal. Have your client stop by our office tomorrow afternoon. Tell him not to be late.”

She hung up before I could say anything else.

Tomorrow at the office, eh? Guess I’ll see if that secretary is half as sexy as her voice is.

My hopes were up. I wanted to know what Courtney looked like on the other end of the phone.

Chapter Five

Marnie

 

I adjusted the papers on my desk again, the third time in ten goddamned minutes.

Proving that Courtney was a damn goddess, she’d gotten me a meeting with Trent Parker that afternoon. It was in thirty minutes, and we’d been getting ready for him since Courtney confirmed the timing with him. She’d been doing research on the man—she probably knew what type of drink he liked to order at the bar by now—and I’d been getting a contract ready. I was doubtful that I’d be lucky enough to get him to sign this first one. He was an experienced author. He’d been signed with three other publishing houses now, the first two little indies that had given him a leg up into the publishing world, and the last one a big name that had propelled him into stardom.

And apparently fucked it all up by treating him poorly, I thought.

Still, I wanted to have an offer ready for him right then and there. That way we had somewhere to go. Something to talk about. It wasn’t hypothetical, or “we’ll see what we can do.” Instead, it was all about fine-tuning the details.

There was a knock at my door and I looked up to see Courtney standing there. She was dressed in one of those cute little vintage dresses with the wide belt. She didn’t have the petticoats today, but her hair was curled perfectly in victory rolls.

“You look like you have cat ears,” I told her bluntly.

She shrugged. “As long as it doesn’t look like a cat is sleeping there, I’m good.”

“Fair enough. What have you got for me?”

She was only holding her phone, but I knew better than to think that meant she didn’t have anything. She was a whiz with electronics, vintage styles, and making people do what she wanted them to do. “I’ve got as much dirt on Parker as I could find—the intern at Wyndham said he made her cry twice and that the only reason she stayed was because he was switching publishers.”

Wyndham was Parker’s last publisher, and they’d done him wrong in one way or another, leading him to decline signing for another term.

“You think she was bullshitting us?”

Courtney thought it over. “Probably. She seemed a little on the dramatic side, but I will say that every piece of information I’ve gotten on Parker suggests that he’s a real player. He uses and loses ’em, if you know what I mean. So there’s every possibility that he simply did something along those lines with the intern, and now she’s upset because he didn’t turn over a new leaf for her.” She snorted inelegantly. “Women. Always got their noses so deep in those damn romance novels that they forget how men are in real life.”

I raised an eyebrow at her. “And how’s that?”

“Dogs,” she replied instantly.

Once upon a time, Courtney had been heavily into the bad boys. She liked ’em riding motorcycles, wearing leather, or getting into fights. If they didn’t have a bad streak, she wasn’t interested. Unfortunately for her, she’d gotten badly burned by one of them and now she had little faith in men. Especially the ones with poor reputations.

“Sorry that all us women disappoint you,” I told her dryly. “What else did you get on Parker?”

She swiped a manicured finger across her phone. “More of the same. He’s a player, notorious flirt, but pure genius. He has the soul of a poet—that’s a direct quote, so don’t give me that hairy eyeball, okay?”

I held up my hands defensively. “Okay, easy there, Tiger.”

She continued to swipe to the next screen. “He came from humble beginnings—inner-city kid with a mother who died young from an accidental shooting and a father who went to prison for murdering mommy number two.”

“Jesus,” I muttered. “Hell of an upbringing.”

“Yeah, poor kid.” Courtney sounded genuinely sympathetic. As much as she could be a hardass, she had a heart of gold—if you could dig deep enough to find it. “After his father was put away, he ended up living with a grandparent—not sure which side—who insisted he go to school, stay out of trouble, and all that jazz. Parker has been quoted as saying his grandmother ‘saved his sorry excuse for a life.’ He’s paid off her house and, as far as I can tell, makes sure she doesn’t pay for a damn thing.”

I raised an eyebrow at that. “For someone who’s been denounced as a horrendous flirt on basically every website that’s said a damn thing about him, he seems like a pretty decent guy.”

Courtney shrugged. “Yeah, the same way famous celebrities are ‘decent people’ just because they give to charities. We all know it’s for the sake of publicity and tax cuts.”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re kind of cynical?”

“Says the editor at a publishing house who thinks all editors are assholes,” she countered mildly.

I grinned. “Must be why we’re still friends.”

“It’s the only explanation,” she agreed. Glancing at her wristwatch, she looked away from her phone and back up at me. “Seriously, though. Be careful around him. He may be a dick since you’re a woman. Guys like that think they’re entitled to sleep with any woman just because she has tits and other such lady parts.”

“Lady parts?” I laughed.

She waved me off. “You know what I mean. Just watch yourself.”

“Don’t worry. I can hold my own with the boys, you know that.”

Courtney gave a single nod. “Yeah, I know. Just giving you the heads-up. Give me a call if you want me to throw his ass out, though.”

I smiled at her, actually touched by her concern. There weren’t a lot of people important to me in my life now, but Courtney had managed to stick with me for a long time. It was good to have someone on your side.

Courtney looked back at her phone as she left, and I waited for Parker to show up for our meeting.

I didn’t have to wait long.

Right on time, Trent Parker walked into my office at exactly one o’clock, looking like someone who had just stepped off a GQ magazine. He was dressed nicely in a fitted suit, the color a shimmery, dark charcoal that should have been too flashy but worked well on him. He had paired it with a dark purple tie and a pair of shiny loafers. There was a single earring stud in his right ear, and his lashes were long enough that he could have been wearing makeup but probably wasn’t.

“Mr. Parker, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” I greeted with a smile, coming around from my desk to shake hands with him.

He accepted my proffered hand and grinned at me, his teeth white and straight, contrasting nicely with his darker complexion. “Marnie McKenna, I presume?”

I nodded. “Yes, sir. Please, have a seat?” I gestured to the large comfy chair in front of my desk.

“Thanks.”

He sat down and I went back around to the other side of my desk. I shuffled the papers nervously once out of habit, then set them down and folded my hands neatly over the top of them.

“Thank you for coming,” I told him sincerely. I didn’t want him to know how desperate I was for this meeting to go well, but I wanted him to know that this meeting was important on some level. That was how it went with clients. You had to find that happy medium where you told them they were special little snowflakes but didn’t tell them that they were the only special little snowflake.

“Thank you for having me.” He paused a beat, then threw a thumb over his shoulder, pointing toward the door. “Was that Courtney Hughes at the desk there?”

I blinked. He’s asking about my secretary? “Uh, yes, it is. She’s been with us a long time, and if you’re thinking of stealing her for yourself, I’m afraid I’ll have to fight you for her.”

He laughed, loud and hearty. “Well, I’ll keep that in mind. She seems very capable.”

