Mr. Write

by Monica James

  All she says is true, but I have an ace up my sleeve. Gerry Williams.

  When a lopsided smirk which can be labeled as nothing but trouble tugs at Carrie’s lips, I know she too has an ace in the hole. “Oh, dove.” I lean forward, relishing in her small intake of breath. “You are positively evil. Please share whatever diabolical thoughts you have racing around that pretty little head of yours.”

  She licks her lips, closing the distance, while I almost come in my pants. “How about I just show you?”

  Sweet baby Jesus.

  She can show me whatever, whenever because I am a salivating fool when it comes to Carrie Bell. The air pops around us, and the small space between us sparks with an energy that leaves me desperate for so much more.

  “I’m at your mercy,” I reply, meaning that in every way there is.

  “Careful. The last time that happened, you ended up here.” She circles her finger with a smirk.

  Unable to help myself, I close the distance between us until we’re only inches apart. I’m mesmerized by the rise and fall of her chest. “If I never came here,” I declare, moments away from throwing caution to the wind and sealing my mouth to hers, “then I would have never seen you again. So I suppose it’s not a complete disaster.”

  Her breath hitches, and her cheeks turn a lovely shade of pink. “Thank you. I’m glad I can be your silver lining.” At this moment, Carrie is my muse because, out of nowhere, I get hit with words and visions, and all I want to do is write.

  “This is fucking incredible,” I push out on a breath, brushing back a piece of her auburn hair. The move wasn’t intentional. I just had to touch her.

  I’m expecting her to shrug from my hold and call me a creep, but she does neither. Instead, she leans into my palm, and a tiny mewl slips through her parted lips. I don’t understand what this is with her, but either way, I don’t care. Something about this woman inspires me to just…live.

  She peers up at me through her long lashes, and I instantly get kicked by her beauty. She is fragile, but I make no mistake in thinking she’s some damsel in distress because she’s not. She’s strong, and she’s also fierce and independent, and suddenly, I am so attracted to her, I don’t know how I’m going to play this off.

  Caressing my thumb over the apple of her cheek, I pry my hand away before I throw resolve to the wind and act on the desire thrumming through my veins. When she opens her mouth, I am ready to hang on her every word, but then I hear the unmistakable voice of Daisy gushing downstairs, and she simply smirks.

  The gesture is filled with utter villainy.

  “Are you ready for me to save your ass?” she says, still beaming.

  It’s out before I can stop myself. “You can do whatever you wish to my arse, dove.”

  Her grin widens, and my god, this flirting is going to leave me with a serious case of blue balls. “I’ll keep that in mind. Come on.” She gestures with her chin that we’re to go downstairs.

  I don’t particularly want to go back down there, especially since whoever is there has Daisy either sobbing or squealing. I can’t really tell. But manning up, I close the door and follow Carrie.

  There is a lithe movement to her, and I know that’s just her natural grace. She doesn’t have to wiggle her arse or thrust out her bountiful chest; her beauty is reflected in every step she takes because she is herself. There are no smokescreens with her, and I find myself drawn to that honesty. Maybe that’s what I’ve been lacking these past six months—being honest with myself.

  Food for thought because as Carrie descends the last step, my entire attention is focused on the tall man Daisy is groping and calling lamp chop. Poor guy. I feel his pain. But when he reciprocates the molesting, declaring how much he missed his “cuddle muffin,” I wonder if he’s high.

  Axle stands on the sidelines, watching on in approval. I have no idea what’s going on, but there is no doubt this is Carrie’s doing.

  On cue, Daisy clears her throat, severing the long-lost lover’s embrace. When she meets my eyes, she bites her lip guiltily. “I’m sorry, Jayden. This won’t work.”

  The blond beau by her side who looks a little like a Ken doll wraps an arm protectively around her shoulders. Is he marking his claim? I’m barely able to retain my laughter.

  “This is Isaac.” She offers no other explanation, but I can connect the dots.

