by Nikki Chase
If he’s giving me a position with better opportunities to move up, I’m going to say no. Those jobs should go to people who actually want to advance in the corporate world. I’m just here to pay the bills so I can write in my free time. So I’d rather stay here, where the work is light and easy.
“No, you’ll stay right here.” The corners of Heath’s lips curl up suspiciously as he gets up from his chair.
He looks even more intimidating when he stands up to his full height, his body all hard, solid muscles. I don’t know how he finds the time to go to the gym with the kind of schedule that he has, but obviously, he makes the time. That’s a body that has been sculpted by discipline and determination.
“In the executive division?” I ask, my heart beating fast as he makes his way around the table. I don’t care what the job is. Just tell me I still have a job.
“No, right here in my office,” he says from behind me. I can feel the heat emanating from his hands, which are gripping the back of my chair.
“Huh?” Again, I lose my professional poise. I shift in my chair and twist to look up at him. Say what?
“Kat,” he says. “Kat, Kat, Kat. That’s a funny name for a grown woman, isn’t it?”
“Not really,” I say.
Hello? Kat Von D? She’s a grown woman—a kick-ass one at that. But more importantly, why aren’t we talking about my new job?
“Tell me, Kitty Kat, have you always wanted to write a book?” Heath asks, calling me by a pet name that’s not unfamiliar—it’s not exactly original—but way too familiar for him to use, especially in an office setting.
“A romance novel,” I correct him. “It’s my dream to be a romance author.”
“So you only work here for the money?” he asks.
Is that a trick question? The answer is obvious enough.
“Yes,” I say. “But when I got the job I told the HR guy about it, and he said it was okay. He didn’t think I’d last a week.”
Heath chuckles. “My previous assistants have quit pretty quickly. And yet here you are, beating the odds after more than one month.”
“Since you just fired me, I’d say I’m not quite beating the odds,” I remind him to keep the conversation on topic.
“It’s not like I gave them much work at all. I just have my own way of doing things, and they haven’t been able to do things my way. But you…” Heath leans down with his hands still on the back of my chair, bringing his face so close to mine I can feel his hot breath on my skin. “You’re good at taking directions. You do things my way. I like that.”
“Thank you.”
I change my tactic. Since he’s been ignoring my attempts at getting him to talk about this new job that he’s supposedly offering, I’ll just keep my answers short. Maybe I’ll get my answer sooner if I just let him keep talking about whatever he wants, until he feels like broaching the subject.
“Have you ever published any of your work, Kitty Kat?” Heath asks.
“No,” I admit.
“Why not?”
“I haven’t been able to find a publisher.”
“That’s too bad,” he says, without any surprise in his voice. “I hear it’s hard to break into the scene. Do you know why you haven’t been successful?”
I pause to think about it. This is something that has actually been plaguing me.
“I’m not quite sure,” I say. “Maybe my writing is not good enough. I only work on my manuscript during my free time, so maybe I don’t do it enough to be really good at it. Or maybe it’s not polished enough because I can’t afford to hire an editor.”
“I think your writing is great,” Heath says, “but I don’t really know much about books, especially romance. I mostly read non-fiction.”
“About stocks?” I guess.
Heath seems like the workaholic type, even though according to everyone in the office I’ve talked to, he's already cut down on his hours. I get it, though; the stock market is always moving and there’s always something he can do to optimize his investments.
“Something like that,” he says. Heath circles my chair. Leaning his tasty ass on the desk in front of me, he studies me with his sharp, blue eyes. He looks like an antiques dealer holding a magnifying glass to my face, appraising my value. He asks, “How much do you want to make it as a romance author, kitten?”
I ignore his continuously evolving nickname for me and answer, “I want it more than anything.”
When I was still living with Vera, I used to read a lot of romance novels to escape from my drab reality. I studied all day and did house chores all night, but when it was time to turn off the lights, I took out my e-reader and got lost in fantasy worlds where life was always perfect in the end.
I cried and I laughed. My heart broke, and then got mended again in the space of hours. Some nights, I didn’t sleep because I just had to finish books that were particularly engrossing.
So hell yeah, I want to write romance novels. I want to string words together in a way that will make people feel. That seems like such magic to me. If I could choose a superpower, I’d want to be able to make people connect with my writing and relate to my characters.
Alas, according to the publishers, I suck.
Only Jane’s encouragements keep me going. She reads a ton of romance novels too, and she says I have what it takes. But what if she’s wrong?
“I can help you,” Heath says.
“You can help me become a romance author?” I ask incredulously. Again, let’s not forget that my boss is a stock investor.
“Yes.”
“Let me guess. You know some big-shot publisher?”
Publishers have rejected everything I’ve ever submitted. They make me wait for months just to get their rejection emails—which, by the way, are never even personalized. They probably just enter my email, along with fifty-seven others, into the BCC field and fire off a form letter. It’s sad, I know.
“I do,” Heath says with a small smile that could melt the collective panties of all the single women on the Island of Manhattan. “And you just said your problems are time and money—I can help with those, too. Let me ask you another thing, how do you like my ideas from yesterday?”
