by Maya Rodale
“So are you feeling faint?” Duke asked, apropos of nothing.
“What are you talking about?” That champagne and dancing from earlier had gone to my head.
“The Ashbrooke effect,” he explained. When I looked at him blankly, he explained: “As in the duke of Ashbrooke. As in the hero of your novel. I’m assuming he’s based on me. Vain, I know. But tell me, Sweater Set, am I making you weak in the knees?”
“I’m sitting down,” I replied, as I started to get his references to my novel. Oh dear God, he had obviously read my novel and figured out that it was based on us. Suddenly, my knees did feel weak, even though I was sitting, because I had been counting on the fact that billionaire boys don’t read romance novels. Of course, Duke had to be the exception to every rule.
“You look a bit flushed,” Duke continued, and I could feel the blush of mortification flaming across my cheeks.
“I’ve been drinking,” I said, and took another sip of water. Frantically, I tried to recall the things I wrote and—I closed my eyes. This wasn’t supposed to happen.
“Feeling breathless?”
“I’ve been dancing,” I replied. But really, how was I supposed to breathe when this guy had read the novel about us—that I had poured my heart into?
“Is your heart pounding with anticipation?” His voice was real low now because he had cuddled up next to me in the booth and wrapped his arm around my shoulders, pulling me even closer.
“Yes,” I gasped. “Yes.”
My heart was pounding; I was breathless, and a little bit dizzy.
“You weren’t supposed to read it,” I said, taking another sip of water. “That’s why I published it under a pseudonym.”
“I had to know what everyone was talking about,” he replied. “And then I had to be able to converse intelligently about it with the author.”
“I didn’t think you’d read it,” I muttered.
“So you never thought that I would find out that you described me as ‘so handsome that he sucked all the attention in the room toward himself, as if he possessed his own personal force of gravity.’”
“No, of course not.” Otherwise I wouldn’t have published it.
“Or that you described yourself as a plain wallflower?”
“Nope. And this is embarrassing,” I said.
“It’s a good book, Jane,” Duke said. “No matter what happens, know that. If it didn’t—”
“If it didn’t what?” My brain snapped to focus.
“It complicates things,” Duke said reluctantly, shifting so he wasn’t holding me so close anymore.
“Because of Augustus?” I remembered the articles I read about their big and overlooked product launch because everyone was talking about my book and the anger of the big and overlooked investor.
“Yes,” Duke said grimly. “But not just him. I’m a private person, Jane.”
I couldn’t help it—I burst out laughing.
“What’s so funny about that?”
“You share everything about yourself online! You’re on all the news sites, the blogs, on Twitter, Instagram, and on social networks I’ve never even heard of!”
“Yeah, but notice I never tell them anything really personal or revelatory about me. It’s all about Project-TK or the industry.”
“It’s true, isn’t it? You don’t tell anyone what you’re thinking or feeling. No one really knows you, do they? Even me.” I remembered being so frustrated knowing which articles he’d read, or having seen pictures of meals he ate, but having no idea how he felt about me, or us, or anything deeply personal.
“I told you things, Jane, that I never told anyone else. And now I see them published for everyone to read and make assumptions,” Duke said. “All that stuff about your Duke and his aunt brings up stuff about me, and my aunt who raised me.”
I glanced up at him. His expression was inscrutable, but I saw the tension in his jaw. He took a sip of his whiskey.
“Ashbrooke . . . he’s just made up,” I said. It wasn’t a total lie. Ashbrooke was fictional. He was just inspired by Duke.
“And Benedict Chase?” Duke turned to face me. Sam Chase might have been reinvented as Benedict Chase.
“Alright, so I used a bit from my personal life.”
“Did I ruin your date with Sam the other night?”
My heart was pounding again as I whispered, “What if I said no?”
“Everyone thinks you’re mine,” he said. “And I’m starting to believe it too.”
“You say that as if it’s a bad thing,” I said.
There was something he was keeping from me. I could tell. It was there in the way he refused to meet my gaze and instead took a long sip of his expensive whiskey. It was in the way I had a sudden tremor of fear. All teasing aside, the success of my fictional book was causing real problems with Duke and me.
“Duke . . .” I rested my hand on his arm and tried to soothe away the tension I felt there. “I just wanted to write. I had something to prove to myself and to everyone. You understand that. I know you do.”
He gruffly agreed.
“I could unpublish it, I guess.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them. Because I could do it didn’t mean I wanted to diminish my accomplishment in order to raise up his.
“No, I wouldn’t ask that of you,” Duke said strongly. “It’s just that Grey is pissed that all the media attention was focused on my fiancée’s “smutty bodice ripper”—his words, not mine—instead of our new product launch.”
I looked into his eyes and there was no denying the truth.
“He’s not the only one pissed,” I said softly. “You are too.”
Duke set down the now-empty glass of whiskey hard on the table making the cutlery clink and the candle flicker.
“I just worked so damned hard to build Project-TK. It was a huge risk and everyone was skeptical but I believed and I made my team believe, too. And now . . . for what? People aren’t talking about it, which means they’re not using it, which means my monetization plan is going to fail, which means my chances at an IPO are blown.”
