“I’m pretty sure I still breathe when I’m having an orgasm.”
Adrian raises an eyebrow. “I’ve had my doubts.” He reaches for my beer, and I almost successfully dodge him, but I don’t want to spill it. Setting both of our drinks down on the table, he takes my hand.
“Come on. It’s not a prom if we don’t dance.”
My heartbeat quickens, even though I’m pretty sure he just wants to outdo that cover model. Most people here are dancing solo, or sock-hope-style with their friends. But Adrian, of course, knows how to dance.
With his hand on my waist, he leads me around the room, and I don’t know what kind of dance this is but I clearly don’t need to.
“You’re good at this,” I murmur, because clearly what he needs is another ego stroke.
“I know.” He’s very close to me, and he smells like thrift shop, and that’s got to be the first time that’s ever been true of Adrian Risinger. But I lean in closer, anyway. “I’ve had lessons.”
“Really? I just figured you were naturally a genius at everything.”
“Yeah, I’ve got everybody fooled. I’m going to dip you. Just hold on.”
Before I have a chance to protest, he does. The head rush if spectacular, and as he pulls me back upright, I hear a few people tittering and clapping quietly.
“To impress the kind of people I need to impress, you’ve got to leave the impression that you popped out of the womb sounding like Alec Baldwin in Glengarry Glen Ross,” he says, with a grin. “We all know it’s not true, that it can’t be true, but it’s a shared delusion we all participate in. Learning how to do something isn’t sexy. Knowing how to do it is.”
The song ends, and my head’s still spinning. I don’t really want to examine why.
“I’m gonna sit down for a while,” I tell him, and he follows me.
Something seems to have subdued him, and he sits quietly with his drink while I scan the room. Izzy’s managed to bend the ear of some big-deal agent, so I’m not going to blow up her scene.
“I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this,” I comment, glancing around the room again. “It’s just an iPod and a bartender with a one-free-drink limit. Not exactly my idea of a party.”
Adrian sets his glass down. “Well, it probably helps if you already know all these people. There are convention cliques. They hang out at every conference and plan out their coordinating costumes and who knows what the fuck else.”
He knows about this, I realize, because of Kara. She’s the one who’s kept him informed about all of this stuff, and I kind of hate the idea of him looking to her for guidance.
“I used to always try and start a game of truth or dare at boring parties,” I comment. “Probably not a good idea here, though.”
“I’m game,” says Adrian, smiling again.
“Ugh, no. Definitely not.”
“Come on.” His foot nudges mine under the able. “Keep it PG-13 for the benefit of the other guests.”
“Okay. Fine. I dare you to tell me one weird-as-fuck thing about yourself that will make me do this face.” I give him the best impression of my own what the fuck, Mr. Risinger? expression. Over the years, I’ve perfected it, but it’s hard to do on cue.
“Fine.” He grins. “I only fuck in hotels.”
I blink a few times. “You mean, only when you’re out of town?”
“God no.” He frowns at me. “I mean, if I’m going to have sex with someone who doesn’t want to host, I get a hotel room. They don’t come back to my place. I don’t think it’s that odd, but I’ve gotten some reactions before.”
Shrugging, I pick up my drink. “Well, you probably have a lot of valuable shit. Don’t want some stranger in there while you’ll sleeping. That doesn’t seem too weird to me.”
“That’s not why, though,” he says. “It’s not about them spending the night. No one except me, my housekeepers, and a few very select people have even seen the inside of my bedroom. I like it that way.” He shrugs. “Sleep better. Do I get the look yet?”
I’m laughing now. “Honestly, this is getting kind of creepy. If I’d known how much you want the look, I never would have offered it in the first place. Want me to tell you what a bad boy you’ve been, too?”
“Oh, I think you know my tastes don’t run in that direction.” He leans across the table slightly. “I don’t know if this has caught your attention yet, Natalie, but we happen to be in a hotel right now.”
