Twist Tied

by Guimond, Heather

My very own author-crush, Wyatt Chase, was at this conference. I started out in this business as an avid reader and fan, then did a short stint reviewing for a well-known blog before finally convincing a few authors they needed my help. I eventually came across Gage whose writing was leaps and bounds better than most of the others. Some people thought all they needed to do was write a few nasty words about fucking and boom! They’ve got a hot story. His weren’t like that. They were plot-thick and well-written. He was known as the unofficial king in the genre, but Wyatt was a close second. His novels leaned more toward the perverted. Good perverted. Hot perverted. The way he described his scenes, they became things I wanted to explore in a very real way. My resolution was twofold. I wanted to personally dip into the darker sexual side of myself that was drawn to his writing, and I wanted Wyatt to be my guide. I rolled my eyes at myself. It was so very cliché for me to be one of the many women vying for his attention, but it was what it was. I just happened to be lucky enough to have a semi-professional reason to approach him, unlike the other fangirls who willingly traded their dignity for a chance to touch him. I could get his attention peddling my PA credentials while secretly worshiping him like all the rest. Yeah because hooking yourself out is so much more honorable.

  I inched toward his table until I reached an open space at the corner. Trying to look nonchalant, I picked up one of his paperbacks and pretended to study the cover, surreptitiously studying him. Women of all ages, shapes, and sizes were lined up two rows deep to meet him, get his autograph, and hopefully, some extra-special attention. I moved closer to him as each woman got her autographed book and went away swooning. I clutched the book I’d picked up in my hand, though I already owned a copy of it, and tried to stand out by maintaining my composure.

  When I finally made it in front of him, I found myself tongue-tied and merely thrust the book at him. He smiled with humor as he looked at me.

  “Hi,” he said smoothly, opening the cover with his pen hovering over the title page. “What’s your name?”

  “I’m Clarisse,” I replied, finally finding my voice and affecting a casual pose. To my surprise, I sounded calm and sure. “I’m Gage Blackstone’s personal assistant. I came over here to do a book swap for him, so you don’t need to personalize this one. He’s going to hold a giveaway in his fan group for all the readers who couldn’t be here this week. I’ll bring one of his over to you in a little bit if that’s okay,”

  I mentally applauded myself on my ability to think quickly. I had the perfect latitude with Gage to give away his books for any reason I thought would promote him best, and book swaps were great ways to cross-promote with other authors.

  “Hey,” he said with an even bigger smile. “I’m more than happy to participate. Feel free to grab any of my other books too. I love tapping into that guy’s audience.”

  “He has a big one, that’s for sure, but yours is just as big.”

  “Make sure you spread that rumor around,” he said, his eyes twinkling as I groaned, inwardly in embarrassment. He signed the book and handed it back to me. “You sure you don’t want to take any others?”

  Not ready to relinquish his attention just yet, I snatched up three other books and handed them over. I couldn’t think of anything interesting to say, so I kept it professional while he autographed them.

  “Where’s your assistant? Didn’t she come with you on this trip?” I asked, knowing full well he and his last assistant had just parted ways. While I wanted to have something other than a professional relationship with him, I wasn’t above using my skills to get into his good graces.

  “I’m afraid not. I don’t have one anymore, but I’m in the market for a new one if you know anybody,” he said, grabbing one of his super sleek and sexy business cards. It was glossy black stock with just his name, website, and email address emblazoned in silver on the front, his social media links on the back. Grabbing a gold Sharpie, he scrawled something on the front of it, right at the bottom.

  “That’s my personal email and cell phone number,” he said as he handed it to me. “If you have anyone to refer, you can get ahold of me there. I’ll see it quicker if you call me or send it to that address.”

  I cradled the card in my palm like it was gold. I could see the lady next to me trying to peek over my shoulder, so I hurriedly pocketed it. Well, I really tucked it in my bra since my dressy black slacks didn’t have pockets. Wyatt’s big brown eyes were dazzling as they widened as he watched me. He gave me a sly grin.

