“I’m not lonely,” I snapped.
And I meant it. If she wasn’t a one-night stand, she wasn’t for me.
Women were the one complication I didn’t fucking need.
Chapter Three
Callum
The meeting with the editors was blissfully short. I told Sandy to get her act together, reminded Larson to stop being a dick to everyone, and gave the new girl a pep talk in the hopes she might break out of that newbie shell a little bit. Then I okayed several of our big names to go ahead to print, rejected two of the worst covers I’d ever seen—and that included the ridiculous trend of ballroom dresses for young-adult dystopian novels—then proceeded to smooth things over with clients whose names I remembered only because my secretary put them in front of me when I called.
By the time that afternoon rolled around, I was almost relieved to have to go to the damn convention. Better that than to handhold a bunch of kids who hadn’t quite figured out what they were doing yet.
Sandy’s older than you, and Larson’s been doing this for ten yearsˆ I had to remind myself. Although I felt like an old man a lot of the time, the truth was I’d only just turned thirty-three. By many people’s standards, I was the kid.
Shaking those thoughts off, I got into my car and headed to the convention. It was located out toward Everett—for the scenery, they said—so I had a drive ahead of me. I’d be lucky if I made it by the last panel. I wasn’t too worried about it, though. I was going to make an appearance for Tarvish Press, but I wasn’t in the market for new editors, and while I kept my eyes open for additional clients, I didn’t need any at the moment. In fact, my quota for the year was nearly filled.
I pulled around to the hotel at just after six. There were still a few panels, but most would be closed up. “Damn,” I said half-heartedly. I couldn’t really make myself care too much about it.
I bravely let the valet park my baby, with a silent warning passing between us for him to not scratch my very expensive car, then headed inside. I straightened my suit and tie as I walked into the lobby and registered with the lady at the desk. I’d be staying that night and the next, then head home after the final day of the convention.
Key in hand, I headed toward the back half of the hotel where most of the convention itself would be held.
As I entered the room, I was already on my phone. I was texting with an editor and checking emails at the same time, answering query letters and discarding unsolicited manuscripts, because that was what I did with my life. When my phone pinged again, informing me that I had yet another new message, I braced myself for another complaint from “fill in the blank”—anyone from my editors to the automated voice-messaging system we were trying to revamp on our customer service line.
Instead, it was from Trent.
Got a date tonight. Waitress is hot.
I laughed a little and shook my head. Quickly, I answered, Lucky you. I’m stuck at a convention.
I waited a moment before another ping sounded.
Better you than me. Want pics? She’s kinky.
Making a face, I shook my head. You’re deplorable.
Almost instantly, he answered, Big word. Thought I was the author.
We went around like that a few more times, but eventually I had to go and invest a little time in actually being there. As I pocketed my phone, I headed toward the booths and checked in with the one for Tarvish Press. It was being handled by Dolores, a middle-aged woman who looked like she was a housewife but was actually one of the best talent agents we had on staff.
“Mr. Reid,” she greeted me excitedly. She adjusted the bug-glasses she wore and smiled broadly. “We’ve got an excellent turnout today. I didn’t think you’d show, though.”
I shrugged. “I was informed that I’d committed to be here.” I shook my head and sighed dramatically. “What idiot signed me up for this? Oh, right, me.”
I winked at her, and she laughed. “Well, I’m glad for your lapse in judgment.”
We talked about a few of the people who’d stopped by and whether or not I was interested in receiving a manuscript from them. I told Dolores the same thing I’d have told them in person: “Not without an agent.” We didn’t have the time to wade through unsolicited bullshit to find the good stuff. That was what agents were for.
I told Dolores I was going to make a lap and check out the other booths, scope out some of the competition this year, and that I would check in again with her before the evening was out. She waved me off and told me to get her a coffee if I could manage it.