I bite my cheek. It’s something I do when I’m nervous. Should I tell him the truth?
It seems silly at this point to worry about acting professional. He’s just fired me… I guess. And he hasn’t officially told me what my new job is going to be. So he’s technically not even my boss at this point.
“Yes,” I admit.
His smile widens, which only makes me feel even more like I’m losing my balance. He seems so confident and in control.
“Are you going to write something based on my ideas?” Heath asks again.
“Maybe.” I feel like I’ve given him more than enough information.
“Would you say I’m helping you turn your story into something sexy?” The way he cocks an eyebrow when he says the last word is going to haunt my sexy dreams—so yes. In many ways he doesn’t even know, he’s helping me turn my story into something sexy… or as sexy as I can make it.
Hell, before Heath Anders, I had no idea what a sexy guy was. I mean, on an intellectual level, of course I know what to look for—a tall figure, a pair of broad shoulders, maybe six-pack abs, long legs, and so on. But Heath’s the only guy I’ve met who makes me fantasize about what's underneath his Tom Ford suit.
“Yes,” I say.
“Okay. So this job that I’m putting on the table, it’s going to give you all three things you need to become a successful romance author.” Heath pauses to bask in my rapt attention before he raises one finger and says, “Time—” another finger shoots up “—money—” yet another finger joins the other two “—and sexy ideas.”
“Are you going to tell me what this job is?”
“Of course.” With his juicy ass and masculine hands still on the desk, he leans forward and fixes his sharp, penetrating gaze on me. “How would you like to carry
my child?”
End of preview.
Thank you for reading!
Click here to get Knocked Up from Amazon and read the rest of the story now.
Bonus: Virgin Fiancée
A Fake Engagement Romance
Piper
Two Months Ago
What the hell?
I stand frozen in the doorway, my mouth hanging open.
I can’t believe my eyes.
The door isn’t even closed, and they haven’t even heard my footsteps.
On the bed, just a few feet away, my boyfriend’s naked ass is going up and down, plowing into a woman who’s spread-eagled beneath him.
She’s the one who notices me first. She says, “Hey, she’s cute. Your friend wanna join us?”
Is this woman crazy?
Mark stills, hovering over the woman. He turns his head to the side to look at me. His eyes are wide and his forehead is covered with fat beads of sweat.
Oh, and his cock is still buried in the woman’s pussy.
“Piper. I… Uh…” Mark’s body jumps into gear, although his brain hasn’t quite caught up. He pulls his cock out, dives down to the floor to pick up his boxers, and quickly puts them on. He steps closer.
“Keep your hands off me,” I say, avoiding him as he reaches out to touch me.
“You… I… Uh… I thought you… Weren’t you planning to come later tonight?” Mark asks, stumbling all over his words.
“My plans changed,” I reply curtly.
I was about to have lunch with Carly today, but she canceled. So I thought I’d visit my boyfriend, make out a little bit, and—if things go well—maybe even let him take my virginity today.
That’s definitely not happening now.
“Hey, dude, your one hour is up. Do you want more time? It’s the same flat rate,” the naked girl says, as if she’s completely oblivious to the tense atmosphere.
Mark remains quiet as the gears in my brain goes into overdrive. Why is she being so casual about everything? And what could she mean by “flat rate”? Flat rate for what?
My breath catches in my throat as realization hits me like a ton of bricks.
“Dude? Max, right?” The woman remains on the bed as she picks up Mark’s jeans, which were lying on the carpeted bedroom floor. She pulls out his wallet from the back pocket and says, “I’ll just help myself, okay? See? I’m just taking whatever you owe me.” She takes out a few bills and holds them up for Mark to see, although he remains completely frozen in place, not daring to take his eyes off me.
My blood boils. He’s cheating on me with a prostitute? Really?
“Don’t tell me she’s a prostitute,” I say as I glower at Mark.
The woman gets up from the bed and quietly puts on her clothes, piece by piece, as if we weren’t also here in the same room.
After a long pause, in which the only sounds are the zipper of the woman’s mini skirt being pulled up and the muffled clicks of her heels on the carpet, Mark says, “Okay. I’m not going to tell you she’s a prostitute.”
The woman laughs. Looking right at me as she walks out of the bedroom, she says, “Honey, I wouldn’t have fucked this guy if he didn’t agree to pay for it.”
The woman’s ultra-high heels click noisily on the wooden floor as her footsteps get further and further away.
The front door opens, then closes again with a soft click.
It’s just the two of us now, marinating in the tense, awkward atmosphere, neither of us knowing what to say.
I look at the desk, where I left my laptop this morning. I could at least take that with me right now, even if I have to leave the rest of my stuff behind.
“I’m sorry, Piper. I didn’t mean to hurt you. You weren’t meant to find out,” Mark says, finally finding his tongue.
“And that makes it okay?” I march past him toward the desk and grab my laptop. I’m ready to leave now. I don’t care. There’s no explanation needed.
