Selfie

by Leslie Johnson

  When I remained silent, he continued on, both hands now caressing my cheeks. “And tonight, you present me with this amazing new manuscript. This juggernaut of a novel. When I finished the first thirteen chapters, all I could do was sit here and stare at you. At the way you curled up on the sofa like a languid kitten and slept the night away without a care in the world.”

  I was half drunk and badly in need of a hot shower, but I didn’t want to interrupt Eric. Besides, I couldn’t find the right words to say.

  This time, he cupped my face, bringing me closer to him. “How have you managed to escape the attention of other publishers and agents? How have you remained so anonymous until now?” And before my sluggish mind could predict what he was about to do, he leaned down and captured my lips with his own.

  The first thought I had was how experienced he was. Obviously he had kissed enough models and actresses to become an expert on the matter. And yet they were nothing like Hunter’s. Eric’s kisses were passionate and cultured, but also calculated. I could sense he was holding back, as if control was more important than losing himself.

  But not Hunter. His kisses were hot, demanding, rough, seeking, devouring. They made me wild with desperate need as we lost ourselves in each other. And because I had grown accustomed to such crazy levels of passion, everything else simply paled in comparison.

  My eyes fluttered open as Eric finally pulled back to smile at me. I had to admit, I was worried about what would happen next.

  He ran his thumb across my bottom lip. “I know you have a boyfriend, but they come and go. And frankly, he doesn’t deserve you.” His expression turned serious. “People like us need intellectual equals who will fuel our creativity and progress. He can’t give that to you, Rosemary. He’ll only hold you back. But I can help propel you to literary stardom.”

  “I . . . I don’t know what to say.”

  Eric gracefully rose to his feet. “You don’t have to say anything right now. But you should know, I don’t take rejection well.” His gaze turned cool. “I can forgive the first slight. The second time, however, is quite another story. So think carefully before you give me your answer.” And he left the study, leaving me alone with my troubled thoughts.

  Was that a thinly-veiled threat?

  But I had signed a three book-deal with Wyman and Steinberg, and it was too late for either party to back out now. I needed them and they needed me, albeit to a lesser degree. So the idea of Eric deliberately setting out to sabotage the debut publication of a promising novel just because of a silly girl’s refusal to sleep with him was ludicrous.

  And yet. Feelings of doubt rose up in me.

  Welp. I guess you were right all along, Hunter. I won’t be questioning your gut feelings again, that’s for sure.

  With a heavy heart, I left Eric’s study and returned to my room, closing the door quietly behind me. As I lay across the bed, I pulled out my cell phone and spent the next half hour looking at Hunter’s Instagram page and reading the comments posted by his adoring followers. He had uploaded a couple of new photos – a photo of Wally and him at the gym, and a morning photo of his rumpled, unmade bed. For the caption, he had written: “Miss her.” Naturally, the comment section had exploded, with fans wailing about their breaking hearts and theorizing about whether he was referring to an old flame who was long, long gone from his life. I snorted. Delusion was an amazing thing, really.

  I punched in his number and pressed the phone to my ear. He answered on the fifth ring.

  “Roe,” he mumbled in a deep, sleep-filled voice, “what time is it?”

  “Did I wake you?”

  He let out a tired chuckle. Shit, he sounded so unbelievably sexy that my heart skipped a beat.

  “Kind of. I was dreaming about you.”

  “Tell me what I was doing.”

  “You were swimming in the ocean,” he muttered, breathing softly. He soon fell quiet, and I wondered if he was sleeping. “Hmm . . . you were naked, yeah . . . I was so bucking pissed because the sexy wombat ate my burgers . . . but Pluffy Foo was drowning, so we stopped to rescue Dorothy from Wally . . .” His breathing slowed considerably, then he jerked partially awake again. “Eugh. Anyway, it was extremely erotic.”

  I clapped a hand over my mouth, stifling my giggles. “That sounds amazing,” I said later. “But you sound so tired, sweetie. I’m sorry for waking you.”

