Rewritten (The Bound Series Book 7)

by Bronwyn Green

  She cleared her throat and forced herself to focus. “I just want you to give me a chance.”

  Chapter Ten

  Angus watched Eliza’s face pinken slightly as she added, “To do my job. I want you to give me a chance to do my job, and let me help you. That’s all I’m asking.”

  He was torn. He was pissed at Barbara’s assumption that he couldn’t figure this out on his own. But, even he could admit his track record hadn’t been great. And a TV series would change everything—especially for Terra. It would change things for him, too—but, because he’d signed away the majority of his rights, those changes wouldn’t be reflected by buckets of money. However, buckets of money or no, it would still likely open doors for him he hadn’t even realized were there.

  And there was the added benefit of spending more time with Eliza. As much as he’d like it to go somewhere, he knew it wouldn’t. Maybe after this project was finished, but he still couldn’t imagine her being interested in the same things he was. He snorted as he imagined her jotting dungeon appointments in her planner. As much as he’d like to see her chained up, begging for his cock—and he could definitely picture it, sweet Jesus, could he picture it—he sincerely doubted she’d be down for any of it. Said cock stirred to life and began to press insistently against his zip. He needed to derail this train of thought. Fast.

  “If I give you a chance to help me, I want to return the favor.”

  Confusion furrowed her brow. “What?”

  “I want a chance to help you.”

  Her nose crinkled adorably, and her head tilted to the side. But then, inexplicably, worry shadowed her features. “What do I need help with?”

  “You need to give up a little control.”

  The blood drained from her face. “Excuse me?”

  That...wasn’t the reaction he’d expected. He reached out and tapped her planner. “You’ve got everything scheduled—practically to the nanosecond. You need to let loose and relax.”

  Her fingers had tightened around the book, but he’d bet she wasn’t even aware of it.

  “What are you proposing?”

  “We’ll discuss where Escape Velocity is headed. I’ll answer your questions. And sometime this next week, before you leave for L.A., I’ll send you all the pages I have.”

  “And in return?”

  He let a smile curve his lips as he held her gaze. “In return, you leave that damn planner—and maybe even your phone—in your luggage for the weekend. If we weren’t going to London right after, I’d tell you to leave it home all together.”

  She frowned and drew the planner closer to her. “Why?”

  “Because you filter everything through your schedule, hiding behind it like you’re too afraid of experiencing life without using it as a buffer,” he blurted.

  He hadn’t meant to say that. Hadn’t even realized that was what had been bugging him about it, but now that it was out there, he realized it was true. Her eyes were wide and haunted looking, and he wondered if he’d pushed too hard.

  “Why do you even care? Why is that the trade for me doing my job?”

  He frowned. Why the fuck did he care? Whatever the answer was, he was probably best off not examining it too closely. He shrugged. “If I have to be uncomfortable while we’re working together...”

  She glared at him. “Then I should, too?”

  He grinned.

  She did not.

  “I thought you weren’t a child in need of minding.”

  “If I’m going to be treated as one, might as well act it.”

  She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Fine. Only for next weekend,” she rushed to add.

  He extended his hand toward her, and she reached across the table to shake. Clasping her hand in his, he said, “Gentlemen’s agreement?”

  She scowled. “I’m not a gentleman.”

  Not quite willing to release her, yet, he shrugged. “Neither am I.”

  Her eyes widened farther, then she frowned again and pulled from his grasp as the waitress brought their food.

  They ate in silence until she asked, “Why did you decide that Wye would join the Grunsharri? I thought for sure he was going to sacrifice himself for Zarah.”

  Of all the things she might have said, he hadn’t anticipated that. He lowered his fork and looked up at her. Apparently, she was taking their agreement as an invitation to dive right in.

  “I feel like about a quarter...maybe a third of the way through Event Horizon,” she continued, “the plot arc changed trajectory.” She leaned forward, her gaze intense. “I’m not saying that it was super obvious or felt like you were careening wildly off course. In fact, I know I didn’t notice it on the first read or even the second or third. But I eventually noticed, and I had this nagging feeling that it should have gone differently—or could have—I mean, you’re the author. But—”

  “Wait a minute. How many times have you read it?”

  Her cheeks flushed. She glanced down, suddenly interested in cutting up her chicken breast and asparagus. “Oh, I don’t know. I mean, who knows. They’ve been out for a while, now.”

  “So, you read them before you ever got this assignment?”

  She nodded, as she shoved a forkful of food into her mouth.

  He usually didn’t have feelings one way or the other when people said they’d read his books, but knowing Eliza had read them felt strangely different. Maybe it was because he’d initially pegged her as a Jane Austen or Emily Brontë fan.

  “What did you mean when you said it should have gone differently?”

  She bit her lower lip as she thought. “It felt like you’d had something else in mind—like the series had been set up to end differently. Like I said, it was subtle. It doesn’t feel like the plot changed on a whim or anything. And maybe I’m wrong.” She shrugged. “I could have been projecting my own expectations as a reader. It happens.”

