Sexy Just Got Rich: Brit Babes Do Billionaires
Page 17
“Y—you?” Catriona squeaked, immediately wondering why she was so surprised. They’d been flirting on and off since they’d met—it was obvious there was a spark between them, and that they were compatible in many ways.
And why shouldn’t she give him a try? Date him, fuck him, whatever? He was gorgeous, smart, funny, had an interesting job, and didn’t seem intimidated by what she did for a living.
You know why. You’re scared of what he might lead you into. All your thoughts about him naked and on his knees; that’s all they are—thoughts. You have no idea what it’s really like to dominate a man, and he’s clearly experienced in the submission department. There’s no way you can give him what he wants.
“Uh, Catriona?” Elijah waved a hand in front of her face, looking concerned. “Are you still with me? I didn’t mean to offend you, upset you... or whatever it is I’ve done, I’m not quite sure. You disappeared on me.”
“Sorry.” The word came out on a heavy sigh, and she downed the rest of her wine. She’d opted for a small glass, but hopefully the alcohol content would loosen her tongue enough so she could say what she was really thinking. “I’m sorry. I... shit, I’m not good at this stuff.”
She looked around to ensure no one was within earshot, then gripped a strand of hair and began twisting it in her fingers. “Can I be completely honest with you?”
“Yes. I’d much prefer it if you were.”
“Well, you know the, uh, common interest we have?” Her gaze alighted briefly on the carrier bag containing the very thing that had led them to this point, then she looked him in the eye.
“Yes...”
“Let’s just say I may have misled you. Not intentionally, more that we had the conversation, but not in any great detail.”
“Catriona, nobody’s listening,” he said quietly, his stare intense and incredibly arousing all at once. “Just tell me what you mean.”
“What I mean,” she ground out, her volume level matching his, “is that although I’m interested in that subject matter, I have never actually partaken in it. I want to, God do I want to, but although it’s a cliché, I just haven’t met the right person.”
With what had to be the most nonchalant shrug she’d ever seen, Elijah shot back. “Well, maybe you have now.”
Chapter Three
Four weeks later and Catriona’s life had changed almost beyond recognition. After their conversation in the pub in Soho, they’d gotten close, and fast. Finishing their drinks, they’d headed back to Catriona’s place and screwed each other’s brains out. Now they saw each other whenever they could—work commitments permitting.
But it wasn’t just sex—she was growing more fond of Elijah by the day, her sexual attraction to him emphasised by the fact she adored his personality, sense of humour, and everything else about him, too. If she was honest with herself, she was crazy about him.
In spite of their mutual interest in playing around in a D/s situation, though, they hadn’t gotten around to it. After their first frantic fuck—which had been amazing in its own right—Catriona had dazedly mentioned it. Elijah’s response had been that although he was eager to submit to her, they should get to know each other better first, build up the trust between them.
He was absolutely right, of course, but a month later and it was driving her insane. The frustration she’d poured into her writing was building up once more, and she either had to let it out physically, or take to the laptop again.
After a particularly infuriating day at work, she gave in and retrieved her computer. She’d been so busy that she hadn’t touched it for weeks and she decided to check her emails first. As usual, the majority of them were junk mail, websites telling her about sales and special offers, and a couple of notes from her friends wondering why she’d disappeared off the face of the earth lately.
But they all paled into insignificance when she opened the one from her publisher. She hadn’t paid much attention to what had been going on with her book—the copy she’d bought on the day she and Elijah had met was languishing in the box alongside her author copies, its spine uncracked.
She couldn’t forget about it, of course. It was what had brought her and Elijah together, and though he’d been busy, too, he’d been reading the book in his limited spare time. Every now and again he’d ask her if she’d started it, and he was disappointed every time she said no—apparently he was eager to discuss it with her. Like their own private book club. Maybe at some point she should just say she had read it. It wasn’t a lie, per se, more that she hadn’t read the paperback copy she’d purchased. Or any other paperback copy, for that matter. The last time she’d laid eyes on the words was when she’d been asked to give the manuscript one final going over before it went off to print.
Could she brazen it out and chat about her book with him as though someone else had written it? Or should she just tell him the truth?
The first part of her publisher’s email was pretty bland—talking about how they were progressing with the marketing and PR campaign, blah, blah, blah. But the second and third parts made her mouth drop open, her jaw lowering until it almost hit the keyboard.
Part two asked for confirmation that she’d received her advance. They’d sent a direct deposit to her account and wanted to know it had arrived safely.
Her advance? Fuck, she’d forgotten all about that. The whole thing had been such a whirlwind that she’d signed her contract without paying it much attention—a cardinal sin, she knew. They’d blathered at her about advances and publication dates and adverts until her mind was a maelstrom of stuff that didn’t really make sense, so she’d agreed with them incessantly until they’d shut up.
Now, apparently, she had an extra chunk of money in her bank account. Not that she needed it—her salary more than covered her expenses, given that, other than the beautiful apartment and her bills, her expenditure wasn’t much. She wasn’t even much of a shopper—except for books, of course.
The fucking irony. Now books, a certain book, meant the already plentiful zeroes in her bank account were nicely augmented.