I gave a single nod. “She is. And I’m serious about not letting her go.”

He held up his hands defensively, smiling. “I’ll have to assume she’s not part of the negotiations, then.”

“No, sir, not today.” I was a little surprised that he was talking about Courtney, but I didn’t push it. I wouldn’t let him derail me. “But I do have an offer ready for you, if you’d like to look it over.”

I slid the stack of papers across the table toward him.

“Eager, aren’t you?” he commented as he accepted the contract I’d spent the whole night working on.

I smiled blandly at him. “We like to make sure that we have some options on the table when we meet with first-time clients.”

“Potential client,” he corrected, skimming through the contract.

I clenched my teeth beneath my smile, my jaw twitching. I needed to sign him, but I couldn’t let him see how badly. He was the kind of man who knew when he had the leverage, and I wasn’t going to be the idiot to tell him he could ask for just about anything and I’d give it to him. “Of course,” I said simply.

It took him a moment to look over the contract, but finally he put it down and looked across the desk at me. “This is a decent offer,” he told me.

My smile turned a little more genuine. “Of course. You’re not a first-time author, and there’s a high probability that your novel will sell very well here.”

“It will sell very well. No matter where I go.”

I kept my smile in place, though it felt brittle, and tried not to let him faze me. “However, our resources can get your work out to a lot more readers than the average Joe—even if your book will sell regardless.”

I leaned back in my chair, crossing my legs at the knees in an effort to appear cool and confident.

He silently considered me for a moment, then said, “I want full e-book rights. And I want input on the cover. The last place walked all over that cover, and all of a sudden there’s a dude with a gun like that’s all that matters.” He rolled his eyes in irritation. “And I retain the right to say no to any and all edits I disagree with.”

Is he out of his fucking mind? I can’t give him that!

But my expression didn’t change. I remained cool and calm, unflappable. This was about negotiating. It was only a preliminary meeting, and I wasn’t going to let his demands ruffle my feathers—no matter how much I needed this contract.

“S&W retains e-book publishing rights for five years, you can choose whatever cover you want, and we can negotiate on hard and soft edits,” I countered, keeping my voice firm but light. It was important not to go too hard with people, especially men, because they got offended when a woman was a shark. But if you were too soft, too sweet with them, they thought you couldn’t play hardball. It was a delicate balance, but I’d mastered it over the years.

Parker considered me from across the desk. He didn’t seem offended by my counteroffer, but he didn’t seem sold on it either. “One year e-book publishing rights, complete cover autonomy, and no drastic edits to the main premise or plot.”

Now we’re getting somewhere.

“How about you retain one year of free publishing e-book rights, then they revert back to us for the next five years? You can still have your cover—we’ll even offer an additional e-book cover to use for your independent publishing with only a minimal copyright agreement—and I agree to no drastic edits unless there is a significant plot hole, or something nefarious that goes against our publishing code. However, you agree to allow for basic changes, sentence edits—for the sake of clarity—and trust that I know grammar better than you do.”

He lifted an eyebrow at that last one, but I saw him grin slightly. “Do you?”

I nodded once. “I assure you, I do.”

He shrugged. “All right, I’ll take your word for that last one. I want exclusive movie and TV series rights,” he continued, jumping back into the negotiation.

I thought it over. Although that was a big one with the potential to make a lot of money, most authors weren’t interested in giving up those particular rights. It was where they stood to make the most money. Although S&W would love to get their hands on the movie rights for one of Parker’s books—the money to be made on that was a guaranteed gold mine—I hadn’t expected to even have them on the table. The e-book rights were the biggest thing. The market was shifting more toward the digital medium than the paperback, and it was cheaper to produce for us as well.

But I wasn’t going to just give Parker anything. I wanted him to work for it so he appreciated it more—and so he’d be more pliable when I threw another option at him.

“How about we retain the rights for making a movie for the first two years and—”

“No deal,” he said instantly, shaking his head. “I keep the movie rights or I walk right now.”

I sighed internally but didn’t show my annoyance at being cut off. “All right. But only if you agree to not sell the rights to a producer for the first two years. After that, we’ll look at sales again and work with you to determine the best time for a movie production.”

He considered that. “One year.”

I shrugged. “I’ll see what I can do; talk it over with my boss.”

He nodded, agreeing to the discussion and nothing more. I was about to bring the discussion back around to the e-book rights, but before I got the chance, his phone went off. He held up a single finger at me, indicating for me to wait, and then pulled out his phone. He checked the screen, then sighed.

“Sorry, I’m going to have to cut our meeting short,” he apologized. “This is important.”

I frowned just a little, the only indication that I wasn’t entirely happy with how things were going, but I recovered quickly. Standing, I reached across the table to shake his hand again. He grasped my hand firmly.

“Thank you for meeting with me, Mr. Parker. Please, stop by my secretary’s desk so that you can schedule another meeting at your convenience.”

He smiled at me and nodded. “Will do. Thank you for your time, Ms. McKenna.”

As he turned and left, I stood there thinking, I really fucked this up, didn’t I?

 

 

Trent

 

I knew before I got the call from Callum that I wasn’t going to sign with S&W Publishing. Although the Marnie woman seemed like she had her shit together, I understood that S&W was the last place I wanted to be. Even if they met my every demand and paid me one hell of an advance, I wasn’t going to give in. It was a principle thing more than anything else.

So when Marnie told me to stop by her secretary’s desk and make an appointment for later, I was thinking about how I was absolutely not going to do that.

Then I walked past her desk and saw her sitting there.

Courtney Hughes.

I’d pictured a modelesque woman with fake tits and perfectly done makeup. What I got was a classy woman who probably didn’t come up to my damn elbows with deliberately 1940s curled hair and bright red, matte lipstick.

She wasn’t what I’d imagined, but she was twice as fucking sexy.

Beneath that pretty, perfectly modest dress she wore, I could see she had the curves of a goddess, and she had that soft tan that suggested she spent just a few minutes every day getting some sun.

Fucking sexy.

I smiled broadly as I approached her, propping my hip up on the edge of her desk. “Hey, there.”

She didn’t look up from her computer. “Can I help you, sir?”

“Please, call me Trent.” Or Malcom, I thought but definitely did not say.

That got her attention. She raised an eyebrow at me, slowly turning so that she was facing me with a blank, unimpressed expression. “Can I help you, sir?” she repeated deliberately.

I swallowed. Ooh, feisty. I like it. “I’m Trent Parker.”

“I know who you are, sir. I directed you to Ms. McKenna’s office, remember?”

I laughed lightly. “Yeah, good point. I just thought I could introduce myself officially.”

“Of course, sir. Good to meet you.”

She went back to typing on her computer.