  Axle’s smugness is near suffocating because it’s clear he thinks Isaac is worthy of his daughter while I am merely a bug he could squash with his Italian loafers. Carrie turns over her shoulder and throws me a subtle wink.

  So this was her plan—to reunite Daisy with the Ken doll, whom she clearly cares for. I don’t know why they ended, but I don’t particularly care. This is the out I needed. I would applaud Carrie for her wickedness, but it seems for this to work, I have to appear at least somewhat upset.

  Shaking my head, I swallow while turning my cheek. “It pains me, but I can see you’re happy with Isaac. Best of luck to the both of you.” And I mean that in every way possible.

  “I know you’ll miss me,” Daisy says in a patronizing tone, “but we will always be friends.”

  Clenching my teeth, I rein in my temper because that’s all we ever were. I’m using the term “friends” lightly, but I don’t bother correcting her because I don’t deserve anything less. I never should have come here. It seems Daisy was using me as much as I was using her, and that fact doesn’t make me feel any better. If anything, it just makes me feel like an even bigger wanker.

  Once again, Daisy is the martyr, but this time, I’m really home free, and I intend to take advantage of that by fleeing from this house without ever looking back. Carrie shifts to the side, allowing me passage, and although a front door has never looked more appealing, I don’t want to leave because I don’t know what that means for her and me.

  Will I ever see her again? My heart kicks against my ribcage in protest, demanding I man the fuck up and ask her to come with me.

  Setting foot on equal playing field, I turn to look at her. I know her family is watching closely, but screw them. I need her to know that I won’t accept this as goodbye. “Well then, it was lovely meeting you.” I use my hug as a guise to whisper into her ear, “Westpoint Hotel.”

  She freezes as I no doubt have caught her off guard, but there is no way I’m leaving this house without giving her option to follow if she wants. I can only hope that she does.

  We break apart, and the reddening of her cheeks reveals she wasn’t expecting me to disclose the name of the hotel where I’ll be staying. But the choice is now hers. She gave me an out, and now, I’m returning the favor.

  I walk over to Daisy and Commando Ken, offering them both my hand. “Goodbye. All the best for the future.” They both shake it, and Daisy grins. She’s won. I was merely there to entertain her until something better came along. I was simply the fill-in.

  Axle looks happier than a pig in shit, and without a doubt, my future with A&G Publishing is now ruined. But when Gerry emerges from the dining room, I realize the saying rings true—one door closes and another literally opens as Axle shows me the way out.

  Regardless of the fact he’s a pompous arse, I extend my hand. “Thank you for your hospitality. Merry Christmas.”

  I’m surprised when he shakes it, but I’m left speechless when he says, “Have your agent email me the first five chapters of your new manuscript.” That’s it. He doesn’t promise me anything, but he’s offered me the bait.

  I lock eyes with Gerry who stands behind Axle, clearly anxious to see how I will respond.

  It appears for Axle to show me a lick of decency, I was to leave his daughter alone, which is ironic because that’s all I really wanted. However, I’m pretty sure his offer is akin to a pity fuck, and I don’t take too lightly to being treated that way.

  At this moment, I vow my next book will be fucking victorious, better than any before it, and I refuse to settle for second best. Returning my attention back to Axle, I grip his
hand and smile. “Thank you. However, with my contract up, I think it’s time I see what else is out there. As they say,” I very arrogantly declare, intent on using his own words as ammo, “you snooze, you lose. Nick will be in touch.” That’s it.

  Gerry looks five seconds away from offering me his fist in a celebratory fist bump, but he knows that applies to him as well. My mind isn’t made up either way, but one thing is clear. As I lock eyes with Carrie, who stands tall and proud that I stood up to her father and finally did the right thing, I know she is the reason I can call myself a writer again.

  Without further ado, I turn my back on the past, ready to embrace the future with both hands. The waiting Uber is the lifeline I’ve longed for, and after I hop into the back seat, rattling off the address to my hotel, I pull out my laptop, eager to forget and focus on tomorrow.

