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Love in Lust by Kayla C. Oliver (21)

Signing Him (Bonus)

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.

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