“I’m so sorry.” I was. I positively ached with remorse. “I just never thought anyone would actually read my book, let alone people in the tech industry. Just in case they did, I published it under a different name. If it weren’t for that blogger overhearing Roxanna talk about it and exposing me, this wouldn’t be an issue. I didn’t plan this. I wouldn’t ever plan this. I am so sorry.”
“It complicates things, Jane. The reason we got together is so that your good-girl image can make me seem like an upstanding, responsible guy. And now you wrote this book that has everyone thinking we’re liars. And then there are pictures of you dancing on a banquette.”
“What?” I gasped. He grinned wryly and handed me his iPhone. The picture was dark, but light and clear enough: I was standing on a banquette with Roxanna beside me, we were both singing, waving our arms, and sipping our glasses of champagne. We looked drunk and wild and up to no good.
“That was from two hours ago!” But it was already all over the Internet.
“I don’t want to do this, Jane but—” There was a tense moment of silence when the waiter arrived with another glass of Macallan, which Duke immediately sipped from. I had a sinking feeling about the bad news that was inevitably coming next.
“You’re going to pick your company over me,” I said flatly. Why, why, why did my heart ache to say the words? I knew from the start that things between us were just pretend. Except somewhere along the line, my feelings for him became all too real.
He gazed down at me, blue eyes full of sadness. That was what started to undo me—he did care. But I had fucked things up.
The champagne buzz was starting to wear off and a headache was taking its place.
“I want you both,” he said softly. “But things can’t go on like this. I can’t ask you to give up your work for mine. But I can’t slack off on Project-TK now. We’re prepping for the
IPO, Jane. Twenty billion dollars are on the line here. This is bigger than me and you.”
“I get it,” I murmured. And then, gazing into his eyes, I confessed: “I just don’t like it.”
This was the closest we’d come to talking about our feelings. What remained unspoken, but was finally understood, was that this was no longer just an act for either of us.
I could see it in his eyes. This guy liked me. Wanted me. Was tortured because of it. I could also see that his brilliant, billion dollar brain was coming up with an alternative course of action.
“Or . . .” he murmured, eyes lighting up. “We put the word out that we’ve broken up.”
Telling people we had broken up wasn’t the same as actually breaking up.
“Just thinking as a novelist here and not a jilted pretend girlfriend—do you think a breakup right now will really quiet all the rumors that we faked a relationship so you could score a 150 million dollar investment?”
“You wouldn’t be a jilted girlfriend. We could still see each other in secret.”
“A secret romance,” I murmured. “I’m the one who’s supposed to come up with that stuff.”
“Fodder for your next book,” he said with a grin. “What do you say, Jane? Want to be my secret lover?”
“Ha,” I said, rolling my eyes. “That’s just the best of both worlds for you, isn’t it? Me, at night, on the DL. And your company every waking moment.”
“Hey, you get something out of this, too. You can promote the hell out of the book without it impacting Project-TK. And you get me at night. So what do you think, Sweater Set? Should we keep this just between us?”
I was tempted. Because a girl didn’t find guys that could kiss like him every day. And guys with his brains and body weren’t exactly common. In spite of his flaws, he was a catch. Even more tempting, he was showing me the world and showing me myself. I did want to be with him.
But I didn’t want to be anyone’s secret bit on the side.
So it was with not a small amount of reluctance that I said, “I think that if we’re going to break up, you might want to sit on the other side of the booth.”
“But then I can’t do this . . .” Duke ducked his head to kiss my neck and I couldn’t help but sigh and tilt my head to give him more access. His every little touch just affected me from the tingling of my skin to the deep heat unfurling within. It was pure, raw desire.
But was it more? Would I ever know? The more pressing question was whether I was going to give up my newfound success for a guy who wasn’t really my boyfriend anyway.
I reached for my glass of water.
Duke stopped kissing me.
“I guess you’re not digging the idea of a secret romance.”
“You’d think it would be something I’d be into.”
“I don’t really like it either, Jane,” he said, voice rough. “I want you. Not in a pretend way but in a real way. But I’m so fucking close to succeeding where I’ve failed before, but—”
“You want the success more.” He nodded. Sadness in his eyes.
“I’ve been working ever since my parents died and Ada taught me to code,” he explained. “This is everything I am.”
“And you’ve only known me a few weeks. I get it, Duke. Really, I do. Because for the first time in my life, I’m tasting success and it’s good.”
“But is it better than this?”
His lowered his head and claimed my mouth. The instant our lips touched I felt the sparks. My heart got all excited and beat in a wild, uneven rhythm. I threaded my fingers through his dark, tousled hair and cupped my palm against his strong jaw covered with stubble. I tasted him and the whiskey he’d been drinking. I drank him in. What if this was our last kiss?
As if he had the same thought, he pulled me closer and our kiss deepened. This was real. Whatever else about us was fake, an act, or pretend, this was real. I could feel him not just where he touched me, but in my soul.
I sighed, leaning in to him. If we kept this up, it’d only be a matter of time before I was back in his bed. And if it was hard to end a kiss, it was damn near impossible to leave his bed.