Perhaps... Her eyes widened. Yes! The book money didn’t feel real to her, almost like someone else’s—so she’d invest it. Put her day job skills to the test and use the cash to have a flutter on the stock market. She didn’t need it, so if she lost it, it wouldn’t matter.
The third part of the email was the most stunning of all; fortunately she was sitting comfortably on her sofa when she read it. Apparently, all the marketing bollocks had paid off—her little book was indeed the next big thing. According to the sales figures the publisher had gotten so far, it was flying off the shelves—both physical and digital—she’d rocketed up bookseller charts and it was highly likely she’d hit the bestseller lists of The Sunday Times, USA Today and even the New York Times.
As a result, it looked as though her advance had been earned out in the blink of an eye, and come royalty time, even more zeroes would be hitting her bank account.
Catriona shook her head, then blinked repeatedly at the screen, thinking perhaps the words would rearrange into something much more believable. But they didn’t—she was a bestseller, catapulting towards the dizzy heights of E.L. James, and money would be flooding in for the foreseeable future.
As a postscript, something she could have easily missed had she not been staring idiotically at the screen, waiting for another email to come in with a subject line of “Error – please disregard previous message,” was the following:
When can we expect the sequel? It’s probably a good idea to strike while the iron is hot.
“The what?” she shouted out loud, startling herself. “What fucking sequel?”
Putting her laptop carefully down beside her, she hurried to her filing cabinet and fished out the contract. Sure enough, there was a clause in there—if the first book did well, then the publisher would be granted first right of refusal on a follow up. And apparently, they wanted to see said follow up, pronto.
Sin
king back onto the sofa, Catriona dropped her head into her hands, groaning. What the fuck was she going to do now? This whole thing had been like it had been happening to someone else. The first book was just something that tumbled from her head and onto the page without much trouble, fuelled by her frustration. It was all made up, a complete and utter fabrication—the most fiction-y fiction ever, and now they were expecting her to come up with new material.
Christ—she hadn’t even done any of the stuff in the first book! She hadn’t researched, hadn’t observed, hadn’t participated—and yet somehow her tale had caught people’s imaginations. How was she supposed to pen another whole novel? A novel that wasn’t just a rehash of the first one, with different settings?
Groaning again, she stood and lurched towards her bedroom, sliding open the wardrobe door and grabbing the first copy of the book she touched. Taking it back into the living room, she got herself a glass of wine and a bar of Cadbury’s chocolate and began leafing through the book—trying to refresh her memory. Could she simply continue with the characters’ adventures?
Book one had been about Eliza discovering her dominant side and attempting to try it out on a host of unsuitable and disinterested men before meeting Leon, who had played a little, but wasn’t terribly experienced. By the end, the pair had fallen into a mutually beneficial arrangement and were fast falling in love.
She’d felt the ending was satisfactory, but perhaps, just perhaps she could spin it out? Delve deeper into the characters and their feelings, and how they go about expressing them? And what would happen next? Would they decide to up their game? Start going to clubs, playing in public?
It seemed readers were enjoying the book, enjoying Eliza and Leon and their story—so it was likely they’d want more of them.
This might just work! Taking a fortifying gulp of wine and polishing off the rest of the chocolate, she skimmed through to the end of the book and reminded herself where she’d left off. Then, suddenly enthused about two fictional people she’d left behind ages ago and never thought she’d revisit, she made a dive for her laptop and opened up a new Word document.
Titles had never been her strong point, so “Book Two” would have to do for now. Then her pen name, then “Chapter One,” and... go!
Incredibly, her fingers flew over the keys, picking up speed until eventually she wondered whether she’d set the laptop on fire.
So engrossed was she that when Elijah’s voice suddenly sounded from behind her, next to her ear, she almost hit the ceiling.
“Uh, Catriona? What the hell are you doing?”
Shit! He’d clearly been reading over her shoulder and had seen the words there in black and white. How in God’s name was she going to get out of this one?
Chapter Four
As she ummed and ahhed, Elijah walked around the sofa and took a seat beside her, his eyebrows raised in enquiry. His gaze slipped over to the coffee table, where the discarded paperback sat, its spine finally having been broken.
“Err...” Brazen it out! Come on!
Clearing her throat, she eventually said, “I’m writing, Elijah. What can I say—I felt inspired.”
His eyebrows drew down now and he peered at her through narrowed eyes. “Yes, I’d worked that much out. But why are you writing what looks like a kinky romance between characters named Eliza and Leon? Last I heard, you hadn’t even read the book yet, so I’m struggling to believe you could be writing fan fiction.”
“I’ve read it now.” She waved over to the book on the table.
“Since you got home from work?” He snorted. “Not even a superhuman can read that fast. Come on, Catriona, tell me what’s really going on.”
Her mouth suddenly resembling the Sahara, she gulped. Opening her lips to speak, she realised she still had no idea what the hell she was going to say.
Reaching over for her wine, she downed the remainder of the liquid in the glass and then put it back down. It didn’t help—no amount of alcohol would give her the bravery to tell the truth here, of that she was sure. She was going to have to summon it up herself. Sweat broke out across her forehead and on her palms.