“Yeah, and you’re wearing a powder-blue tuxedo.” I smirk at him. “Pass.”
“I will astonish you with how quickly I can make it disappear,” he says. “Promise.”
Suddenly, I feel a distinct presence. Glancing towards the doorway, I see Kara drifting into the room. She’s wearing leggings and an off-the-shoulder sweatshirt - Flashdance, I realize belatedly as she gets closer. Not exactly 80’s prom, but I’ll give her points for effort.
She gives us both a look, and then slides into the chair next to Adrian’s. He glances at her sidelong, but doesn’t say anything.
“Having fun?”
The question is clearly directed at me.
“Yeah, thanks,” I tell her. No idea what I’m supposed to say, but that seems good enough.
“I hope we’re getting some networking done,” she says. “That is why we’re here, after all.”
Adrian sighs a little. “I told you, there’s nobody here who can give me a push that I don’t already have.”
“You’re wrong.” Kara’s shaking her head, and my jaw drops. I’ve never heard anyone talk to Adrian that bluntly - except maybe me. “The old publishing structure is dying out. You’ve seen the pricing disputes. We need to court all the influential bloggers. The top reviewers on Goodreads. They’re the ones who can sustain us through any kind of behind-the-scenes changes. The publishing arm of Risinger is already the redheaded stepchild - I don’t have to tell you that.”
“Yes, but I can keep it going,” he says, stubbornly. “That’s my prerogative.”
“You’ve already lost twenty percent of your authors this year to self-publishing,” Kara says. “How much collective bargaining do you think you’ll really have, when it’s just you and a tired old backlist nobody wants?”
A heavy silence reigns.
“I’m sorry if I was supposed to be doing something and I didn’t,” I interject, softly. “I’ve been trying to talk to people…”
Kara makes an irritated gesture, hushing me. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t know. He was supposed to give you the down-low while I worked other angles, but I have a feeling he’s been busy with something else.”
Her eyes flick between us, like she’s trying to ferret out whether her assumption is correct.
“Kara.” Adrian’s voice has a warning - a subtle one, but I can hear it, and I’m sure she can too. “I’ve got thirty business cards in my suitcase already. Natalie’s made some new friends. This has been a productive trip, and if you don’t agree, I’m sorry. But it’s a bit late to do anything about it now.”
“Well if you’re just going to sit here playing footsie, then I’m not even sure why you’re at the party at all.” Kara stands up, bristling. “Why don’t you head back to your room and continue the important work you’ve been spending all your time on?”
“Kara.” Adrian’s eyes turn to stone. “Stop it.”
“Sorry,” she says, not looking sorry at all. “I’ll withhold my advice until it’s more welcome.”
As she disappears, I look at Adrian with my eyebrows raised. “You still think she’s not jealous?”
He lets out a little humorless laugh. “Maybe a little.”
“Maybe a lot.”
“I knew things would get complicated once you were involved,” he admits. “I guess I just didn’t realize how complicated.”
I’m not sure if he’s really talking to me. “Complicated. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be complicated.”
“I know you don’t,” he says. “Compl
icated’s not bad. It’s just…complicated.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
COMPLICATED.
I’m complicated.
When we get back from the party, I start drifting around Adrian’s room, gathering my belongings. He reminds me I can pack in the morning, that the jet will wait for us, because of course it will. But I tell him I need to unwind. What I really need is to get away from him for a minute, to clear my head, but here I am, with my stuff in his room. Everything. Including my toothbrush.
I wonder if the maids notice my bed hasn’t been slept in. I wonder if they care.
“I’m just going to make sure I didn’t leave anything behind,” I tell him, walking through the connecting door. He nods.
I close it, and I walk into the middle of my empty room and stare at nothing.
The chair’s still by the sliding glass door, where I left it. My striptease certainly had the desired effect, but what was my long play? Do I really want something ongoing with Adrian Fucking Risinger?