  He shook his head, a wry smile twisting his lips. “Wye joined the Grunsharri because I was offered a ridiculous amount of money for extending the series. And I was daft and accepted it.”

  He almost expected to see some sort of condemnation in her eyes when he met her gaze. Maybe it was wishful thinking on his part, but it looked more like compassion.

  “And now...”

  “And now, I’m trying to figure a way out of this mess.”

  “Look, our gentlemen’s agreement aside—”

  “I’m not budging on that, you know. You need to relax.”

  She rolled her eyes and pulled out her damn planner and flipped it open. “We’re not in L.A., yet,” she said glancing up at him. “Anyway, I’m hoping we can at least discuss where you see Escape Velocity headed. Sometimes, just talking about a story with someone who’s receptive can be enough to get your flow back.”

  “Sometimes,” he allowed. “You write?”

  Her pen stopped moving where she was jotting something in her book. Shaking her head, she said, “Not anymore. That’s...that’s not where my strengths lie.” She looked up. “So, you don’t need to worry that I’m going to try to impose my vision on you. All I want to do is help you move forward, then I’ll be out of your hair.”

  She smiled, but it seemed strained and almost brittle. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the impending loss of her planner or because he’d asked if she wrote. He suspected it was the later. And he also suspected that topic was off limits.

  As he watched, she flipped to the back of her book to a page that was covered with questions written in her tight, perfect penmanship.

  Glancing at the page, she tapped her pen against her full lower lip. A lip he was suddenly desperate to taste. And that was not going to happen. He needed to fucking focus.

  “I’ve got a question about titles.”

  He dragged his attention away from her mouth. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. How are you going from Event Horizon to Escape Velocity when there’s no way to escape the gravitational pull of a black hole?”

  Cha
pter Eleven

  Still a little unnerved by his question, Eliza waited for Angus to respond. She hadn’t thought about writing in a long time. It hadn’t been enough for Nigel to destroy her personal life, he’d also crushed her professional dreams. The only offers she’d received for her writing after that had been for non-fiction accounts of the nightmare that had overtaken her world.

  Angus’ lips quirked, and she foolishly wondered if they were as soft as they looked. She needed to ruthlessly drown that thought before it surfaced again and grew stronger.

  “And here I’d hoped that you wouldn’t notice I’d written myself into a corner,” he murmured

  She snorted. “Well, it is kind of my job to notice these things.”

  “To answer your question, I don’t know.” He sighed. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. I was overwhelmed by a sudden influx of regret at that point, and obviously not thinking clearly.”

  He took a sip of his bourbon, and she couldn’t help but notice the way his hand cradled the glass or the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed. Suddenly, tasting the hollow at the base of his neck felt like a moral imperative, and she was glad there was a table between them. He set his glass down, and she forced her gaze away from his fingers toying with the expensive crystal and back up to his eyes where it belonged.

  She cleared her throat. “Well...” What the hell had they been talking about? Influx of regret. That was it. “I’m sure we can figure something out.”

  He leaned forward on his elbows. “Trust me. I’ve figured out a bunch of somethings. But I don’t think anyone needs yet another new world at the end of the wormhole book.”

  “Fair.” She tapped her pen against her mouth. “Though, I admit, it’ll probably be easier to brainstorm when I see what you already have.”

  His lips quirked. “I’ll be interested to hear your thoughts.”

  She couldn’t tell, but he seemed sincere. The fact that the author of her favorite series was even entertaining the idea of hearing her thoughts about his work was almost enough to convince her that she’d stumbled into some sort of alternate universe. “You realize my thoughts are going to end up in my planner, right? I mean, I’ll make notes in the file, too. But I suspect the majority of my reactions will occur while I’m thinking about what I read as opposed to during the actual reading of it.”

  He raised a dark eyebrow at her. “Is this your way of telling me that you’re already attempting to weasel out of our agreement?”

  “No. I’m just saying that I may need to use the planner while we’re working.” She paused and met his deep brown gaze. “And you’ll need to prepare yourself for that.”

  “Fine,” he murmured. “For work only.”

  “Yes, sir.” Her response sounded far breathier than she’d intended, and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t notice the sudden burst of awareness that flared between them. His eyes burned brightly as he held her motionless with his stare, for far longer than was entirely comfortable. And she found herself with questions that had no business in her head.

  Questions like: Would he have that same expression while tying her up or ordering her to her knees? Would his eyes close while she sucked him off or would they remain laser-focused on hers while he told her how fast or slow, how deep he wanted her to take him? She squirmed in her seat, her underwear suddenly and uncomfortably damp. She had to look away from the intensity in his gaze as a shiver worked through her.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She nodded, hoping she wasn’t blushing as she glanced back at him. “Just got a chill.”

  “I see.”

  And she suspected he did—far too well.

  He looked as if he was about to open his mouth again, but the approaching waitress saved her from having to hear whatever he’d been planning to say.

  “Would you care to hear our dessert options?”

  Eliza shook her head. “No, thank you.”

  Angus put his hand to his chest and attempted to appear wounded. “You’re going to make me indulge alone?”