As I headed toward a booth that was advertising several young-adult novels—I went back and forth between breaking into that market, but I couldn’t decide if it was worth the headache or not—I spotted a young woman in a pencil skirt. She was tall and not just because she wore three-inch heels. Her legs were long and shapely, going on for what felt like eternity before disappearing beneath her skintight skirt. Her pale blouse was tucked into the waistband, emphasizing her hourglass shape, and I noted instantly that she had a couple of those top buttons undone. Not unseemly, but damn if those few missing buttons didn’t grab my attention.
She was standing near a booth for S&W Publishing, one of my biggest competitors, and by the way she was mulling over the brochures, book selections, and business cards, I thought she was likely looking for a job.
She can work for me any day, I thought as I let my eyes roam over her once more.
She flipped her long auburn hair over one shoulder, revealing a heart-shaped face and a pair of bright green eyes. Freckles dotted her cheeks and nose, and I found it strangely endearing.
Adjusting my tie, I put on a smile and walked over to her. I pretended to peruse the table, looking over S&W’s offerings—not a bad way to get the lowdown on the competition, either—then glanced up when I “accidentally” bumped into her.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I wasn’t even paying attention,” I lied.
She pursed her lips together for a moment, then allowed herself a smile. It looked a little forced, but that didn’t dim the beauty of it. She had full kissable lips that I found my gaze lingering on, and the red lipstick that should have clashed with her hair only served to lure me in further.
“It’s fine,” she told me. “Are you looking at S&W Publishing?”
I shrugged. “Not really. I mostly wanted to see what others are doing right now. I’m already at a publishing house.”
She lifted a single slender eyebrow. “Oh? Author?”
I shook my head. “Editor.” That wasn’t strictly true. Technically I was the owner of Tarvish Press, but I also did some editing when there was overflow, and in the end, I was the one who okayed everything before it went to publishing.
“Ah,” she said.
I put my hands in my trouser pockets and smiled at her. “It’s a rough job sometimes. Long hours, lonely nights.” I let my eyes do a quick once-over again so that she knew I was interested. “But it’s rewarding, too.”
She gave a little laugh. “I’m sure.”
Marnie
I’m sure you think you’re a bigshot because you work for a publishing house, I thought but politely didn’t say. Although the man was attractive, the kind I didn’t mind having a quick roll in the hay with, I wasn’t really interested in sleeping with the competition. Mostly because I thought editors tended to be full of themselves and self-assured. Granted, I was also an editor, but that was part of the point. I knew the kind of people I worked with. I didn’t need to date one of them, too.
Still… he was attractive.
He had short dark hair that was styled very deliberately and cut fashionably short. His eyes were a light hazel that was a mixture of greens and golds mostly. He was dressed for work, like me, in a suit complete with tie. It was a dark, silky black that was tailored obviously for him. It showed off his trim waist and those broad shoulders that I was immediately drooling over.
Jesus, I just need to get laid, I thought, chastising myself for spending suc
h a long time looking him over.
“If you’re interested in a job,” he told me, gesturing toward the S&W Publishing table, “I could get you a meeting with my publishing house. Hell, I could even get you an interview with the owner himself.”
He smirked, smug and self-important, and it made me want to slap it right off him. Clearly the guy had no idea that I already worked for a publishing house—the one that I was standing in front of as a matter of fact.
“How generous of you,” I said sweetly. “But I’m not sure I’m qualified.”
His smile grew and he took a step closer to me. “Honey, I’m sure you’re qualified.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. Yeah, maybe to be your late-night plaything, I thought, then instantly regretted it because all of a sudden my mind was filled with R-rated images that involved our naked bodies getting kinky in the bedroom.
Ignoring that familiar heat between my legs, I batted my eyelashes at him and said, “I wouldn’t want to waste anyone’s time.”
“You wouldn’t,” he said. His eyes darted deliberately down to my shirt and what little cleavage was showing.
I had some weight on my chest, so I was more aware of how shirts fit me and how many undone buttons I could get away with before things got raunchy.