Really, I can’t believe I’ve let my hormones get the best of me like this. I should know better. There’s no good outcome here, though…is there?
Why did I walk into the pool?
If we leave all of this behind in Austin, if we go back home pretending it never happened, I’ll be devastated. But if we carry on…what’ll happen then?
Adrian knocks on the connecting door.
“It’s open,” I tell him.
He walks in, and sits down on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry I said you were complicated.”
A preemptive apology? From Adrian?
The world must be turned upside down.
“I’m not upset that you said it,” I tell him, staring at the blank TV screen. “I’m upset that it’s true.”
I can see his dim reflection reaching out to me, so I go. I let him take my hand, and I sit down, and he puts his arm around my shoulders and says nothing.
Finally, he speaks.
“This whole thing is complicated. It’s not your fault. I wanted the part of Natalie to be played by someone I could trust. I think Kara wanted to do it. She never brought it up, because she knows she can’t - she already runs in these circles, she’s known as herself. I think she’s unhappy that someone else got to do it, instead of her.”
I’m shaking my head. “Stop making excuses for her. Please.”
“I’m not.”
“You are. She likes you. Did you tell her that we’re sleeping together? Did you tell her about the pool?”
His tone is mildly offended. “Of course not. But she’s not an idiot.”
“She didn’t like me the first moment she saw me. So if she didn’t know…”
Adrian kisses my forehead. “I told you. It’s got nothing to do with us. She’s just unhappy with something she can’t control.”
A thousand questions rush and churn in my head. I want to ask him if all that stuff about us fooling around in the office was just dirty talk and fantasies. I want to ask him why Kara saw me as a threat from the very beginning, if he didn’t tell her something.
“Come to bed?” Adrian asks, finally. “Just to sleep. I mean - unless you’d rather something else.”
“Sleep sounds good,” I admit. “Might have overdone it a little this week. I could use some recovery time.”
“God, yes.” Adrian grins at me, leading me through the door. “Does this mean I’m getting old?”
“A little,” I tell him. “But it’s okay. You’ve got enough money that nobody will call you out if you keep pretending like you’re young. Make sure to wear lots of tight jeans and hipster glasses.”
“I have been wondering if my eyesight’s going,” he admits, sitting down on the bed and pulling off his shoes. “I don’t know, though. That’s a bit of a commitment to the hipster uniform.”
“Well, you can start slow, and work your way up. Start with a stylish beard.”
“You think so?” He touches his chin, thoughtfully.
“Sure. It would suit you. Everything suits you.”
“If only the senior partners weren’t an average of nine hundred years old,” he sighs. “They’ll think I’m a dirty hippy. I’d better not.”
I laugh, slipping out of my hideous dress. “Oh, goodness. Well you wouldn’t want to cause a stir at the country club.”
He groans. “You think you’re joking, but the last time I played golf with them, one of them spent the whole time talking about how he thinks his great-great-great-great-whatever-granddaughter must be ‘doing drugs’ because she wants to get a tattoo. I was tempted to ask what drugs, just to hear him say something like ‘crack marijuana.’”
Cackling, I fall into bed. “‘Helen, I swear that child is snorting the blue crystals like I saw on the TV show.’”
“How’d you know his wife’s name is Helen?” Adrian curls his arm around my waist, pulling me against his body. Spooning with my boss - go ahead and add that the list of things I never thought I’d do.
“Lucky guess. It was a toss-up between that and Brittany, which would of course apply to his third nineteen-year-old trophy wife.”
“One day I’ll snap, and kill them all with my five-iron. But until then, I’ve got to pretend that we can socialize.” He sighs into my hair. “I know you think I’m bad, but you have no idea how lucky you are. Really.”
I smile, a little sadly, into the darkness.
“I think I’ve got some idea.”