  My entire body aches, but this feeling is one I happily embrace because it’s one I haven’t felt in a very long time. Leaning back in my seat, I lift my glasses and rub the bridge of my nose.

  After leaving the house of horrors, I check into my hotel, place my laptop onto the small desk, and write like a man possessed. I haven’t left this spot for hours. Scrolling through the pages, I’m in awe of the fact I have managed to write over five thousand words.

  The storyline is still vague, but I can’t help but draw the similarities between my heroine and Carrie. She was, after all, the reason I was able to write in the first place, so it seems fitting that I would shape my character after her. Her name is Bailey. The hero, however, is still unnamed, but it goes without saying he’s a strapping brute with a great arse.

  Happy with the direction of chapter one, I decide to reward myself by raiding the minibar.

  Standing, I stretch, my muscles thankful for the reprieve. Looking at the clock, I see that it’s just before midnight. Merry Christmas to me. Thinking back to last Christmas, I remember the white gown Liz wore, hugging her exquisite curves. I thought she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Now, all I see is what a fucking twat I was.

  We had Christmas Eve dinner at our house, a tradition we started once we married. It was a grand affair, and Liz invited anyone who was anyone. Jerking open the minibar, I gather the three tiny bottles of whiskey and unscrew the lid of one, needing the burn to douse the rage within.

  I can’t believe I didn’t see it, see her for what she was.

  Tossing back bottle number one, I relish in the bitter aftertaste before immediately needing a chaser. I loosen the lid, memories of Liz and her red smeared lipstick assaulting me as if it was only yesterday.

  I was blind to her wandering eye, but I should have known. I should have listened to my gut because Eduardo wasn’t the first. She was unfaithful for a long time before I caught her. I never had any proof, but that night, that Christmas Eve when she emerged from my study looking less than perfect with some arsehole whose name I didn’t even know, I knew she was fucking someone other than me.

  Instead of confronting her, I played it off, arrogant or blinded, most likely both, unbelieving she would find comfort in someone else. I gave her everything she ever wanted, so what reason was there for her to stray?

  But a comment Carrie said rings true: “I have a feeling she’ll never be happy anywhere.” And she’s right.

  Since that Christmas, my life has slowly turned to shite. The cracks became craters, and alas, here I am, alone. But I would rather this than live a lie, which is what Liz and I were for so long.

  Refusing to waste another moment of my time, I throw back the remaining liquor, intent on writing until the sun comes up. I still have yet to hear from Nick, but that’s no surprise really. I have no doubt he’s standing under every mistletoe he can find. As for me, the only thing I intend to wrap my lips around is a bottle of Jameson.

  Wondering if room service delivers whiskey by the bottle, I don’t hear the knock until it sounds louder. Turning to look at the door, I question if my need for booze has conjured up such a noise, but when a rap thuds once again, I know that someone is, in fact, outside.

  I refuse to entertain the notion that it’s Carrie because she would have been here hours ago. And besides, why would she come? But tell that to my cock as it’s doing push-ups and getting ready to impress. Putting a lock on the infernal beast, I focus on answering the door.

  When it swings open, however, all bets are off, and my body demands to get up close and personal with the woman who stands before me.

  “Merry Christmas,” Carrie says, blowing a party horn, the colorful ribbon elongating like something else.

  “Carrie?” I very ungracefully spit. She’s changed into jeans and a sweater. She’s also carrying her overnight bag.

  She smiles, lifting a bottle of whiskey. I can’t help but grin at the pink bow tied around the bottle’s neck. “I bought you a present. I thought you might need it after today.”

  I almost interlock my hands and thank the lord above for granting my Christmas miracle—Carrie on my doorstep, holding a bottle of Jameson. Getting my shit together, I gesture for her to enter. “Thank you. Come in.”

  The moment she steps past me, I’m winded by her strawberry and cream scent. My god, how is it possible a smell alone can work me up this much? But when my eyes feast on her womanly curves, I know her entire being is what whets my appetite.