I hadn’t been intending to set up another meeting. Seriously. I was just going to flirt a little bit, get her number, then pop out the door without another fucking to-do with the damn publisher. But now she wasn’t flirting back, like she was fucking immune to my charms, and I was wondering what the hell I’d done to offend her so.

“I…” I trailed off, no idea what to say to get this woman to open up to me. Damn, usually they just fall open—usually at the legs. “I was told to stop by and make a second appointment with you. Can you do that for me?”

She pursed those ruby-red lips together but sighed after a moment. “Of course, sir. What’s a good time for you?”

I smiled. “For you? Anytime is a good time.”

She raised an eyebrow at me, unimpressed. “I have a slot available next week in the morning. Ten o’clock.”

“Does that include coffee with you?”

“No,” she said flatly.

I almost laughed at how completely uninterested she was in me. I briefly considered telling her that I was the Malcom she spoke with over the phone and that she owed me a damn favor, but I quickly dismissed it. I wanted to save that little favor for later when it might do me more good.

I just need a little more time with her, get her to warm up to me, I thought.

“All right. Next week. Ten o’clock.”

“That’s Thursday. Don’t be late,” she told me, then typed something into her computer. Next she grabbed a card from the drawer in her desk—I saw pink sticky notes, gel pens, and something that looked like a pineapple bobblehead.

She quickly used one of her gel pens to scribble a quick note on the card, and then she handed it to me. I accepted it from her and used the opportunity to grab hold of her hand. Before she had the chance to jerk it free of my grip, I pressed my lips to her soft knuckles, kissing her hand softly.

She froze, caught off guard by that. “Uh…”

I grinned, releasing her hand. “It’s been my pleasure, Ms. Hughes.”

I walked away then, taking pleasure in the fact that I’d thrown her off like that. I decided that was how I would win her over. All I had to do was keep her on her toes.

This is going to be fun.

Chapter Six

Callum

 

I’d pulled out all the stops and used the limo to ambush Trent outside of S&W Publishing, their main Seattle office towering into the sky like some iron-and-glass monstrosity. They were new, they were modern, and they were greedy.

It pissed me the fuck off.

Impatiently, I waited in the back of the limo, tapping my shoes on the floor of the car, and peeked out the tinted windows every five goddamned seconds as I waited for that asshole.

I checked my wristwatch for the second time in two minutes and glanced at my phone again to see if he’d called or sent another message. Of course he hadn’t. The last one still said he was leaving a meeting and would meet me downstairs in a minute.

“Goddamnit, you asshole,” I muttered angrily to myself.

Finally, when I glanced up again, I saw him strolling out of S&W like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Well, I’m about to give him a fucking care, I thought angrily.

I popped open the door and called to him, “Get in already.” Then I scooted over across the seat to make room. After a moment, Trent slid in next to me. He was dressed in one of his nicer suits, complete with the purple tie he used to impress, and the whole thing pissed me off even more.

“Aren’t you all dolled up,” I grouched.

He grinned at me. “You like it? I’ll start wearing it more often for you, sweetheart.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, then cut through the bullshit. “What the fuck are you doing at S&W Publishing?”

His grin slid off his face like melted butter. He leaned back in the seat, putting his left arm along the back of the seat. Then he shrugged. “I told you, I was in a meeting. Which you rudely interrupted.”

“Should’ve turned off your phone, then,” I snapped angrily at him. “What the fuck?”

“What is your problem?”

“My problem is that you just went to another publishing house to discuss publishing your new book with them!” I couldn’t help how angry I was, even if I wanted to. Because it wasn’t just that he’d gone somewhere else to publish—he’d been doing that from the beginning, and we both agreed that it wasn’t a big deal. He wanted to break out on his own. I didn’t want to have to mix business with pleasure, or displeasure depending on how the friendship was swinging that week.

Trent looked over at me, his features serious. He was cool as a cucumber, which told me that he wasn’t kidding around. “Our relationship is purely platonic—and there’s no damn business involved. It’s always been that way, and that’s why it’s worked out.”

He paused for a long moment, possibly waiting for me to get mad enough for my fucking head to explode. Then he grinned, just a little, and said, “Besides, it’s important to keep my options open.”

That cheeky, fucking bastard, I thought.

Gritting my teeth, I tried hard to keep calm as I shot back, “Fine. Options, great, what the fuck ever. But did it have to be with S&W Publishing? The only company out there that’s owned by my ex-college piece-of-shit roommate? Seriously?”

Trent grimaced at that, for the first time since sliding into the limo with me looking slightly apologetic. “Yeah, sorry about that. But I got this call—”

I interrupted him. “I don’t care about any fucking call! Jesus, Trent! You could have gone anywhere. I’ll give you a list of ten different publishing houses right now that would treat you right. But you cannot choose S&W Publishing over Tarvish. Do you know what that’ll do to my reputation? ‘Best friend of Tarvish owner goes to rival company, S&W. Is Tarvish tanking?’”

Trent rolled his eyes at me. “You’re so dramatic. Tarvish is not going to tank just because I didn’t sign with you.”

“No. It’ll tank because I can’t even make a good enough deal to get my best friend to sign with me.”

I let those words sink in, desperately wanting him to understand that I didn’t care if he didn’t sign with me—so long as he didn’t sign with them.

Finally, Trent sighed. “Look, you know the deal,” he began, turning in his seat slightly to better face me. “This is a friendship, not a business relationship. What I’m working on with S&W is business.” He paused there, making a face like maybe he wasn’t sure that was a hundred percent true, and suddenly I was wondering if there was something else going on that he wasn’t telling me. But he continued before I could press it. “These are two different things. You want this to be business? You’d better do it right.”

I stared at him like he’d just grown a second head. I wanted to tell him he was such an ass for making this into a formal thing, especially when I didn’t even give a damn about fucking signing him! I just didn’t want him to sign with S&W.

But he’d made himself pretty damn clear on the whole thing. If I wanted to get Trent away from S&W, then I was going to have to pitch him a deal—and it had better be a doozy.

Groaning, I slumped back in my seat. “Fine, you asshole.”

He grinned at me, enjoying his small victory.

“We’ll do brunch. Next Thursday.”

“Perfect,” he agreed and I had the limo drive him home. I spent the entire time wanting to smack that canary-eating grin right off his smug face.

Bastard.

Chapter Seven

Marnie

 

A week after my initial meeting with Trent Parker, I found myself sitting in my office trying to balance a pencil on my nose. I was supposed to be in a meeting with the aforementioned Mr. Parker, but instead all I was doing was leaving graphite stains on my nose.

He was almost an hour late, and with a sigh, I had to finally accept that I’d been stood up.

Funny, getting stood up doesn’t feel any better in a business scenario than it does in a relationship one.