The next morning, before our flight, I manage to sneak down to the gift shop and pick something up that I think will make him smile. I’m planning to save it for when we get home, when I suspect he’ll need a reminder. But once we’re settled into our flight again, champagne in hand, I’m already itching to give it to him - just to see his face.
I notice that he carefully avoids making eye contact with the flight attendant, and I feel kind of bad.
“Here.” I plop the little bag on the table between us. “To start your hipster uniform.”
He gives me a look as he unwraps the bag and unfurls the shirt. When he sees the writing - KEEP AUSTIN WEIRD - I get that chuckle I was hoping for.
“Good one,” he says, folding it back into the bag.
The air is thick with the expectation of the conversation I really, really don’t want to have. My stupid gift landed like a ton of bricks. That’s it - I’m ripping off this band-aid now.
“So do you want to talk about what happens back home?” I hold his gaze, even though it makes me want to sink into the floor. Even if that means falling thousands of feet into the earth.
“What happens back home?” he echoes. “Well.”
He clears his throat, and I just wait.
“We just need to keep things in perspective, that’s all,” he says. Like all businessmen, he’s mastered the art of using a lot of words to say nothing. “You and me both, we’ve only got one speed. Don’t do anything halfway. Ever. That’s what I like about you. But it can get you into a lot of trouble, especially when it comes to…interpersonal…”
He doesn’t want to say relationships. I can tell.
I still have no idea what he wants. How he expects me to behave.
“Just give it to me straight, doc,” I say, resting my elbows on the table. He laughs a little, glancing at me, then down at the table and back.
“I can’t, Meg. How could I possibly? I can’t predict the future. I’m just saying we need to be careful. If you want me to draw up a ten-step plan of action for how we proceed from here, I can’t. I’m not going to.” He shakes his head. “It’s complicated.”
“Complicated,” I repeat. “What’s complicated about it?”
He glances at me, unfolding a newspaper. “Please, Meg.”
It’s going to be a long fucking flight. Unless I kill him before it’s over.
When I get home, after I drop my bags on the floor, the only thing I want to do is collapse in bed. But my mind’s racing, and there’s no way I can possibly calm down enough to sleep.
<
br /> I gave up on trying to get Adrian to tell me what the hell’s going through his head. He buried himself in work for the rest of the flight, and I toyed with the idea of changing to another seat just to make a point about how rude he was being, but I just fumed quietly instead.
The next morning at work, I don’t know what I’m hoping for. He’ll just keep shutting me down if I try to talk about what happened in Austin. Of course, we don’t need to talk about it. I’d just like to continue the activities, but he seems at least passively resistant to that, too.
For now.
All of my nice clothes are still dirty from the trip, but I wear one of the most flattering outfits I have. When I come in with his morning coffee, I take a moment to close my eyes and breathe in his scent. I’ve always liked it, but it means something different now.
“Here’s your coffee,” I tell him, softly, setting it down. He doesn’t look up. “Do you need anything else?”
He shakes his head.
Fuck it.
“I seem to remember we discussed some other tasks you might need me to complete in the morning,” I say, in the most seductive tone I can manage while my heart tries to escape my chest.
He closes his eyes, and sighs heavily.
Not a promising reaction.
“Meghan, sit down.” He makes a gesture towards the chair. I do, smoothing my skirt, readying myself for the tongue-lashing of the century. And not in the way I was hoping for.
Adrian interlaces his fingers and looks at me. And he says the last thing I’d ever expect: “Any plans for Thanksgiving?”
What?
“I always have plans for Thanksgiving.” I’m wincing at the thought; I can’t help it. My family’s holidays are about as frigid and hostile as they come, but it’s better than spending them alone. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself. “Why?”
“There’s a book conference in London,” he says. “Mostly for locals, as you might imagine from the scheduling. But we could make a big splash there.”
We. Seriously? He’s not even going to address what happened between us in Austin, and he’s already planning the next trip?
His Secretary: Undone and Unveiled (The Complete Series Collection) Page 14