  “Hmm. I’m thinly awake. Don’t worry . . . about . . . my amnesia.”

  So help me, but I was utterly, unquestionably in love with this man. And it only confirmed what I already knew – I would not let anything jeopardize our relationship.

  Even if that meant facing Eric Steinberg’s threats head on.

  “I’ll let you go back to sleep now,” I whispered into the phone. “Sweet dreams, Hunter.”

  “All righty. I love you . . . huhhh . . . I’ve always . . . loved you . . .” He trailed off, and this time, deep breathing filled my ear.

  He had fallen asleep.

  I ended the call and stared at the high ceiling, thinking hard. If Eric decided to make good on his threats, I would have no alternative but to invoke the termination clause. Hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that. After all, he was first and foremost a professional who prided himself on the success of Wyman and Steinberg Publishing. And his feelings toward my novels were far stronger than any feelings he felt for me. He wouldn’t throw that away just to claim me between his bed sheets.

  I decided to tell him my decision tomorrow morning. Then I would leave for Los Angeles a day early and make sure my agent handled all future communications with Wyman and Steinberg. It would free me to focus more on my writing.

  Feeling cautiously optimistic about the whole thing, I closed my eyes and finally allowed myself to get some much-needed rest.

  Chapter 21

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Eric glared at me across the breakfast table. “I said no. You’re not leaving one day early. And I refuse to accept your answer.” He shot me a disapproving look. “You haven’t given yourself sufficient time to even think about it.”

  Eric hadn’t been lying. He really couldn’t take rejection very well.

  I bet he’s the one who does all the dumping, and never the other way around.

  When I stared back at him, he pointed his butter knife at my plate. “Eat your scrambled eggs and toast. They’re getting cold.”

  And now he was treating me like a bloody child.

  Fuming silently, I stuffed the fluffy morsels into my mouth and avoided his gaze for the remainder of our breakfast. As lovely as his Hamptons home was, he couldn’t keep me hostage in this house. Surely he had better things to do than that!

  When I took my empty plate and glass to the kitchen, Eric followed after me. “Listen, Rosemary, we still have one day left. So let’s try to get the most out of it.” He set down his own plate before placing his large hands on my shoulders. “Can you look at me? Please?”

  I turned around, sighing. “I was right, wasn’t I? You did lie to me about other writers coming here because you knew I wouldn’t have said yes otherwise.”

  He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I wanted to spend time with you. I wanted to get to know this young writer whose views and talented words touched my heart and made me see the world a little differently. As a thirty-eight-year-old straight, white, successful male living in New York, I thought nothing could impress me anymore.” He opened his blue eyes, his penetrating gaze making me uncomfortable. “But you . . . you amaze me. You’re unlike any woman I’ve dated. I feel as though I could truly fall in –”

  “You love my writing.” I quickly interrupted before he could complete that sentence. “And that’s what we want, right? For readers to be in love with my books?”

  “Of course. That is what we want.” A troubled expression entered his eyes, and I wondered if he, too, was startled by what he’d almost said.

  It was time
to end the tension between us. After stacking the dishes into the dishwasher, I straightened with a bright smile.

  “We should go for a walk along the beach. And while we’re there, you can tell me what you thought about my latest manuscript. Sound good?”

  Eric tilted his head, some of his composure returning. “I’ll pack us some sandwiches and a bottle of sauvignon blanc.”

  The sky was still a bit dreary-looking, the sand wet and squishy from last night’s heavy rain. Still, we brought out a couple of small folding chairs and settled down to enjoy the stormy waves crashing and rolling toward the shoreline. As I sipped white wine and nibbled on a turkey ciabatta sandwich, Eric sat beside me reading the next several chapters of my manuscript. He seemed thoroughly mesmerized by the story.

  “So this elderly Palestinian couple is loosely based on people you know,” he said once he reached the end of chapter sixteen.

  I nodded. “They lived near my grandmother’s neighborhood in Melbourne.”

  “Please tell me their story has a wonderful ending.”