After one last failed attempt at balancing my pencil on my nose, I tossed it aside and stood. Maybe I’d gotten the time or the date wrong. Maybe there had been a message for me about him being late or canceling or rescheduling. Maybe there was one goddamned mothereffing reason for why he was not here right this damn second.

Shoving the door open, I found Courtney at her desk. She was typing away rapidly at her keyboard, not even so much as glancing up at me. That was how she was. Focused, hard-working, she often ignored you if she deemed you unworthy of her attention in that exact moment.

“What. The. Ever-loving. Hell?” I demanded, coming to stand right in front of her desk, my hands on my full hips.

“What the hell what?” she repeated back to me, still not glancing up from her keyboard. She was one hell of a typist.

“Where is he? I mean, he made a damn appointment, right?”

Some part of me knew that I was being a royal bitch to Courtney and she likely didn’t deserve it, but I couldn’t help it. This was the biggest deal of my life and if I didn’t make it stick, then I could wave that pretty little promotion goodbye. And when you waved one promotion goodbye, it was like a death sentence. Suddenly, people like Gary down the hall were getting your new clients. And Gary was being told what a go-getter he was. And Gary was getting that fucking beautiful corner office that had my goddamned mothereffing name on it!

So, yes, I was being a little bitchy.

Finally, Courtney paused in her writing and shifted to look at me. She frowned a little, considering me for a moment. Finally, she held up a single finger and said, “First, stop being a dick to me. I haven’t done anything wrong.” Putting up a second finger, she added, “Second, I don’t know what the hell is going on. Mr. Parker stopped at my desk after your meeting, and we set up an appointment. I told him ten on Thursday—the following week, meaning the meeting was set for today. I even wrote him a stupid little reminder card just in case he was too much of a prick to remember important dates on his own.” She held up a third finger. “Finally, he’s fucking sexy—did you see that man? But he’s a cocky prick, and I didn’t succumb to his charm.”

My shoulders slumped at this information—well, the part about him stopping by to make the appointment, not the him being sexy bit. I hadn’t realized how much I was hoping that we’d just messed something clerical up until she’d confirmed that we hadn’t.

Which I knew. Courtney doesn’t make mistakes.

“Damn it,” I muttered. “Sorry, Court. I’d really been hoping—”

“That you could throw me under the bus?” she said, leaning back in her chair. Today she was wearing burgundy, which went well with her blonde hair, the contrast making her lips and eyes pop. Her heels were taller than mine, I knew, and she still only came up to my shoulders when we were standing side by side, but she pulled the whole thing off well.

Sighing, I shrugged a little and offered an apologetic smile. “I’m a dick.”

She waited a beat, then said, “Yeah, you are. But I know how much you want this contract.”

I sat on the edge of her desk as I groaned. “No shit. This would be it for me, you know? A corner office. Partner. I mean, that is the fucking dream, right?”

Courtney nodded. “Yeah, it is. For you, anyway.”

“I really am sorry. I should’ve known you didn’t fuck up. You never do.”

“No, I really don’t,” she confirmed, patting her curls. Today her hair was mostly up, rolled along the bottom so that it sat in a single thick curl at the base of her neck. “What are we gonna do about our no-show?”

Sighing, I considered my options. I could just give up and let him swim away to somewhere else, which would mean losing my partnership and everything I’d worked for. Option number two was to beg him to come back by giving him everything he wanted, which wasn’t a great way to do business and would probably get me into a lot of trouble. Or option number three…

Slowly, a smile slipped across my lips.

“Uh-oh,” Courtney said upon seeing it. “Dare I ask what you’ve just come up with?”

“Nothing against the rules,” I informed her. “Yet.”

She snorted indelicately. “Yet. All right, I’ll bite. What’s the plan, boss?”

“I want you to call that agent of his—Malcom or whatever his name was—and get the lowdown on his schedule. I want to know first who he ditched me for, then I want to know the deets on why he left his last publisher.”

Courtney raised her eyebrows at me. “I’m not sure how forthcoming he’ll be with that information.”

I waved off her concern. “Work your magic. You’ve already got the guy wrapped around your pinky finger or Parker never would have showed up for the first meeting. I want information and I think this Malcom guy is going to be the place to get it from.”

Courtney shrugged but agreed. “Okay. I make no promises, but I’ll get ahold of him and see what I can do.”

“Thanks, Court. You’re the best.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Just remember that the next time you go all Bitchinator on me—and when bonuses roll around.”

I laughed at her. “Honey, please. When have you ever not gotten a bonus from me?”

“True. Just make sure that it keeps coming.”

She winked at me then, letting me know that if I got fired that day and she was suddenly stuck with a new boss, she wouldn’t hold it against me. Hell, she’d probably follow me into the unknown. Courtney was loyal like that.

Reaching for her phone, she quickly dialed a number. It rang for a while, and I waited quietly as someone eventually picked up.

“Hello, Mr. Resner, this is Courtney Hughes from S&W Publishing.” She paused, then I thought I saw her blush slightly. “Malcom, sorry.”

I raised my eyebrows at her. First-name basis? I mouthed, but she ignored me.

“I was actually calling because Mr. Parker had an appointment set up in my office here for today—an hour ago.”

She waited for his response, and I wished desperately that I could hear what he was saying on the other end. I felt like I had ants in my pants, that was how impatient I was, and the short conversation Courtney was having was eating me alive.

When Courtney winced, I instantly sat up straighter. “What?” I whispered. “What happened?”

She waved me off, frowning as she tried to concentrate on what this Malcom guy was saying to her. After a moment, she said, “I see. No, I don’t think that’ll be necessary. I’ll get ahold of you if there’s further information we need to discuss.” She paused, and then I swore I saw her blush again. “Yes, you, too.”

She hung up then and looked up at me. She offered me a sympathetic smile, which was definitely not a good thing. “I’m sorry, Marnie. But Malcom said he was in a meeting—with another publisher.”

“God damn him!”

I shot up off the desk angrier than I’d been in years. This was my one shot at partner, and that jackass Parker was screwing it all up! “Who the fuck with?”

“You’re not going to like it,” she told me briefly.

I threw up my arms dramatically at her. “I already don’t like it!”

She sighed. “Tarvish Press.”

And just like that, everything came to a crashing, tumbling, and burning halt. “Tarvish Press.”

There were a lot of publishing houses out there these days. In addition to the big seven, there were hundreds of subsidiaries, and God knew how many indie publishing houses that were trying to break into the market and make a name for themselves. But there was only one place that I hated more than anything else on this planet, and that was Tarvish Press. He could have gone to Shit-And-Swine Publishing for all I cared, but to lose this contract to Tarvish?

No. I couldn’t allow it. I’d rather eat glass.

“I want to know who he was meeting with. I want to know what they talked about. I want dirty laundry in the hamper, and I want it now.”