“I—it’s me,” she choked out, as though that was going to clear everything up.
Frowning, Elijah leaned forward, looking utterly confused. “What’s you, sweetheart?” he asked gently. “I don’t understand.”
“Ugh, nor do I!” Carefully, she placed her laptop down on the coffee table and reached for the book. “This,” she waved it at him, “this is me. She,” now she pointed to the author name printed on the jacket, “is me. I wrote it! I think my brain is melting!”
For once, Elijah actually looked ruffled. He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, struggling to work out what the hell was going on. “You... you wrote it?” The tone of his voice grew higher at the end of the question, even as comprehension dawned on his face.
“But,” he continued, scratching his head, “you said you hadn’t actually done any of this type of stuff—that you were just curious about it. I thought we were working up to it. Once we’d gotten to know each other better.”
“Wine?” was Catriona’s reply. She made to stand, but Elijah grabbed her wrist and pulled her back down.
“No running away, missy.” He sounded firm, but not angry. “I think I deserve an explanation, don’t you?”
“Yes. You do. Okay...”
She blurted everything out—from the frustration at work, the crazy late night writing sessions, the self-publishing and everything that had happened since, up to and including the email she’d just received and the resultant panic.
“So, you’ve got a two-book deal, basically?” Elijah asked, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
“Yes!” Catriona wailed. “And I am so fucked!”
“Wait... what? Now I’m confused all over again. When I came in it looked like you were whizzing along.”
“I was, but it was only the set up. I was kind of planning on having them go off and have lots of kinky adventures, visit dungeons, BDSM clubs, parties, and whatnot. I managed to come up with all that stuff for the first book without doing any research... but how am I going to pull it off again?”
“You’re not,” Elijah said decisively. “You got away with it once—and very successfully, I might add. But I don’t think your luck will continue.”
“Oh, well thanks for the vote of confidence,” she shot back, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Hey, don’t get arsey with me. I’m not the one who’s been lying ever since we met!”
All the bluster rushed out of her on a heavy sigh. “No, you’re not. I’m sorry. I really am—but this whole thing has been completely surreal and I just didn’t know how to deal with it. Anonymity is very important to me—I could lose my job if I’m outed. I really don’t think my bosses would understand that it’s just a story. I wanted to tell you so many times, but the longer I left it, the harder it got. Christ, it’s all such a fucking mess!”
“Wine?”
She nodded, and Elijah took her glass and headed for the kitchen area, refilling her glass and pouring himself one, too. Returning to the sofa, he passed her the drink and sat back down. “Take a sip, and calm the fuck down.”
Doing as she was told, Catriona swallowed, put the glass down, then pulled in and released a deep breath. “Okay, that’s a little better. Thank you. But why do I get the feeling you’re plotting something?”
The look on his face screamed mischief.
“Because I am,” he replied, his grin widening. “But it’ll be of benefit to both of us.”
She raised her eyebrows. “I’m listening.”
“Good. How about this: we finish this conversation, then go to your bedroom and have some seriously hot monkey sex. We hash out any additional issues and bullshit over pillow talk and potentially several more rounds of hot monkey sex. I leave in the morning, then we have a couple of days apart to let the dust settle. After that, we begin a new chapter. No pun intended.”
“Our new chapter puts the lies, or omissions, behind us. It then takes the rather large elephant in the room and puts it front and centre. We start again, a new level of trust, and we play. Starting small, and working our way through whatever scenarios we feel like. Then, whenever we’re both ready—we research your new book.”
“R—research? You mean...”
“I mean we explore together. Try new things, go to new places. We’ll essentially do everything before Eliza and Leon do, then you can write about it authoritatively. There will be stuff we enjoy, stuff we don’t... but it’ll be jolly fun finding out. What do you reckon?”
“You’d do that, for me?”
“Well, yeah. But it’s not just for you, not just for the book. I’ve wanted to experiment for a long time but haven’t found the right person. Now I think I have. We’ll start from the very beginning, as I said, and progress as deep and as dark as we agree we’re comfortable with. See where our adventure takes us.”
“God,” Catriona exhaled heavily, running her hands through her hair. “I don’t know what to say. I’ve been dreading how you’d react when I eventually told you about all this—and you’re being so fucking cool about it. I... well, I lied, for weeks, and instead of dumping me, you’re willing to forgive and forget. What did I do to deserve you?”
“Catriona,” he reached out and took her hands, having put his own wine glass on the table. “I get it. Trust me, I get it. I haven’t exactly shouted to all and sundry about my kinks—it’s just not the sort of person I am. So I understand why you’ve kept all this quiet. I do wish you’d told me voluntarily, but I’m certainly not going to hold a grudge. We need to move past it and get on with, well, whatever we’re going to do next. Have a relationship, explore our fetishes.”
Squeezing his large, warm hands, she looked into his eyes—those gorgeous, mesmerising eyes, and suddenly she knew exactly what she wanted to say. “Elijah—thank you. You are amazing, and I love you. And yes, yes to everything you said.”