“In fact, I think you’d make everyone’s time a little more pleasurable.” He moved closer still until one more inch would put our chests pressing together. “You’ve certainly made my day better.”
A thrill ran through my body. Yes, he was a self-assured editor who was trying to use the promise of a meeting with his boss as a means of getting into my panties. But he was also sexy, and I’d hit a hell of a dry spell in the sex department. These days, it was me and a dirty book coupled with a late-night fingering session to fill those very special needs. So it really wasn’t my fault that I was thinking of jumping his bones and seeing if that one between his legs was hard, ready, and willing.
“Happy to help,” I told him simply, my voice a little breathier than I’d intended.
“Here.”
He offered a card, holding it up between us. I didn’t even glance at it, because I already knew I wasn’t going to do anything with it. I wouldn’t be lured into his bed with bribes and offers to meet his boss. I had standards.
Even if my body didn’t in that moment.
“What’s that?” I asked innocently.
His grin was smaller now, hungrier and more predatory. It was also sexy as hell and did lovely things to that hotspot between my thighs. “It’s my card. You’d probably have to start as a secretary,” he murmured, his voice low and husky. “But I’ll show you the ropes.”
My mind pictured him wrapping lengths of silky braided rope around my wrists, holding them behind my back as I arched my bare breasts forward. I imagined him tightening the cord, just enough to pinch a little, then lean forward to slide his teeth on the lobe of my ear. I could all but hear the way I’d beg him to do more, to get to it, to be as dirty and kinky as he wanted.
The fantasy was visceral and had me wet instantly. I swallowed thickly.
“There might be some late nights,” he promised, his eyes flashing, “but you’ll enjoy them.”
I shuddered. I’m sure I would. Reaching up between us, I took the card from him. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to seduce me.”
His smile turned downright wicked. “Maybe. You don’t seem to mind too much,” he pointed out.
“Maybe I don’t,” I answered. “But I’m not sure I want to sleep my way into the company.”
He shrugged. “Don’t worry. It wouldn’t be like that. You seem very capable.”
Yeah, I’m sure I fucking do. Asshole already thinks I’m a damn secretary. But to him I said, “Then maybe I’ll give you a call.”
“I’d like that.”
He might have tried to kiss me then, or take me up to the room that the company had likely booked for him, but I wasn’t interested in playing this game. Well, not really. Yes, I was starved for sex and my body felt ready willing and able, but that didn’t mean I was interested in giving it up to some stranger just because he promised me a pointless job that I didn’t need.
But he didn’t get the chance to insult my integrity because his phone went off then. He made a frustrated sound in his throat but dug into his trouser pocket to fish out his phone just the same. He scanned it briefly, then glanced up at me again. “Sorry about that. I have to take this. But please, call me.”
I told him I’d think about it, then waved with fluttery fingers as he walked off, answering his phone as he did so.
About a second after he left, Courtney came up beside me. She was manning the booth while I was supposed to be chatting people up, but she’d disappeared briefly for a potty break.
“Who the hell was that sexy slice of manly goodness?”
Courtney was 90 percent serious and 10 percent horny. Lucky me, I got the 10 percent in that moment.
“Some asshole editor.”
“You’re an editor,” she reminded me bluntly.
“Yes, but I’m not an asshole.” When she didn’t say anything in response to that, I shot her a glare. “You’re an asshole.”
She laughed. “Are you going to bang him?”
“You didn’t just say that,” I groaned.
She shrugged. “What? Banged is a thing. It’s sexual intercourse, but no one thinks ‘are you going to have intercourse with him’ is sexy.”
“I’m not going to sleep with him.”
“I’m just saying, you’ve had a dry spell—”
“I have not!” I argued, knowing even as I did it was a lie. “I go on dates.”