  “I hope that doesn’t get lost in there,” he said with a smirk. I gave him a wry look back before his eyes finally skated to the woman next to me. I could nearly feel her vibrating with excitement. He motioned me to lean forward. He cupped my ear and whispered into it, “I need help keeping some of these women in line, not to mention all the other details I can’t handle promoting myself.”

  I leaned back with a grin. He didn’t know it yet, but managing the crowds at book signings was one of my specialties.

  “I have just the person in mind for you, Wyatt. You can be sure you’ll hear from me. Happy New Year to you,” I said as I loaded my arms full of his books and started to stroll away, pleased with my initial contact.

  “You know, maybe if you have a few minutes at the after-party, we can chat further,” he called out to me. My knees nearly buckled with anticipation.

  “Come find me,” I replied confidently as I smiled back at him over my shoulder. “I’ll make time for you.”

  I turned my back before he could say anything else and calmly made my way back to Gage and Stacy though I really wanted to jump up and down and do a fist pump. I’d save that for the privacy of my own room.

  * * *

  The conference had been a three-and-half-day affair, culminating with a book signing and a huge after-party on New Year’s Eve. That had been Kent’s brainchild, in the hope to take advantage of the wild crowds that already packed the city for the holiday. It’d worked. Every possible space and room in his hotel were occupied, most people there specifically for the conference.

  The after-party was to be an outrageous masquerade party, an affair where nearly anything went. They’d hired all kinds of naughty performers to circulate through the crowd—sensual dancers, people clad in fetish wear, BDSM demonstrators, and topless cocktail servers in gold body paint—along with a deejay and an open bar. Guests were encouraged to be as daring as they wanted or just to come as they were. The only rule was everyone had to wear a mask. Alexis had selected beautiful feathered ones to hand out to people who’d forgotten or neglected to bring them. I was eager to see just how well the theme would go over.

  Personally, I’d dressed in a tight, white, satin evening gown with a plunging neckline á la a nineteen-forties starlet with my chin length, dark brown hair curled into sexy waves. I wore a white, lace mask and had painted my lips a deep scarlet. I felt like a femme fatale and planned to use it to my advantage when I got Wyatt cornered. Hopefully, he’d be too distracted by my irresistible allure to talk about his business needs—I could hope, anyway.

  I took the short ride up the elevator to Kent and Alexis’ suite where I found Alexis hustling around, trying to put the finishing touches on what I called her Parisienne hooker outfit—a ruffled, striped corset, satin-draped skirt, and lacy thigh-high stockings—while Kent sat back in a tuxedo on the kidney-shaped, black sofa in the living area. He was sipping a vodka tonic with lime, his eyes following her mile-high stiletto heels everywhere she went.

  Gage and Stacy were seated with Kent, dressed as a whip master and his slave. In other words, Gage wore a leather vest and matching tight pants, a bullwhip hanging from his belt. Stacy was wearing a tight vinyl bustier, matching minuscule booty shorts, and sky-high, thigh-high boots that laced up the back. It was surreal to see the good girl gone wild.

  “Do the other Village People know you’ve taken the night off?” I said with a chin tilt at Gage’s get-up as I sat down next to him.

  “Don’t make me use this th
ing,” he replied, his fingers lightly brushing over the whip coiled at his waist. “What are you? The virgin sacrifice?”

  “I’m a forties Hollywood star, dummy,” I said after rolling my eyes at him.

  “All that white kind of detracts from the dangerous female image. You look more like a child bride who’s trying too hard.”

  “I was hoping to score like Stacy did. You know, sweet, pretty girl on the outside, raging sex kitten on the inside. I just thought I’d do a little more advertising than she did,” I said, with a wink to Stacy who was curled up next to Gage as much as her restrictive outfit would allow.

  “I didn’t know I liked all this kinky fuckery until I met Gage,” she giggled.

  “You didn’t even know the words ‘kinky fuckery’ until you met Gage,” Alexis’ voice carried on the air as she walked into the room, laughing. Stacy shot her the middle finger but did so with her signature sweet smile. We all laughed even Kent before his eyes quickly darted back to Alexis’ shoes.