  “I can’t. That would be a massive spoiler.”

  Eric narrowed his eyes, but decided to indulge me instead. “Fine. When can you produce the rest of the manuscript?”

  “I’m not sure. But Cindy Lau will contact you when it’s done.” Cindy was my literary agent based in New York.

  He didn’t like that at all. “Why won’t you be contacting me directly? I would really prefer to be notified firsthand.”

  “You’re the one who told me to find a literary agent,” I said, exasperated. “So now I have one, and I’d very much like for her to handle the business side of my writing.”

  As an editor and publisher, he couldn’t dismiss such a logical argument.

  We returned to the house around three in the afternoon, and I immediately entered the second-floor bedroom to start packing my meager belongings. I was zipping up the travel bag, eager to return to Los Angeles, when a pair of hands rested lightly on the small of my back.

  I froze, my body bent over the bed. I hadn’t heard Eric coming in.

  His hands traveled down until they were cupping my jean-clad arse. Stiffening, I straightened and turned around, fully intending to rebuff his advances, but he pushed me on the bed and crawled on top of me.

  I really hadn’t expected this from him.

  “Eric, please don’t – ” The rest of my words were smothered by his kisses, his hands holding my wrists above my head. I tried to knee him in the groin, but he smoothly positioned himself between my legs, effectively pinning me down and leaving me helpless.

  Now I was starting to get nervous.

  His tongue lashed against mine, his groans filling my ears. I twisted my head to the right, and he immediately began trailing kisses down my neck. Once he reached my breasts, he freed one hand to roughly push up my T-shirt and bra in one swift movement. He let out another groan as my breasts sprang free and settled in the palm of his warm hand.

  “Aren’t they pretty,” he whispered, bringing his face closer to them. I squeezed my eyes shut as he lapped at my nipples like a fucking damn cat.

  “Okay, just stop, please.” I had no idea why I was still being so polite. “Eric, enough already. Please stop!”

  He was struggling with the button on my jeans when my phone buzzed angrily on the nightstand. With a cry of relief, I wriggled away from Eric and snatched my phone up. Hunter’s name flashed across the screen.

  “Hunter?” I swallowed the lump in my throat, haphazardly straightening my clothes.

  “Hey, babe. Just calling to ask what time you’re arriving.”

  “I’m not sure, but I’ll try to catch the earliest flight to LAX.”

  There was a brief pause on the other end. “Are you all right? You sound out of breath.”

  “I’m fine. I’ve just been busy packing my stuff.”

  We exchanged a few more words before hanging up. The tension in the room was palpable, and I closed my eyes for several seconds, feeling Eric’s gaze on me. I couldn’t bear to look at him. Not yet.

  “Rosemary, I don’t know what came over me –”

  “Don’t give me that bullshit. You knew exactly what you were doing.” I dragged my travel bag to the door.

  “I’ll drive you –”

  “That won’t be necessary. I can take the bus to New York.” And I hurried out the door and down the stairs, desperate to get away from Eric’s presence.

  Chapter 22

  I didn’t tell Hunter what Eric had tried to do at the Hamptons. It definitely made me feel guilty, though, especially since I’d given him that whole speech about telling each other everything and having no secrets between us. But I had put a stop to it before it could go any further and cause some real damage. So really, there was no need to rehash something that belonged in the far recesses of my mind.

  If only Eric would stop calling and leaving me text messages.

  I glanced around at the stuffed toys strewn around the cramped apartment. “You’re already buying baby stuff?” I asked Stacy as she tied her bleached hair into a ponytail.

  She shrugged. “Wally bought them because he thought they were cute. But I’m going to wait until I know if it’s a boy or a girl.”

  “Wally’s a hundred percent sure it’s a boy.” My grin grew wider. “It’s a Henderson tradition, he says.”

  Stacy rolled her eyes. “Well, I don’t care either way. I just want a healthy baby with ten fingers and ten toes.”

