by Emma York
I got in touch with the courier, adding a note to one of the gifts. I’d be round that evening.
I kept my word, heading to her house just after five. If she was ill, I’d make her feel better. If she was just hiding from me? Then she’d have to be punished, wouldn’t she?
I didn’t hear anything from Marty or from Sandra during the day. I wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing. I hopefully had a book lined up, the contract was still to do but if they did get in touch, I now had a copy of something to show them.
There was only one problem with the book. A problem that I only realised when I was about to head to Lucy’s. I picked the manuscript up off my desk and looked for the parcel it had come in. I was going to take it with me to show Lucy, get her opinion as head of adult fiction, a perfect excuse to visit her.
But where was the cover note? The note with the author name and contact details? In fact, where was the parcel?
“Ellie,” I shouted, waving her over. “Have you seen the parcel that was on here?”
“Erm, I don’t think so.”
“Has anyone seen the parcel that was on this desk?”
Silence from the office before a voice in the corner muttered, “I think it might have gone in the bin.”
I looked under the desk. The bin was empty. It hadn’t been empty when I arrived in the morning.
The cleaner.
“Oh shit,” I said out loud, getting to my feet and marching over to the door, trying not to panic.
The janitorial department was down in the basement, next to IT. I headed there, crossing my fingers that they hadn’t done what I thought they might have done.
“Bill,” a figure said when I knocked on their door. “What are you doing knocking on your own building?”
I shrugged. “It’s the polite thing to do, Alf.”
“What can I do for you?” he asked, waving me inside. “Someone spilt your expensive whiskey collection all over the boardroom?”
“Not quite. I wondered if you knew who was working adult fiction today?”
“I think that was Becky, why?”
“I think something got thrown out by mistake. Do you know where she is?”
“She’s gone home. She knocks off at four.”
“Have you got her number?”
“I have but if it was something in the bins, I can tell you where it is.”
“Can you?”
“Was it recyclable?”
“It was a piece of paper.”
“Then it will have been shredded.”
“What? You’re sure?”
He nodded. “Sorry, Bill. Paper gets shredded, cardboard gets crushed.”
“No exceptions?”
“No exceptions.”
“Shit,” I said too loudly, making Alf flinch. “Sorry.”
“What is it? What’s gone missing?”
“Never mind. Thanks anyway, Alf.”
I headed back upstairs, slowly. I was fucked and it was all my own fault for not taking more care of things. I had a book perfect to be a bestseller but no author name and no contact details. Without that, I couldn’t publish.
How could I find out who wrote it? She was in a wheelchair at the conference. What was her name? Amanda? Anna? Aimee? Something like that. But what was the surname? Maybe the hotel would know. Sure, ring them and ask for everyone who stayed over the weekend starting with A. Was it even A?
As Marty’s lawyer hadn’t rung or written yet, I still had time to find out. But that could wait. It was gone five. I was going to see Lucy. It was time to talk to her about this. And about us.
As I drove to hers, I thought about the book. Maybe Lucy could help find the author, use some of her connections. It had to be worth a shot. That was, if she was willing to speak to me. She had proved her unpredictability by not coming into work. If she was locking herself away, retreating inside a protective shield, she might decide not to deal with me at all, to refuse to work with me anymore, hand in her notice and go somewhere else. That would leave me with a hell of an unscratched itch. Could I refuse to accept her resignation if she did that? Take her into her office and spank that defiance out of her? Personnel might have something to say about my disciplinary techniques but the idea was enough to make me smile as I drove.
When I got to her house, I turned off the engine and climbed out, looking at her place. So this was where she lived. Terraced, tiny little front garden. Gravel and a couple of plants. Paint peeling on the front door. It didn’t seem like the kind of house the head of a department would have. What was going on that I wasn’t getting?
I rang the bell and waited. I could see into the living room through the bay window next to the door. At least my gifts had arrived. The door opened a second later and there she was, looking as beautiful as the last time I saw her.
She looked afraid too, as if she hadn’t wanted to answer, as if she didn’t want to see me. Had I got this whole thing wrong? No, I had heard those moans, I had seen that look in her eye. This was her retreating from me. It was my job to bring her back. I had to handle this carefully, make sure I didn’t scare her away completely. “I heard you were ill,” I said, holding out the flowers I’d bought. “I thought these might make you feel better.”
“Aren’t grapes the customary gift?”
“I brought them as well.” I held out my other hand.
She didn’t invite me in but she did take the flowers from me, that was a start. She smelled them and smiled. “I love peonies.”
“I’ll have to take you riding sometime then.”
There was a flicker of a smile on her lips but that fear was still there. What was she afraid of?
“Listen,” I began before my phone rang, interrupting me before I could even start my speech. “Two seconds,” I said, digging my phone out and walking down the path back towards my car. “This better be important,” I said into the phone, glancing behind me to see her still standing on the doorstep. God, she looked perfect.
It was Ted. “Malcolm’s been trying to get in touch with you.”
“I muted him on the phone. I muted everyone but you. I’m in the middle of something, Ted. Can this wait?”