  “Is everyone ready?” Alexis asked as she put on her mask, then handed Kent a Phantom of the Opera one. He tossed back the last of his drink, then put it on. He may have been Alexis’ man, but if someone held a gun to my head, I’d have to confess he looked irresistibly sexy and mysterious. It was a good thing I had my eye on Wyatt Chase; otherwise, she might kill me.

  “Let’s do this,” Stacy said, taking a deep breath. She had to be nervous as hell, being as reserved as she normally was. Combine that with the fact she was going to appear in public half-dressed? I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d taken a handful of Xanax just to get through the night.

  Alexis stopped us, just before we made our way to the door. Pouring shots of Belvedere for each of us, she raised her little glass in a toast.

  “I want to thank you guys for helping make this whole affair a success. You’ve put so much into it, and I’m eternally grateful. Here’s to good friends!”

  We slammed our drinks back one at a time, hooting as we did.

  “Now, let’s get out there and rip the ceiling off this bitch!” she shouted with a wicked grin.

  My eyes were glued to Clarisse as she all but sashayed away from my table while the woman in front of me gushed uncontrollably about how she’d read every single one of my books three times. I still loved hearing how people were affected by the stories I wrote, particularly when they found themselves excited by them, but Clarisse had caught my eye, and damn, I was having a hard time tearing it away. Danger, Will Robinson… I gave a nod to my newfound internal warning system, relieved it was still intact.

  Finally turning my attention to my reader, I took the books she wanted and scrawled a short note and my name in each of them. I tried to be as original as I could with each personalization, so no two people got the same message. It wasn’t always easy, but I did my best. I started to stand to let her take a picture of us in front of my banner, but she rounded my table, pushed me back into my seat, and hopped into my lap. She snapped picture after picture—some innocent, but many others with her kissing my neck or mugging it up while she ran her hand over my chest. I knew it would happen at some point this trip—many of my readers were passionate, yet overzealous women. The first signing I attended, it scared the shit out of me. For once, I knew what it was like to be only a sex object. As you can imagine, back then, I didn’t mind very much. I’d been a slave to my ego, but depending on who was doing the manhandling, it could also be downright disturbing. Like the hunchback from Idaho who had a hairy mole on her upper lip and kept trying to get me to give her a kiss. For a guy fresh into the writing game, it was a startling introduction to the fact readers came in all variety of packages. I loved them all, but I also learned some fans I loved more from a distance.

  Now, I sat wondering if I’d truly learned anything. It was a year later, and off and on throughout the signing, I was daydreaming over a little brunette who had more power to ruin me at her fingertips than fifty rabid readers combined. Nevertheless, my little buddy was voting for seducing her into becoming my very personal assistant. He might have whispered a few words about field testing ideas with her. With superhuman effort, I put the kibosh on my inappropriate thoughts and got back to signing books for the rest of the afternoon.

  * * *

  I groaned as I finally stood from my seat for the previous four hours, my back sore and my ass numb. I also had a touch of writer’s cramp from autographing so many pages. I shook my head for thinking about my awful ‘author problems.’

  I had just enough time to grab a quick snack from room service before putting on my costume for the New Year’s Eve party. I’d put a lot of thought into it, knowing people would assume I’d come as something out of a BDSM dungeon, based on the underlying themes in my books. Wanting to be original, I dressed as a gladiator. What woman didn’t think a sword-wielding buff guy in a leather skirt was hot? It had also given me a spark for a new series about Roman gladiators and the women who lusted after them. I hoped to be able to measure how well the series might be received by judging the reactions to my costume. I hadn’t read much historical romance in my day, but gladiators didn’t seem to be an overdone trope.