Courtney didn’t even argue with me about how much of a bitch I was being nor did she try to get me to calm down. Instead, she just nodded and turned to her computer. She started typing away to get what dirt she could find.

We’ll find something. Some kind of leverage. I’m not going down without a fight, not to some bastard, old-money company like Tarvish.

This meant war.

Chapter Eight

Marnie

 

Courtney was working on getting the lowdown on who exactly Parker had been meeting with at Tarvish Press while I tried to do a little work of my own. Besides my regular clients—whom I had to deal with in a moderate capacity today—I had one manuscript to finish proofing and a report to send up to Dorian. Thank God it wasn’t a report on the Parker project, because I didn’t want to flat out lie to Dorian, but I wasn’t about to tell him how poorly things were going. I at least wanted the chance to fuck things up grandly on my own.

But once I got the report done and the manuscript sent back to the author, I started in on my real work. Digging into the closet of Tarvish Press.

I started with a simple internet search. Who was Tarvish Press? What were their policies? How many people did they deal with regularly? All of it was basic, almost trivial information, but I wanted to be armed with ammunition against Tarvish when I tried to win Parker over to the dark side.

Once I had their foundation down, I started to dig further.

Who had they screwed? How many books had they published that were lemons? How many covers looked like the drawings of four-year-olds and fanboys? How many customers ragged on them?

I brought up articles about Tarvish, their wins and their failures. How many times they’d gone bankrupt—which, admittedly, wasn’t many—and how many times they’d had to push back paying their clients.

I even did basic searches on their intern programs, their hiring policies, and how much women made versus men. Because you never know. I highly doubted someone like Parker would be swayed by the plights of women, but I’d take any point to argue just then. I didn’t even care if Parker signed with me so long as I didn’t lose him to fucking Tarvish Press!

Okay, not true, I thought, closing out of a bogus article about the Tarvish owner requiring all female employees to get breast implants. Definitely something fashioned from the rumor mill. I definitely want Parker to sign with us, but if I have to lose him, I won’t lose him to the one publishing house out there that will get my ass fired.

Because Dorian would fire me over that. It wouldn’t matter how much he thought I was a great editor or how good I was with difficult customers. He would 110 percent fire me. He hated the owner of Tarvish that much.

Gathering up my notes, I headed out of my office to sit on the corner of Courtney’s desk again. “Did you know that the Tarvish owner—something Reid—was sleeping with a married model while vacationing in Paris with his dying mother? I mean, who does that?”

Courtney snorted. “Guys do that. And at the risk of defending one, you know that’s probably a bogus story, right?”

I shrugged. “Yeah, probably. It’s still pretty juicy, though.”

Shaking her head a little, she eyed my butt planted on her papers. “Why don’t you just get a damn chair so you can stop sitting on my desk?”

Without looking up from my papers, I deadpanned, “Because that would encourage people to stay and sit.”

“You’re such a sociable person.”

“That’s me, social butterfly.”

“Well, Ms. Social Butterfly, I have some information for you—and you’re definitely not going to like it.”

That got my attention. I looked up from the papers I was going over to stare at Courtney. “Tear it off like a Band-Aid.”

“You want me to take as much leg hair with it as humanly possible?” she quipped.

I shot her a glare. “Just give it to me, will you?”

Clearing her throat, she said, “We all know Tarvish Press is run by billionaire son Mr. Callum Reid.”

“Callum,” I muttered. “I couldn’t think of that damn name.”

Ignoring me, she continued. “There are all sorts of rumors about him—he likes to fool around with models, for instance—most about his personal life, but there’s a ton on his business practices, too. He’s a real shark.”

I nodded. None of this was news to me thanks to Dorian’s rants about him and my own research just now.

“All of that isn’t really our concern,” she continued. “Except for one tiny detail that is going to majorly screw us.”

“Which is?” I prompted.

She hesitated, then winced and just told me. “The guy who’s trying to sign Trent Parker from Tarvish Press? It’s the owner of Tarvish Press.”

I felt my jaw drop a little and the blood rush from my face. Seriously? How did this even happen? It wasn’t unheard of for owners of publishing houses to sign people. That was common practice, as much as editors like me signing them. In fact, in indie houses, that was almost exclusively the case. Mostly that was due to a complete lack of staff, but that wasn’t the point.

What was the point? That it was just my fucking luck that I’d get railroaded by the one place that my boss would kill me over by the one guy who wouldn’t be bought off.

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

She shook her head. “And that’s not all.”

“But wait! There’s more!” I quoted, using my best game show host voice.

She ignored my sarcasm, mostly, I think, because she knew that whatever she was about to say to me was going to devastate my entire fucking life. And I didn’t want to think about it. But I nodded once to tell her to go ahead.

“The reason that Callum Reid is trying to sign Trent Parker is because they’ve known each other for years. They were best friends in high school.”

And just like that, the last hope I had of signing Trent Parker went down the drain. I was toast. I was shit on toast. I was bird shit on burnt toast. There was no salvaging this project… was there?

Putting my big-girl panties on, I turned to Marnie. “Get me his number. I mean, his number. I want to get as close to Callum Reid as humanly possible.”

“You want to call him?” Courtney asked with a raised brow. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

“Hell if I know, but I figure I’m screwed anyway. Might as well go for broke, right?”

She considered this for half a second, then shrugged. “You got it boss.”

I nodded my head in gratitude. This wasn’t over. It took Courtney only a few minutes to get Mr. Reid’s number. Although his personal number wasn’t listed publicly, there was an office number where he could be reached, and while I was sure I’d have to go through a secretary—probably some bimbo he hired for her fake tits rather than her skill—I was willing to use that as a starting place at the very least.

Snatching the number from Courtney, I quickly dialed him. It rang several times, then a strong, masculine voice came over the other end. “Tarvish Press, this is Callum Reid speaking.”

I was surprised to find that it was Mr. Reid himself answering, but also that I couldn’t help but think his voice was strangely familiar. I tried to think when I might have heard it—on a TV spot or a podcast, maybe—but couldn’t come up with anything.

I didn’t linger on it. “This is Marnie McKenna of S&W Publishing. I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind meeting me for a quick chat.”

There was a beat, then, “Ms. McKenna, unless you are thinking of abandoning your contract with the devil to come over and work for me, I’m afraid I’m going to have to pass on a meeting. I’m a busy man.”

My eyes narrowed as I pictured a sniveling little weasel of a man sitting in an oversized desk chair while he had his big-busted secretary prance around in a negligée.

Bastard.

“I really must insist—” I began, but he quickly interrupted me.

“I do apologize, Ms. McKenna. I hate to be rude”—I highly doubted that—“ but I’ve got some pressing matters to attend to. You have a nice day.”