“That Single Mingle website does not count. Do you remember that balding, dead-cat-on-his-head-for-a-toupee-wearing accountant you got last time? I mean, please. My grandmother gets more action than you do.”
“Your grandmother’s dead,” I pointed out carefully.
“Exactly.”
I frowned. Courtney was a damn pain in my ass, and if she weren’t a fucking excellent secretary in addition to being my best friend, I’d have fired her ass and told her to stop being so damn nosy. “You’re lucky I don’t have time to hire a new secretary,” I muttered.
“Seriously. Are you going to sleep with the guy or not?” she asked, taking her seat behind the desk and straightening our business cards again.
I considered her words—tried and failed not to be offended by them—then said, “It wouldn’t be terrible to call him, right?”
She nodded. “Definitely nothing wrong with that.”
After a moment, I finally caved and looked at the card. I was seriously considering calling him when I noticed the name on the card. “Oh, hell no,” I said instantly.
Courtney raised her eyebrows from the other side of the desk. “What?”
I flipped the card over and held it out so that she could read the embossed lettering. “Tarvish fucking Press.”
“Jesus, Marnie! Leave it to you to sleep with the damn enemy!”
But I wasn’t sleeping with him, nor would I ever do so. If he worked for Tarvish Press, then I wanted nothing to do with the bastard. Tarvish had stolen twelve of our clients in the last six years, largely thanks to the fact that the asshole billionaire who owned the place was independently wealthy and could promise all kinds of things to the clients that he could fulfill even if the company wasn’t set up for it. He and Dorian had had a rivalry that went back years, possibly from their college days, and my loyalty to Dorian was enough on its own to keep me from so much as dialing a Tarvish Press number.
Gripping the card between my fingers, I tore it up into tiny squares, then dumped them into the trash can.
Courtney sighed. “Too bad. He was sexy.”
“Sexy and working for the devil.”
She shrugged. “We all sell our souls to the company store,” she reminded me.
“Yeah, well, at least our devil is sexy.”
She agreed
easily. We went back to hustling for S&W Publishing, and I made a point of forgetting all about that sexy, devil-worshipping editor from earlier.
Fuck that. I didn’t need a man in my life, dry spell or not. My career came first, and that was the way I liked it.
Chapter Four
Trent
I was seriously looking over my manuscript, with my legs propped up on my writing desk and my reading glasses sliding down my nose toward the tip. I leaned back heavily in my chair, with a cup of coffee cooling near the window and a typewriter sitting off to the side. It had been years since I’d even used it, but it was a nice little reminder of how much more difficult writing used to be. I wrote everything on my laptop—triple backed up on different hard drives and uploaded to iCloud just to make sure I didn’t lose a fucking thing—but every once in a while, I dicked around with the old girl.
Just a friendly reminder that writing is difficult and should be treated with respect, I thought. And that technology is fucking awesome.
I was in the editing stages of my latest novel. Callum had been nosing me about it for months, asking if I’d decided who to sign with yet, but I was leading him on. I hadn’t, as it was, and since the contract was up with my last publisher, I wasn’t sure I wanted to go back. They’d done well for me on a number of projects, but they were getting greedy—and they expected my business like they were entitled to it. I didn’t like that.
So I was still keeping my options open, and I acknowledged that there was a good chance I’d end up signing with Tarvish. I didn’t like mixing business with pleasure, but I was confident that Callum could keep things separate.
While I was working, my phone went off. It was the basic ring tone, telling me I didn’t know the caller.
I considered letting it go to voice mail, but I was annoyed by the suggested edits for the manuscript. I had Sara look it over and give me feedback before I submitted it to a publishing house—whenever I’d decided on one—and generally, she was spot-on. Officially, she was a friend who I paid generously to help me out. Unofficially, she was my secretary, my editor, and on occasion, my therapist and romantic-date counselor. We were purely platonic, one of the few beautiful women in my life who I’d not been interested in sleeping with, and that made her special.
Touch Me Page 14