  I laughed as I lightly oiled my chest and arms, feeling like a total tool. I didn’t know how the models we used for our covers took themselves seriously if this is what they had to do for work all the time. To make matters worse, I smeared sooty colored makeup over random body parts to make it look like I was fresh from a fight. As I did, I wondered how I’d pick Clarisse out of the sea of masked women. The one thing I had going in my favor was being in disguise myself. I praised Reina Dare’s stroke of genius. The masks would allow everyone to mingle anonymously if they wanted to, or at least until someone figured out who was in which costume. I could move around incognito as I searched for Clarisse. The downside was she’d also likely be in costume, and I’d have to check out every petite, brown-haired woman at the party. It wouldn’t exactly be a hardship, I hadn’t lost my love for women after all, but I was concerned about lapsing into my “sexy macho-man” persona. My little buddy was a man unto himself, at least that’s what he thought. I didn’t really want another lesson in humility, personally. Taking a deep breath, I whispered to myself, “I will be a good boy. I will keep everything strictly business.”

  I donned my leather sandals before putting on my mask. It was a half-mask, made to look as if it were constructed with iron. I left my short, black hair messy, hoping it added to the overall look. Without even a glance in the bathroom’s full-length mirror, I grabbed my startlingly real-looking sword and scabbard, then set off for the ballroom, my mind full of perfectly innocent thoughts.

  I shouldn’t have worried about how I’d find Clarisse among the conventioneers. As soon as my feet hit the threshold, my eyes were drawn to the tiny woman in the sexiest white gown I’d ever seen. It fit like a satin glove, molding to the curves of her diminutive frame. Her white feathered mask concealed the top half of her face, but her full, ripe, red lips were the final giveaway to her identity.

  My initial instinct was to walk right up to her and stake my claim on her for the rest of the night. Gritting my teeth, I reminded myself I was a changed, improved man and refused to let my imagination and libido take control. I would make the rounds, engage in some fun conversation with readers and fellow authors, never lingering too long in one group. I’d get to Clarisse when I could. She would not be my priority. Indulging myself was no longer an option.

  Throughout the night, I kept to my plan. I mingled, chatted, and enjoyed myself. I made a few new author connections I hoped would expand my circle of peers and met several pleasant women who were effusive but polite. I’m proud to say, there was no mauling, groping, or ass grabbing involved. Nevertheless, as I circulated, I was keenly aware of the perpetual flash of white in the corner of my eye. I didn’t know if it was intentional, but Clarisse was on my radar the entire time. Every time I caught a glimpse of her, I tried to wrap up whatever conversation I was having and move on
to the next.

  After a while, she disappeared. I wasn’t sure how long it had been since she’d left my orbit, but I found myself oddly displeased. I hadn’t felt her presence as a form of flattery, more like a reassuring specter who’d be there when I needed her—as if she’d always be in reaching distance. That alone was reason enough to want her to be my new personal assistant. It made me think she was attentive and reliable though she’d never once tried to approach me.

  I broke away from the small group of authors I’d been chatting with and did a tour of the room, trying to find her. I was on my third pass and was about to give up. I headed to the bar, thinking I’d get one last drink, then call it a night. I’d get in contact with Gage Blackstone when I got back home. He’d probably be willing to put me in touch with her.

  As I approached the bar, that gleam of white caught my eye again. She was standing right there, talking to a sexy redhead dressed in PVC fetish wear. I hardly noticed the barely dressed woman, my eyes stuck on Clarisse. She had to have been sewn into that gown, it fit so well—admiring her from behind, the line of her delicate back straight and smooth, down to the curve of her hips and beyond. I heard the warning bells begin to chime, but I reassured myself, I could still appreciate a beautiful woman while keeping my hands to myself. There was no danger whatsoever.

  When the party began, I spotted Wyatt as soon as he walked into the room. Throughout the day, I’d studied his features and build so closely, I would have recognized him by his shadow. The way his leather shoulder armor cut across his glistening, olive-skinned torso had tied my stomach into knots. It displayed his well-muscled chest impressively, and his long, lean thighs played peek-a-boo from beneath the leather straps of his skirt.

  I didn’t want to be the one to approach him. I wanted to remain as aloof as possible, so he wouldn’t guess my secret agenda to seduce him. But another part of me was quietly hoping he’d seek me out on his own—just because he wanted to—even if it was only to talk about PA junk.