“Please, Piper. I know I fucked up, but I had a bad case of the blue balls. It’s been six months,” he says as he follows me out the room. “If you think about it, both of us are responsible for what just happened. We can move forward. We can move past this. I have faith in us.”
“I don’t.” I open the front door, step out into the hallway, and turn around. “Don’t even think about following me. Your face makes me sick.”
Mark flinches from my words. I take the opportunity to slam the door shut in his face.
Dickhead.
My feet move swiftly, fueled by anger. What a waste of my time and energy.
I thought I was going to finally lose my virginity to Mark, but now I’m glad we never did it. God knows how many times he has cheated on me and never gotten caught.
Piper
Present Time
“I swear, her heels were higher than her skirt was long.” I pick up my bottle from the floor and take another gulp of the beer. “But enough about that. I’m so over Mark. Can we just talk about something else? This is our last night here. It’s the end of an era.”
“Yeah, who cares about Mark? This is our night. Fuck that guy,” Carly says passionately, adopting my anger as if it’s her own. She pauses to think. “Wait. No. Do the opposite of that. Don’t fuck that guy.”
We both laugh. Our apartment may be mostly empty now, but it still feels like home, now that we’re chatting and laughing like we usually do.
The living room looks smaller than it normally does, which is weird because there’s actually less stuff now.
Brown cardboard boxes of different sizes are scattered all over the green carpeted floor. Instead of buying moving boxes, we went with the free option. We went to the grocery store and begged a staff member for free, used boxes from the warehouse.
Other than the boxes, there’s not much left in the apartment.
A pizza box that contains our dinner. Three bottles of beer, one of which is already empty. Our bags. And us. Oh, and McClaw, my orange tabby, who’s chilling on my lap right now. He was a total nuisance while we were packing, jumping into boxes and tearing them apart with his sharp teeth and claws.
All the big pieces of furniture have been sold on Craigslist or moved to my new studio apartment.
I’m glad George, Carly’s boyfriend, has nicer furniture than we do. That’s why Carly’s leaving behind almost all the big items to me, although she was the one who originally bought most of them. So I got them for free.
God, I love free stuff.
Like this pizza. It tastes better because it’s free. Carly bought it for us both, knowing how broke I am. She’s an amazing friend.
I take another slice of the pizza, the one with a bunch of meat chunks and pepperoni on it. I’ve been subsisting mostly on ramen and day-old grocery-store bread. I probably don’t get enough protein.
“You know, I never liked Mark,” Carly says as she takes another sip of the beer.
“What? Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask, my mouth full of cheesy, meaty goodness.
“Well, you seemed to like the guy. As far as I could tell, he treated you nice enough. I thought I was just jealous.” She grins. “I know it’s weird, but I used to have you all to myself.”
“Aww…” I lean over and pull Carly into a hug with my clean hand, holding the pizza with my other one. “It’s not weird. To be honest, I’m feeling kind of jealous too, now that George gets to be your new roommate.”
“I’m so going to miss you, Piper,” Carly says, pulling me closer with both hands, resting the beer bottle she’s holding on my back. The bottle is cold, the wetness seeping through the back of my shirt.
“Oh, you’ll be fine.” I break the hug. “You’ve stayed over at George’s a bunch of times, right? I’m sure you guys will do fine.”
“I know, but it won’t be the same without you.” She sighs.
“I’m the one who’s going to miss you more. I’ll be living on my own.”
“That’s not true. You have McClaw with you.” Car
ly reaches out one drunk, heavy hand and pets the cat, making him swish his tail from side to side with displeasure.
“Yeah, he’s not a very good conversationalist, though.” I move Carly’s hand away before McClaw shows her how he got his name in the first place. “Plus, he made it really hard for me to find a new place. If it wasn’t for him, I would’ve been able to find new roommates and just move into a room. Instead, I have to get a tiny, unfurnished studio.”
“Eh, you may be better off living on your own anyway. At least McClaw will be the only asshole you’ll live with.”
“Yeah.” I pause. “Can you imagine if I ended up moving in with Mark I I’d planned and then found out he’d been cheating on me?”
“When things are bad, it’s good to remind yourself that it could be worse.” Carly lifts her beer bottle up for a toast.
“Word.” I pick up my bottle and clink it against hers. “I had no idea how hard it is to find an apartment, though. I was completely unprepared.”
“Really? It was pretty easy for me to get this one.”
“Yeah, it was easy for you because you have money.”
“Oh, right. Yeah, money is great. You should get yourself some of that good stuff.”
I laugh wryly and scratch the soft fur between McClaw’s ears.
It’s only Carly’s name on the lease for this two-bedroom apartment. She fell in love with the place and rented it on her own. In the first week of the semester, she put up flyers all over the campus, looking for a roommate. I was the lucky person who happened to click with her and became the chosen one.
Unlike me, Carly gets money transferred into her account from her parents every month. She doesn’t have the same money problems that I do, although we’re both college students.
To be honest, maybe those landlords have a good reason to not let me move into their properties. The studio I’m going to move into is the cheapest one I could find. Yet I’m not sure I’ll be able to pay the rent on time every month. I guess we’ll see.