  I looked around the cramped space again. With a baby on the way, Stacy and Wally would have to find another place to stay. Lorenzo wouldn’t appreciate having a squalling, red-faced Henderson spawn disrupting his chilled existence.

  “You and Wally should stay at the penthouse.” I suggested. “He’s paying half the lease, after all.”

  “We’ll see,” she said, her thoughts seemingly elsewhere.

  “Something wrong?”

  She sat up straighter, like she’d been waiting for me to ask this question all afternoon. “I am so angry right now, Roe. I mean, my acting career is now starting to pick up. That comedy part I mentioned before? I got it. Can you believe this? I’m going to be in a major film! They told me I can do most of my scenes before the pregnancy starts to show.”

  “That’s great news! I’m so happy for you, Stace.” It would be awesome to see a movie that didn’t have her yanking off her clothes three minutes into the scene.

  Her mouth became an upside-down frown. “But Wally doesn’t want me to do it. He says it’s not good for his son to see me in these movies. Says he’ll develop an Oedipus complex or something weird like that.”

  I started to laugh, incredulous. “Where on earth does he get these idiotic notions? Does he really think children of Hollywood actors secretly want to off one parent so they can sleep with the other parent?”

  “Maybe,” she said, a half smile on her lips. “It does sound ridiculous, doesn’t it?”

  I reached over and patted her arm. “Hunter will knock some sense into him, so don’t worry.” I would certainly help him with the knocking-sense-into-Wally part in the literal sense. And get much enjoyment out of it, too.

  Stacy shot me a careful glance. “So . . . I heard Hunter went to New York with his crazy agent,” she said, changing the subject.

  That boyfriend of hers had such a big mouth on him. Just couldn’t keep anything to himself.

  “It’s all fine,” I said casually, even though inside I was fuming. There really had been no need for her to accompany him to New York. Hunter was only checking out acting studios; why would she need to be there? To hold his hand for support and help fill out the application forms?

  She’s up to something. I know it.

  Just like Eric had been up to something when he’d invited me out to the Hamptons.

  As if on cue, my phone started buzzing beside me on the worn sofa. I glanced down and bit back a groan when I saw it was Eric Steinberg.

  Why won’t you leave me al
one?

  “I need to take this call,” I said, sighing. “Be right back.” And I strode into my bedroom, closing the door firmly behind me.

  “Rosemary,” Eric said with relief when I mumbled out a greeting. “I’ve been trying to reach you for days. Why have you been avoiding my calls?”

  Wasn’t it obvious? “I needed time to think.”

  “Yes, of course. I understand that. But I was terribly worried.” He paused, then added slowly, “I hope what happened last weekend won’t negatively impact our professional relationship. I care about you, Rosemary, but as a publisher, you’re invaluable to me.”

  And this was exactly what I wanted to hear. I closed my eyes, feeling as if a great weight was lifted from my shoulders. An apology would also have been nice, but a man of Eric Steinberg’s status and affluence probably didn’t think his actions warranted one.

  “I need you to promise me something.”

  “What is it?” He sounded wary.

  “Promise you won’t take advantage of me like that again. And make sure to have a writers’ retreat soon, because I really was looking forward to that.”

  “Sure, that can be arranged.”

  “And one more thing.”

  “Only one?” he joked.

  “For now.” I bit my bottom lip, trying to choose my words carefully. “Hunter’s in New York looking at a couple of acting studios. Roxy’s with him.”

  “Ah, I see.” Eric probably knew where this was going.

  “I know she’s your friend, but her presence there worries me. I just don’t trust her around him.”

  “A couple of points. First, as I’ve said before, Roxy and I are acquaintances at best. And two, don’t you trust Hunter to take care of himself?”

  “Of course I trust my boyfriend. But she has a habit of threatening him.” And I told Eric how Roxy had threatened to destroy Hunter’s chances in Hollywood if he didn’t do as she said.

  Eric chuckled in amusement. “I highly doubt she wields that kind of power. But if you’re that worried, why don’t you come back to New York?”