And before I could get another word out, he’d hung up the phone.

I pulled the phone away from my face and stared at it long and hard. “That bastard hung up on me.”

Courtney, who had been watching me the whole time, raised both her eyebrows at me. “Wow, what a dick.”

“I know! What an asshole.”

I was so pissed off right then that I had half a mind to march down to Tarvish Press and give him a piece of my mind in person—then I realized that I probably wouldn’t make it into the damn elevator, much less to his office, so I quickly reconsidered.

And that was when I got a better idea.

Turning to Courtney again, I smiled silkily at her. “Court, my dear, I need another favor.”

She sighed. “Man, I’m earning my keep today.”

I nodded. “Yep. I want you to find out one more thing about Callum Reid.”

“What’s that? And please don’t say preferred bust size, because I do not want to deal with the kind of crazy articles we’ll get as a result.”

I waved off her comment. “Nope. I want to know where he likes to have a drink after work. I think I’m going to pay him a visit.”

Chapter Nine

Callum

 

I loosened my tie and ruffled my hair a little, trying to unwind after the day. It had been a doozy, thanks to my asshole friend Trent.

That bastard’s really going to make me work for it, I thought grudgingly.

It wasn’t like that was a surprise, but you would think that he’d understand my position on S&W. They were the bane of my existence—didn’t that warrant a little discretion on his part, then? But no. The asshole was still going to meet with them while I was trying to woo him like some medieval matching ritual.

The whole thing irked me.

Let it go, I tried to tell myself. He’s doing this deliberately to piss you off.

That was probably the truth about the whole thing. Trent didn’t like to just hand things to people on silver platters, because he’d never had such opportunities himself. It had been a fluke that the two of us had ever crossed paths, and we were so different that it was a bigger fluke that we were friends.

And I was at least partially willing to admit that that made him a hell of a good guy. Not that I was ever going to tell him that, especially while he was jerking me around like this.

I took the limo that night so that I could go to the bar and get wasted at my discretion. It wasn’t something I did often, but I figured I’d earned it today.

Trent was playing hardball.

Alexander, my driver, dropped me off outside the White Wave Lounge, a classier joint than its name indicated. It was a little place tucked into a boring brick building façade with a door slapped on the front that looked about as inviting as a sword-wielding Cambodian lady—in other words, not at all.

But once you got past that rickety old door and went down the steps, it was a whole different world down there. Soft lighting, plush burgundy couches, hand-carved wooden tables, and a bar. And a liquor selection that would make even the most expert of drinkers gasp in awe.

It was a ritzy place without catering to the ignorant, the uninitiated, or the unadventurous. It was my kind of place.

I thanked Alexander and reminded him to be on standby for whenever I called. “It’ll probably be a late night,” I told him.

He nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ll be here.”

I headed down the concrete stairs and met the bouncer at the entrance. I showed him my ID for formality’s sake only. He recognized me and even greeted me by name. “There’s space at the bar, Mr. Reid, but a table is tucked in the back left corner if you’d like it. Just ask the bartender.”

“Thanks, Kellen.”

“Of course, Mr. Reid.”

I headed inside and saw that, while there were plenty of customers there, things were calm. The tables along the walls were mostly occupied, several chairs even pulled up to accommodate additional guests, but Kellen was right. There were several available seats at the bar. The bar went nearly the entire length of the back wall, with a mirror reflecting the tables and chairs in front of it so that it looked like the entire place was twice its actual size. Bottles were lined right in front of the mirror, making the whole place look almost surreal.

I was going to head to that back table, the one tucked away in the corner that I liked so much, but then I spotted her at the bar.

She was dressed in a sleek white dress that was equal parts elegant and immodest. It covered her rear and those long, long legs, but her back was exposed in a deep v that was low enough that I knew she wasn’t wearing panties—or a bra. Her back was to me, so all I could see was the way her hair spilled over her shoulder on one side, with long auburn locks that were deliberately curled for that evening. But I noticed the freckles that dotted her back and the curve of her hips.

A slow smile spread across my face. Shoving my hands into my pockets, I approached the woman. When I slid into a stool beside her, I leaned across the bar and said, “What are the odds that we’d meet again?”

When she turned to look at me and I caught sight of her heart-shaped face, I knew I was right. I did recognize her. She was the same woman from the convention—the one who never called me.

She smiled sweetly at me, her lips painted with a matte red that made her look like she stepped out of a 1950s pinup ad. Fucking sexy.

“I’d say they were pretty good,” she told me in a low, sultry tone that did wonderful things to my cock.

“Oh? I figured when I didn’t hear from you that you’d decided you weren’t interested in working for Tarvish Press.”

She laughed, a sweet sound that was a mix of wind chimes and something thicker. “Oh, honey, I’m not.”

My eyebrows rose high on my head. “I feel like I’m dancing with a partner who knows different steps.”

“It happens when you don’t know what dance you’re supposed to be doing,” she told me simply.

“Maybe we should start over,” I said, feeling confused. She was sexy as hell, but she wasn’t making much sense. “I’m Callum—”

“Reid. Owner of Tarvish Press,” she finished for me with a raised brow and a sneaky little smile. “I know who you are.”

I frowned a little. Although I wasn’t unknown to the world, it was rare that I had people just call me out, saying they knew who I was. That was Trent’s territory, and I was happy to leave him to it. But on occasion I ended up in the media, usually for some ridiculous scandal that wasn’t my fault. Or only half my fault, anyway.

“I see,” I said cautiously. “Then I guess the question is, who are you?”

She turned to fully face me, showing that the front of her dress did an excellent job of covering everything and hiding nothing. The collar of the dress was at her neck, but there was a deep dip of a v that cut between her breasts. The material there was flesh colored and mesh, giving me a really nice glimpse of the inner sides of her tits, which I happened to think were marvelous. Her dress had sleeves down to her wrists, with some kind of embroidered design at the edges that I couldn’t bother myself with. I was too focused on the way that damn dress clung to her body.

Jesus, it looks like it was fucking glued on.

“Don’t you recognize me?” she asked innocently.

I kicked the corner of my mouth up in a smile. “Honey, how could I forget a body like that?”

She laughed again. “Aren’t you charming?”

“I certainly hope so.”

“Mm. Well, this would probably go more in your favor if you’d just agreed to a meeting.”

And once again we were back into the territory of what the fuck was she talking about. “As I recall, I gave you my card. Doesn’t that mean it was on you to set up a meeting?”

“Oh, but I tried to, remember? I called your office today as a matter of fact.”

My brow pinched, my smirk dropping. “What are you talking about? Did you get my secretary? I didn’t get any messages.”

“No, I spoke directly with you. You don’t remember?”