  “You’re a big boy.” She smiled. “Besides, sweets aren’t really my thing, and happily, this restaurant is far too high end to cater to my terrible taste in snack food.”

  “Crisps? Those godawful onion crisp things?”

  “Funyuns? Ew. No, salt and vinegar chips,” she admitted.

  Angus grimaced. “That sounds utterly vile.”

  She shrugged. “More for me.”

  He looked back at the server. “I think her poor life choices have killed the rest of my appetite. If you could just bring the bill, that would be lovely.”

  “Of course.”

  “Seriously? That’s why you’re not getting dessert?” Eliza asked after the server had left.

  He grinned. “No. I just realized that I’m full. Besides, the last thing I need is a sugar buzz while I’m trying to focus enough to write. Especially after all the people-ing today.”

  After they walked back to their rooms, Eliza paused outside her door. “I should probably say goodbye, now.”

  Angus’ brow furrowed. “What?”

  “I’ve got a seven a.m. flight back to New York. I sincerely doubt you’ll be awake.”

  He frowned. “If I’ve even gone to bed by then.”

  “Right. I know our first meeting was kind of rough. Scratch that. The whole weekend was kind of rough.”

  Amusement twinkled in his eyes. “I wouldn’t say the whole weekend.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.” She extended her hand. “And I’m also glad I got a chance to meet you.”

  He shook her hand, the tips of his fingers momentarily skating across the sensitive skin of her inner wrist, and she fought the instinct to shiver.

  “Same.”

  She laughed. “Liar.”

  “No, it’s true. I mean, no, I didn’t want a minder...but if I have to have one, I’m glad it’s you.”

  “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in quite some time.”

  He frowned, still holding her hand. “You clearly need to get out more, then.”

  Gently extracting herself, she said, “I should probably get packed.”

  “Of course.” He turned toward his room then paused, and looked back at her. “Now that we both know what’s going on—what’s expected—maybe we can start fresh again, next weekend?”

  She smiled. “I’d like that.”

  “I’ll see you then.”

  “I’ll text you my email address so you can send me your pages,” she said, slipping her room key into the lock. “And don’t forget, if you need something, you can call or text me, anytime.”

  “Thanks.” The same intense expression he’d had over dinner returned. “I might just take you up on that.”

  Of course, Angus hadn’t contacted her that week, and to be honest, she hadn’t really expected him to. But part of her had hoped that he would have. She’d texted him her email address as soon as she’d finished packing. And here she was, back at the airport, waiting for her flight to L.A., and still no email.

  Sighing, she gave in and opened a text window.

  —Hey. At the airport. Any chance of getting those pages to read on my flight?

  Almost ten minutes later, her text tone chimed. The entirety of Angus’ message was: Shit.

  After several more minutes, she got a notification that she’d received an email from him. She quickly downloaded it and opened the document on her tablet, saving it as her flight was being called to board.

  As she stood in line, she quickly shot him another message.

  —Got it. See you soon.

  Her phone chimed again as she settled into her seat.

  —Excellent. I’ll just be here, eating a bottle of antacids.

  She quickly shot off another message.

  —Don’t worry. It’s going to be fine. I have faith in you. Plane’s about to take off. I’ll let you know when I’m at the hotel.

  She powered off her phone and put
it in her purse then set it under her seat as a man paused in the aisle then took the seat next to her. Clutching her tablet and her planner, she smiled politely and lowered the armrest between them. There wasn’t enough room in airplane seats, and being crammed up against a stranger made it worse, bringing on that trapped panicky feeling she tried to avoid at all costs. Thankfully, she had Angus’ story to distract her. Though, as much as she wanted to read it, she could admit, if only to herself, that she’d rather have Angus, himself, to distract her. She might even be able to stand being in an enclosed space with him.

  Shoving that pointless thought from her mind, she opened the manuscript and her planner and began to read. She was so engrossed in the world he’d created, the man next to her had to nudge her to get her attention when the drink cart arrived.

  “Sorry about that,” she murmured after they’d both gotten their drinks and miniature bags of pretzels.

  “No worries. You seemed pretty into whatever you’re reading.”

  She smiled. “I am.”

  “I’m Sam, by the way.” He offered his hand. His very tanned hand.

  She shook it. “Eliza. Nice to meet you.”

  He was attractive in that blond, all-American, frat boy kind of way.

  “Well, I should let you get back to it,” he said, gesturing at her tablet.

  “Thanks.”

  He immediately began playing a game on his phone, but every so often, she’d feel him looking her way, studying her. Her stomach flipped uneasily, but she ignored it—and him—throwing herself back into the story.

  As always, Angus’ words transported her from her worries, taking her out of herself and putting her smack into the world he’d created. For as long as the story lasted, he gave her the ability to breathlessly live someone else’s life. Not every writer had that skill—that gift. They just skimmed along the surface of the character, never diving deep enough to make her feel anything. It wasn’t that their books weren’t good. They were fine and a pleasant enough diversion. But they didn’t live and breathe the way Angus’ stories did. Obviously, he wasn’t the only one who wrote with that kind of depth, but there were few she was this invested in—for personal and professional reasons.