So I gave up all thoughts of more and got lost in the moment. My world was nothing more than his mouth and mine, the heat building inside of me, and the mad beat of my heart.
“I don’t know,” I murmured, totally frustrated. “I just don’t know. There’s what I want to do. And what I know I should do.”
He rested his forehead against mine, pressed one last kiss upon my lips.
“What are we going to do, Sweater Set?”
“So the options are that I go back to being Miss Goody-Goody Sweater-Set while you work like crazy. Or we break up and I go wild and be your secret lover.”
“Or?”
“Or . . .” I took a deep breath and couldn’t believe what I was about to say. “Or we really split up. You work on Project-TK without the distractions of a wild and scandalous romance novelist, who might just have an idea for her new book that you’re not going to like.”
Chapter Five
* * *
DUKE AND I both changed our relationship status on Facebook to “It’s Complicated” which was the fastest and easiest way to let the world know that the story was over. Of course, the chatter didn’t die down immediately.
The comments on my status update were . . . numerous.
Miranda Sparks: Poor baby, what happened? I tried calling, why don’t you ever answer when your mother calls?
Jane Sparks: Sorry, mom. I’ve been busy with work. I’ll call you this weekend.
Sam Chase: I’m here if you want to talk.
View 98 more comments.
The conversation continued on Twitter.
@DukeAusten: 24/7 devoted to my new mistress: http://bit.ly/JEpVK1
It was a link to Project-TK’s new product.
@TheAtlantic: Maybe Women Can’t have it All? The significance of the breakup btw Duke Austen & Jane Sparks over her wildly successful book. http://bit.ly/1hi0Yzi
@Jezebel: Women who fancy a billionaire workaholic rejoice: Duke Austen and his pretend fiancée have reportedly split up for realz.
And then this happened to my inbox:
To: Jane Sparks
From: Sam Chase
Subject: You
Hey Jane,
Would love to take you out to dinner to celebrate your new book. Saturday night in the city?
Sam (Or should I sign this Benedict?)
Chapter Six
* * *
258 West 15th Street
SATURDAY NIGHT FOUND me stumbling around my tiny bedroom wearing one shoe and a grey silk dress unzipped in the back. I was searching for my other black satin heel.
“Ow!” I stubbed my toe on the foot of my bed.
The shoe was still at large when I spied the earrings I meant to wear. Then I realized they didn’t go with the dress, so I took it off and chucked it overhead. It landed on my laptop, which I had left open on my bed, a Word document of the new manuscript I was working on was open on the screen.
Wallflower Gone Wild
By Jane Sparks
“It so happens that there are worse fates than remaining unwed for Lady Penelope’s ball,” Olivia declared. Catching a glimpse of herself in a mirror she saw that her eyes were bright with anger and her cheeks were uncharacteristically flushed.
Emma (once a wallflower and now a duchess) and Prudence (still London’s Least Likely to Be Caught in a Compromising Position) fell silent, sipped their tea and considered the possibilities of what could possibly be worse than the worst thing in the world.
This novel was about a good girl who realizes she has to break all the rules if she wants to find true love. Her scandalous antics were causing problems for her hero, who was busy building a new, revolutionary machine. Eventually I would write my way to happily ever after, but for now it was all about a girl finally allowing herself to follow her heart, to hell with the rules or what anyone thought.
>
I pulled my black jersey dress off the hanger and slipped it overhead. The fabric clung to my curves and the ruching along the sides and under the bust emphasized them. The skirt hit just above the knee, the neckline was low.
Taking a deep breath, I turned around and picked up the other dress from where it was draped across my laptop. I glanced over and caught a line I had written the other day:
“I have been the perfect lady,” Olivia said slowly, stating the obvious. “We were led to believe that ladylike behavior would be rewarded with good husbands and happily ever after. We were gravely misled.”
I knew I’d made the right choice with Duke. I couldn’t just be his back-up girl or secret lover, and I couldn’t stop living my life so he could live his. That wasn’t fair, or equal, or the kind of love I wanted. And while I couldn’t get him out of my head, and I still craved his body, I knew just the sex wasn’t enough. I wanted true love. The kind of love that makes each person stronger. The kind of love where you can grow together instead of grow apart.
Duke needed me to be a girl I no longer was.
Whereas Sam . . . . I had a date with Sam. And he seemed to like the new me.
I was just putting my phone, wallet, lip gloss and keys into my vintage black sateen clutch when Roxanna knocked on the door and leaned against the doorjamb.
“Do you need me to call with a dire emergency that requires your immediate assistance?”
I laughed and said, “No. I’ll be fine.”
“He’s going to ask you a ton of awkward questions about your book.”
“At which point I will faint so as to avoid answering. Obvs.”
“Is that what you’re wearing?” She eyed me up and down, from the heels, to the dress, to my hair pulled back in a messy bun.
“Was planning on it, why?” I glanced in the mirror—I looked hot. But not like I was trying too hard. Or so I thought.
“It just says ‘ravish me.’ Are you sure that’s the message you want to send to him?”
“Yes.” I exhaled. “I don’t know if I want to follow through, but I want the option.” Was that wrong, I wondered? But then how could it be wrong for a girl to have choices?