“Marty and Sandra are suing. They say you promised to show their lawyer the replacement book today and nothing has been forthcoming. It looks like it’s going to court unless you show them the book.”
“Fantastic,” I replied. “Anything else?”
“Malcolm managed to stall them but he can’t do it for long. You need a contract with your new star author by the end of today or there’s no judge in the country who will side with Snow Day.”
“Fuck.”
“I thought you had the book. What happened?”
“I might have lost the contact details.”
“Oh.”
“And the author name.”
“Ah.”
“Exactly.” I felt a hand tapping me on the shoulder. I turned and saw Lucy standing there. “I’ll call you back.” I hung up, taking a deep breath before letting it out as slowly as I could. “Sorry about that.”
“Is there anything I can help with?” she asked. “I couldn’t help overhearing.”
“If you can find who wrote this,” I said, opening my car door and reaching across to the passenger seat. “By midnight tonight.”
She took it from me and glanced down at the cover. I might have been wrong but she looked surprised by the sight of the manuscript. “You need to know the author of this?”
I nodded. “Reckon you can help?”
“I might be able to. I have connections, after all.”
“If you can, I will be eternally grateful.”
“Will you now?” she asked, that flicker of a smile back on her face.
“If you find me the name, come to mine tonight. Otherwise-”
“Otherwise, I’m guessing I won’t keep the job when my six months are up?”
I didn’t want to tell her that otherwise I lost a fortune and far more people than her might lose th
eir jobs. There were two rows of dominoes lined up, facing in opposite directions. The start piece was wobbling and it would go either way at midnight.
In one direction was this incredible book, bestseller written all over it. Snow Day made a fortune, the investors all came back, we got money into ebooks before it was too late and our future was secure, everyone kept their jobs, Lucy took the full time post as head of adult fiction, responsible for it all.
The other way, Marty and Sandra took me to the cleaners. They vacuumed up a ton of money meant for investment and then we lost more when the backers went to our rivals. Cuts were made, jobs were lost and Snow Day went into a decline that was probably terminal.
Everything rested in Lucy’s hands, literally. She had the manuscript. She had just over four hours to find out who wrote it, get a contract drawn up, and get it signed and over to Marty’s lawyer as proof I’d been telling the truth all along. No pressure at all.
“Did you want anything else?” she asked after I had been silent for far too long.
I did but it would have to wait. If I took her inside and did the things to her I wanted to do, there was no chance of her finding the author in time. I already had huge doubts that she could do it but for the first time since I’d met her, our roles seemed reserved. She seemed relaxed, confident, calm as anything. I was stress personified.
I knew what would calm my stress. Pressing her to me, running my tongue around the inside of her mouth. But later, that could come later. For now, she had her work cut out, not that she seemed that bothered. “Do you know something I don’t? Do you know who wrote that?” I asked.
“A good manager never reveals her secrets,” she replied. “Why do you need to know, anyway?”
“Because that is going to be our next bestseller, if I can track down the author.”
“I see.” She smiled again then turned, looking back over her shoulder to add, “I’ll see you later on, maybe.”
Then she walked inside and closed the door, leaving me staring bewildered at the space where she had been a moment before.
I wanted to slap myself. I’d never felt like this, at a loss. I had always been in control. But I couldn’t control this. She could. It was all down to her. My fate was in her hands.
I got in the car and drove home, trying to ignore the gnawing doubts in my mind. Four hours until the domino chose which way to fall. The fate of so many in her hands. All I could do was wait.
SEVENTEEN - LUCY
I thought it was a joke when he handed me the manuscript. It had to be a joke. I couldn’t work it out. I knew that opening line. I knew that opening paragraph. Where did I know those words from?
Then it hit me in a blow that sent me reeling. It was Anna’s book. That was the one they were going to push into the summer? This was their TBC from my calendar for the year? How did he even have a copy?
I remembered Anna saying she had been talking to the CEO of Snow Day. She must have given it to him and he must have passed it on to Bill. Why hadn’t it come to me though? As head of adult fiction, I should have been one of the first to read it.
I could guess why. The CEO considered it below me. Hand me one book after another to make a decision about and I’d never have time to do anything else. They had probably got a slush pile somewhere and everyone in the office took turns with it. Bill had got this one and it just happened to be Anna’s incredible BDSM masterpiece, a romance like no other I’d ever read. Then Bill just happened to hand it to me.
I walked into the house and closed the door, leaning back against it and hugging the manuscript to my chest. I hadn’t even asked him about the gifts, about why he’d turned up to bring me flowers, grapes, and a chance to make him eternally grateful to me. It was a chance I wasn’t going to throw away a second time. I was going to grab this opportunity and run with it. Fate had given me another shot. This time I was going to be honest. This time I was going to tell the truth about what I wanted.
I couldn’t come on too strong though. I want you to fuck me every night for the rest of my life. Might be a bit much when we hadn’t even had a first date. Maybe I’d hold off talking marriage and babies until the third date.