“Like I said, I’m sure I’d remember—”

I broke off as things finally clicked. Her voice was familiar, and while it could have just been that convention, I didn’t think so. Because I did get a call at work that day. And I did speak to a woman who asked for a meeting with me that same day.

Jesus fucking Christ. You’ve got to be kidding me, I thought, staring at the gorgeous, sultry woman sitting in front of me like she’d suddenly grown a second head.

“Tell me you’re not Marnie McKenna from S&W Publishing.”

Her smile turned wicked. “Look, folks, he’s finally catching on. Such a smart man.” Her sarcasm was venomous, and she finally dropped that smile a second later.

Leaning back on my stool, I motioned for the bartender. When he came over to me and asked what I wanted, I said, “A scotch, neat.”

“Yes, sir.”

The bartender pulled out a tumbler and poured a shot of the good stuff off the bar, then pushed it in front of me.

“Thanks,” I told him. Lifting the glass in a toast to the lovely pain in my ass Ms. McKenna, I downed the shot. Then I had the bartender pour me another. This one I sipped on.

McKenna waited patiently for me to down my first drink and to mull over just what was going on right here.

After a moment, I sighed. “So you’re the editor who’s trying to sign Trent Parker.”

She nodded. “Yes. And you’re the one who’s trying to steal him away.” She idly ran a hand around the rim of her glass, a half-empty martini by the looks of it.

“Steal him?” I scoffed. “I think you’ve got that backward. From what I can tell, you’re trying to steal him from me.”

“Excuse me? You weren’t even interested in signing him until I started negotiations with him!”

I waved her off. Technically that was true, but I wouldn’t let her have that point. Trent was my friend, not hers—that meant I got first dibs. “Nonsense. We’ve been friends for ages. I knew him when he still had crooked teeth and acne. I doubt you can say the same.”

She grumbled something I couldn’t make out. Louder, she told me, “I don’t have to say the same, because I have integrity.”

“Integrity?” I almost laughed at her then and there.

“Yes, integrity,” she snapped. “Meaning I don’t need to use some long-time friend connections to steal clients away from other publishers. I use my wits and my—”

“Sex appeal?” I suggested, raking my eyes deliberately across her body. God knew she was using it with me. No one wore that kind of dress for a night on the town right after work. This was a setup, and she’d been trying to seduce me.

And nearly succeeded, I admitted, my gaze once more lingering on those lovely tits.

“Asshole,” she told me, turning so that I only saw her profile.

It didn’t help with the staring, though, because she had the perfect breast-and-hip-to-waist ratio, making her look like she was naturally arching her back in ecstasy while all she was doing was sitting there.

“The contract was a great offer, and he’d have accepted it eventually if you hadn’t stepped in,” she snapped at me. Her eyes were like fire as she fixed them on me, but her anger only served to turn me on. It was unprofessional at best, but I couldn’t help being attracted to her.

No harm in looking, I reasoned.

“Highly doubtful,” I told her, taking another sip of my whiskey. “He was indulging you—and I can see why. You’re quite an eyeful.”

She pursed her lips together as her cheeks warmed. Her freckles suddenly stood out better, a little redder than the pale skin around them, and I found the effect… charming. Cute. A-fucking-dorable even. It was stupid; I didn’t do adorable. But for some reason the cute things just added to her overall effect until I found myself wanting to see just where else she had those delicious freckles.

“Honey, if I’d been offering myself, he’d have already taken the damn contract.”

I lifted my eyebrows at her insinuation, imagining what she would look like sprawled out on top of a desk, arching her back just like it was now, legs spread open as she invited me between them.

Yep, I’d have probably thought really hard about signing, too.

“Then I’ll have to hope that’s not your next offer… unless you want to pitch it to me?”

She laughed, and it was breathy this time, telling me that she wasn’t entirely unaffected by the banter between us. “I don’t think you’re as useful to me as Mr. Parker,” she told me simply.

“Oh, I beg to differ.” I leaned closer to her, pushing the boundaries of personal space and definitely going beyond what would be considered appropriate in a business situation. But this wasn’t business, and if she thought it was, she wasn’t paying attention. “I think I’d be plenty useful to you. Just give me a little time and I’ll give you everything you want.”

Her breath hitched, her breasts heaving, and for just a second her eyes were dark pits of wanton lust. I could feel the draw, the slight lean of her body toward mine. She wanted me. Part of her even needed me—and then she promptly slapped her glass down on the table, with half of its contents sloshing over the side.

“I don’t give up, Mr. Reid,” she told me, and while her voice was still husky, it was also firm. Like she wasn’t going to give in to whatever temptation I threw her way.

Damn shame, I couldn’t help but think, even while the more reasonable side of me reminded me that she was working for the enemy. Almost literally.

I didn’t lean back, and I didn’t do anything to hide the heat in my gaze, because I realized that it made her uncomfortable. She didn’t like that she was attracted to me, and damn it all if I wouldn’t play that up. I got off my stool and took a step closer to her. I was tall enough that we were eye level, and I could smell the soft, flowery scent she’d put on mixing in with the subtle hint of woman that drove me fucking nuts. I thought it must be pheromones sent out into the world in an effort to subconsciously attract a mate. It pissed me off, but I loved it, too. There was little that could make you as high as the scent of desire.

“Neither do I, Marnie.” I made a point of saying her name, letting it roll off my tongue in an effort to show her the things I could do, would do if she’d give in.

She shuddered but didn’t pull back. “Too bad for you, Mr. Reid.”

I grinned wolfishly. “May the best man win,” I said pointedly.

She grinned like a cat, slow and languid and predatory. It was fucking sexy. “Never send a man to do a woman’s job.”

“And, baby, there are some jobs only a woman does right,” I told her, dropping my voice even farther. “Want to go someplace and find out which ones?”

I didn’t know what made me ask. Up until this point, I was doing this purely out of a desire to make her uncomfortable—and because she was sexy as hell. But this… this was crossing a line. I should have tried to reach out into the air and snatch those words back, but even if I could have, I wouldn’t. I wanted to see what her answer would be, and a big part of me wanted that answer to be a yes.

“Fraternizing with the enemy?” she all but purred, leaning even closer until I could actually feel the tips of her breasts pressing into my chest.

God. Damn.

“I promise to torture you until you scream,” I growled in answer.

Her lips found their way to my ear, and her breath was a warm caress as she said, “I’ll hold you to that promise.”

She pulled back at the same time that I stepped back. Neither of us moved far. We were simply making room for her to gracefully slip from her stool onto her heels. The additional height put her around my chin.

I took her hand and placed it in the crook of my arm, like we were on a date, like I wasn’t walking her toward the back where there were private rooms so I could fuck her senseless and make good on that promise to hear her scream. The fact that she was so dressed up and I was being so gentlemanly… it made it even hotter.