  She takes note of the open laptop, looking back over her shoulder with a sassy smile. “The drought has broken, it appears.”

  When she walks toward it, poised and ready to read my work, I sprint over and slam the lid shut.

  That playful smirk tugs at her supple lips as she arches a brow. “Or are you looking at porn?”

  A rumble erupts from me. “As of today”—I make my way over to the desk to retrieve the two glasses resting on the surface—“I have decided to follow your lead.” She cocks her head to the side, curious.

  Extending my hand, I wait as she hands me the bottle. I unscrew the lid, taking my time to pour the amber liquid. “I, too, intend to quit booze, boys, well, women, and sex,” I explain, referring to our conversation on the plane.

  However, when the smell of the pear and ripe apple of the whiskey hits my nostrils, I know I will probably need lots of booze to deal with the absence of the other two. “Two out of the three isn’t so bad,” I backtrack, passing her a glass.

  She accepts, drawing the tumbler to her nose. A girl who loves her whiskey—who needs Shakespeare because that is poetry within itself. “Let’s make a toast then.”

  I raise my glass, ready to toast whatever she has in mind.

  “To our very boring yet chaste life. May we both find what we’re looking for.”

  What I’m looking at right now is exactly what I’m searching for. But I quash down the urge to strip her bare and nod. We clink glasses and take long sips. It appears we both need to revel in a little depravity before we turn virtuous.

  When she licks the whiskey from her top lip, however, I know I’m going to need another drink to drown out the wickedness stirring within. “I haven’t had a chance to thank you. Your evil genius should scare me, but I’m impressed. Daisy and Isaac were a thing then?”

  I pour myself another drink as I need the alcohol to numb the vision.

  “Yes, for about two years. He was the only guy who broke her heart. I knew he was your get out of jail for free card because she never got over him,” she explains, kicking off her sneakers and making her way over to the sofa. She plunks onto the couch and reaches for the remote.

  I can’t deny I love seeing her so comfortable in my presence.

  Snaring the bottle of whiskey, I make my way over to where she sits with a leg tucked beneath her. As she’s channel surfing, I attempt to make sense of how a woman like her can be single. She is smart, beautiful, and incredibly witty. What the hell is the matter with the men of America?

  She must sense me staring because she turns her cheek to look at me. When she brushes over her nose self-consciously, I smile at her adorability. “
So you escaped the asylum too?”

  She sips her drink while rolling her eyes. “Yes. If I had to listen to Daisy calling Isaac her poopie one more time, I would have rendered myself unconscious. And besides, you shouldn’t sleep with a concussion. I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

  I’m touched.

  “Did you mean what you said to my dad?” she asks, reminding me of my parting words to Axle.

  “Yes. I did.” Taking a drink, I decide to tell her about Gerry. “I had an interesting conversation with Gerry Williams.” She pauses mid sip, eyes wide as she peers at me over the rim of her glass. “He’s going rogue, and he asked that I follow suit.”

  “Oh, my god. No fucking way.” I nod while her mouth hinges open. “I don’t blame him. My dad is a complete narcissist. But holy shit…who knew Gerry had a pair. Did he proposition you?”

  “Yes.” I don’t see the point in being vague. With those business cards readily available, it’s clear he’s been scouting for other heads besides mine. It’s only a matter of time until the cat’s out of the bag.

  “What are you going to do?” she asks, shuffling her position to get comfortable.

  Finishing my drink, I lean forward and place it on the coffee table before undoing the lid on the bottle. “I want to talk to my agent, but first and foremost, I need to write something that isn’t rubbish. The pressure is really on, especially if I do jump ship. I need this book to be fucking groundbreaking.”

  “What idea do you have in mind?”

  Taking a swig from the bottle, I shrug. “I don’t know. I’ve started working on something, but it’s still early.”

  Carrie throws back her drink, making a pained face as she swallows. “How about you write a self-help book for single ladies to snare the right man? You must have some insight, considering you’re a man and all,” she proposes as she leans forward, placing her glass on the table.