I could hear Anna in the kitchen chopping vegetables as ever. I headed through, putting the manuscript on the table in front of me as I sat down. She looked up from behind the mound of broccoli. “Why are you smiling so much?” she asked. “I’m guessing it went well.”
“You could say that,” I replied.
“Come on then, spill the beans. Share the juicy gossip. Fill me in on the…erm...”
“You’ve overreached yourself with the third one, haven’t you?”
“Just tell me!”
“Well, you know that book you wrote?”
“Which one?”
“This one,” I said, sliding the manuscript across to her.
“That one,” she said, flicking through the pages. “I vaguely remember it. Where did you get that copy?”
“Bill just gave it to me.”
“Did he now? And where did he get it from?”
“He didn’t say but I’m guessing the CEO gave it to him.”
“Let me guess, thanks but no thanks?”
“Not quite.”
She frowned, putting the knife down on the table, the broccoli forgotten. “What do you mean, not quite?”
“Would you like me to publish your book?”
She sat upright in her chair. “I told you not to use your position to help me. I want to get published on my own merits or not at all.”
“Hold on-”
“Let me finish. If you take my book and shove some other author out to get me published, that’s…that’s just not right.”
“Right,” I said, holding my hand up. “Before that high horse of yours mosey’s right out of town, just let me talk. I don’t want to publish it. Bill does. This has nothing to do with me.”
She eyed me suspiciously. “Then why do you have it and not him? Why are you talking to me about it and not him? Riddle me that one, joker.”
“You mean riddler.”
“I mean tell me what’s going on.”
“Anna, darling, best friend of mine. Bill wants your book to be published by Snow Day Publishing.”
“So why hasn’t he told me that?”
“Because he doesn’t know you wrote it.”
“What? Of course he does.”
“Apparently not.”
“But I gave it to him. I gave him all my details.”
“From what I just heard outside, I get the feeling he might have lost a few pages from the manuscript, specifically the page with the author name, phone number, and address.”
“Oh.” She looked deflated for a moment before a grin started to spread across her face. “So he does want to publish it.”
I nodded. “And if your printer’s working, I can have a contract together for you to sign in under an hour.”
“My Kingdom for an ink cartridge,” she replied.
“Don’t tell me you’ve run out.”
“I sincerely hope not.”
I had a selection of template contracts on the CD-Rom provided in the file I’d been given on my first day. One of my appointed tasks was to go through them and approve them. I never thought my first author would be my housemate.
The disc whirred to life in Anna’s computer and she sat next to me, peering over my shoulder as I inserted the important information where it needed to go. “How big an advance should I give you?” I asked as I came to the halfway point.
She shrugged. “A couple of million.”
“I’m not sure we can stretch that far. Wait, I’ve got some guidelines somewhere.”
I rummaged through the file, working out the formula. Potential sales for the TBC book, run through the calculator, minus that, divide by, add it all together. “It’s going to be four figures,” I said at last. “Better than a kick in the teeth.”
“Not quite enough for a mansion,” Anna replied.
<
br /> “Doll’s house mansion?”
“I’m not that short.”
“Stop distracting me. I need to get this done.”
You started it."
"Shush!"
Time was ticking away. I had to get the contract over to his by midnight. “Finger’s crossed,” I said as I hit print.
We both held our breath as the printer noisily came juddering to life. The first inch of paper appeared, white, nothing visible. “There’s no i-” I began then stopped. A black line of text had appeared.
We both breathed out at the same time. The rest was easy. I got the pages in the right order. Anna signed in the right places. Then came the hardest bit of all. Choosing what to wear.
The layout of our house had been predicated on Anna. Her wheelchair was unfortunately not rocket powered so she was confined to the ground floor. We had living room and kitchen down there, bathroom tacked onto the back of the house. What would have been the dining room was her bedroom. Upstairs was my bedroom, the second bedroom serving as mixed storage for food club and study for me.
I brought a selection of clothes down from my wardrobe and laid them out on Anna’s bed. She ran her eyes over them all. “You don’t want to be too slutty,” she said, pulling one top out and starting a pile at the edge of the bed. “Or too serious.” Another top gone. “What about that floral thing you got for Christmas.”
“It never fitted me, made my boobs look like they might burst out any minute.”
“I know, it’s perfect.”
“It’s gone to a charity shop.”
“Oh, shame.”
“What about this?” I held up a dress.
“You’re not going to a funeral, you’re going to his house to hand over the contract and hopefully hand over your clothing too. This needs to be right.”
“There is a chance he’s just going to take the contract. You do know that, right?”
She looked at me and shook her head. “A man does not invite his boss to his house at midnight to talk contracts. He wants to finish what he started at the hotel.”
I tried not to get too excited. If I did that, the doubts from before might creep back, the fear, the shame.
It was a horrible fact that the things that happen to us in childhood never really go away. I had just climbed for the first time in years because I remembered how fun it was. That memory had never faded. But the memory of being ashamed of my body was still there too. I wanted Bill. I wanted him to dominate me. I also wanted to shut those feelings down and ignore them.