I leaned over and whispered, “You’re going to leave those heels on while I slide into you.”

Her lips parted slightly as she looked up at me from beneath thick, dark lashes. “Good,” she said simply.

Anticipation did half the work as it ran through my body. The less important, reasonable part of my brain was busy listing all the reasons that this was a horrible idea, but I was ignoring all of them. I wanted her. It didn’t matter if she was a pain in my ass or a ballbuster or anything else. It wasn’t like I wanted to marry her. I just wanted a hell of a time.

I escorted her to the very end of the bar where there was a door with a sign that said PRIVATE in swirling gold lettering. She raised an eyebrow at me as I dug in my pocket for a key.

“You got the keys to the city in there, too?” she teased.

I grinned at her. “I’ve got something in my pants you’ll wanna see.”

I used the key to open the door and slid in. There were a half dozen rooms in the back, usually used for meetings, but occasionally set up for more… intimate affairs like ours. It was a place for discretion and privacy, and only a few club members, like myself, had a key to get into the area. That was half the damn appeal. I didn’t care that I paid extra for it, regardless of the ridiculous bill. Nine times out of ten, I didn’t use it, but tonight it was well worth the price.

Three of the six doors were closed with a red tag hanging on the handle, indicating that they were in use and not to be disturbed. But three were open. I picked the middle one, pulling out my key again.

“The same key works on all the rooms?” she asked.

I glanced at her and noticed that she was staring at the back hallway, looking at the doors and peeking at the room we passed. I had to remind myself that while she was an editor and likely made a decent salary, she wasn’t a billionaire. She likely didn’t come from the same kind of money that my family did. This whole back room probably looked like some Freemason’s secret ritual meeting site.

Winking at her, I answered, “Yep. Anyone caught in a room he isn’t supposed to be in and his membership is automatically revoked.”

She snorted, which was incredibly cute. “Jesus, you guys are on the honor system.”

I pushed open the door and dragged her inside. The room was a private suite, complete with a vanity, couch, and a plush, king-sized bed that I intended to make use of.

“You know what? I’m not even going to ask about the bed.”

I laughed at her. “Good, because I’m not interested in talking anymore.”

I reached for her, grabbing her upper arms, and jerked her back to me. She slammed against my hard chest, her tits pressing against me, soft and begging to be let loose. My hands went to her small waist, traveling lower to find her curvaceous, perfectly round ass. I gave her a squeeze, and she let out a small gasp.

Her hands went around my neck and she tugged me down to her mouth. My lips fitted over hers, pressing hard. My tongue slipped out to slide against the seam of her mouth, demanding entrance.

She offered it to me only for the sake of dueling with my tongue. We battled like it was for our lives. She tasted like olives, mint, and something I couldn’t place, but it might have been just her. Her hands clutched at my neck, then slid up into my hair, gripping the strands harshly. She was aggressive, needy, demanding. I fucking loved it.

My hands gripped her ass tighter, lifting her up easily. She groaned into my mouth, and automatically her legs opened, settling around my hips with one long, shapely leg on either side. There was a long slit in her dress that let her do that, and the result was to expose one smooth leg, baring the skin there up to her panty line.

Which I suddenly noticed she didn’t have. “Jesus,” I said, breaking the kiss. “You’re not wearing any fucking panties.”

“Not with this dress,” she told me simply, then attacked my mouth again.

If my cock hadn’t been hard up to this point—which it had; it had been hard since I’d seen her sitting at that fucking bar—it sure as hell was now. It strained at the fly of my trousers, begging release, and it was both a relief and torture to have Marnie’s core so fucking close.

And there ain’t a scrap of material covering it, I thought. All I had to do was get through that damn dress.

My hands roamed her back, with the bare skin there reminding me that there was no zipper. I carried her over to the bed, because I was impatient and fuck it all if she thought I was going to wait after that little bombshell.

I threw her down onto the bed unceremoniously. She let out an oomph, then a laugh as her breasts bounced and her auburn hair sprawled out beneath her on the pillow. She looked like she belonged on one of those dirty books girls liked to read. All she needed was for her breasts to be spilling out of her top…

And I was more than happy to help with that.

Crawling over her, knee on either side, I reached for the shoulders of her dress, working my fingers beneath the fabric to find bare skin. Then I jerked the material down off her shoulders and down until I’d freed her large, pale breasts. Instantly I fell in love with those tits. Large, but still round and nicely shaped. Her nipples were pink, and I was pleased to see they were hard little pebbles set on the pinkest damn skin I’d ever seen. Fucking perfect.

“Don’t just stare,” she told me, her voice thick with desire, and her eyes flashing with it. “Touch them. Play with them. I believe I was promised torture.”

“You don’t have to twist my arm, baby.”

I reached for her, my hands cupping her large breasts, squeezing them. She moaned as I did so, encouraging me further. Her back arched, shoving her tits farther into my hands eagerly. I grinned down at her, hungry for her pale, freckled flesh. I palmed her tits for a bit before I let my fingers slip up to her nipples. As soon as I flicked a thumb over the pebbled tips, she cried out.

“Sensitive?” I asked, flicking them again.

She moaned loudly and nodded her head.

I pinched her tips between my forefinger and thumb, rolling them carefully, then squeezing them. She cried out at the movement.

Fuck, she’s responsive, I thought.

My cock was straining against my pants, and all I wanted to do was plunge into her balls-deep, but I’d promised her torture. Plus, her fucking tits… they were addictive.

I leaned forward to capture a nipple in my mouth, letting my hand return to cupping her heavy flesh. I fastened my mouth around the hardened nub, getting another groan of approval. Then my tongue laved at the pebble before I sucked on it. Her hands went to my head, gripping my dark hair, holding me to her breast. I grinned into her flesh right before I caught her nipple between my teeth and worried at it.

“Jesus,” she said, her voice strained.

I bit her just a little, not hard enough to cause much in the way of pain, but like a pinch, just to let her know I was there. Not that she needed the reminder. My tongue instantly went over it to soothe the bite, and she writhed beneath me.

“Fuck, are you going to take off your damn pants or what?” she demanded, half panting, and all I’d done was fondle her tits.

I sucked once more on her nipple before pulling away. “Impatient?”

She groaned. “Damn it, yes!”

I chuckled a little at how demanding she was and how bad she was at waiting. But my hands went to my trousers just the same, because the truth was, I was feeling pretty damn impatient myself. I popped open the button, then slid down my zipper. My cock sprang free, hard and pulsing already, begging to plunge into her unknown.

Marnie looked down the length of her own body to see my jutting cock. I felt her shudder beneath me and saw her lick her lips. I briefly considered offering her a mouthful, but I was too close already. I felt like I might pop if those red, red lips slipped around my dick and swallowed me.

Fuck, but I might not get another chance.