"Unless you intend to run the division yourself, you'll need someone who can oversee its development from the ground up." Auden hoped that she'd be able to think her way through the issues without revealing that she hadn't much of a clue what the problem was. The only thing she did know was that she wanted the job. Not because she needed the job, which she indeed did, but because she wanted to show Haydon Palmer that she could do it. Why that mattered, she had no idea either.
"I intend to be involved in the formative stages, but I can't run the operation myself," Hays replied regretfully. "I...have other commitments."
"Well, then, you'll want someone who can determine the market value of each submission as well as assess its technical merit, negotiate with the author, and work with your editors."
"Yes, initially, the director may wear many hats."
Auden narrowed her eyes, hearing between the lines. "You expect the director to edit, too?"
"Just temporarily—there are a few works that I'm told are almost ready for press, and I don't want them to get back-burnered in the changeover."
"I have the experience you need." .
"Not with what matters most."
Auden's eyes flashed. "You think I'm not suitable because I don't read Nora Roberts?"
"No." Hays smiled at the ire in the woman's voice, impressed by her confidence and passion. "Because you don't read Thane Cutlass or Laura DeHart Young or Susan Smith."
"That can be remedied."
"Why do you want this job?" Hays asked, completely serious. Her head throbbed, but she automatically dismissed the discomfort. She watched instead the fascinating texture of emotions playing across Auden Frost's beautiful face.
"Because it's creative on every level—literally and literarily." Auden surprised herself with what she said next. "Because this division is new, fledgling, and I've been sequestered among the staid and the sheltered for too long."
"Are you adventurous, then?" Hays asked unexpectedly, wondering how the conversation had turned from the professional to the personal so effortlessly. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt so invigorated.
"I hadn't thought so," Auden replied softly. "Until just a few minutes ago."
Hays stood, steadying herself with one hand on the desktop as a faint wave of dizziness passed quickly through her. She extended her other hand as Auden stood to take it. "Welcome to Palmer Publishing, Ms. Frost."
"Thank you, Ms. Palmer." Auden held the cool ringers in hers as she lingered in the depths of dark eyes. "I look forward to working with you."
Chapter Two
H ays?"
Hays gave a start and sat up suddenly, blinking in the bright afternoon sunlight streaming through her office windows. Abel was standing in her doorway, his expression one of thinly disguised concern. Irritably, she rubbed both hands over her face and shook the last remnants of sleep from her consciousness.
"What time is it?"
"Just past one. You didn't answer my knock."
"Late night," she muttered, knowing he probably didn't believe her. "I didn't miss a meeting, did I?"
"No. There's nothing on your schedule until the financial review at four. I suggest you go home for a few hours." And really sleep.
"It's okay. I'm fine." She stood and walked to a second door adjacent to the one joining their two offices. He followed as she stepped through and headed down an inner hallway to the coffee room. Without looking at him, she poured herself a cup. "I need to review the authors' contracts from our newest acquisition."
"There's no rush." His tone was mild, almost gentle.
When she turned, her eyes were hot. "Isn't there?"
"Hays—"
She held up her hand, smiling briefly. "Sorry, forget it. There's no problem."
"How did the meeting go with Ms. Frost?" he inquired as they walked side by side back to Hays's office. "I feel bad about that mix-up, and I regret that you had to become involved. I'll offer her another interview as soon as an appropriate position opens up...and send a letter of apology, of course."
"You won't need the letter. You can apologize to her in person tomorrow, if you really think it's necessary." She sat back down behind
her desk with a sigh and sipped the rich coffee. The infusion of energy would be short-lived, she knew, but it was welcome nonetheless.
"Tomorrow?" Pritchard stiffened. "What do you mean?"
"I hired her to head the lesbian fiction division."
"Just like that?"
Hays's expression darkened. Brusquely, she said, "I don't need anyone's permission, Abel."
"Yes, I know that. But she's not...qualified."
"She'll do fine."
"Based on what evidence?" His face was red tinged with the effort to curb his temper. The last thing he wanted to do was argue with her, but each day she seemed to grow more impulsive, and more reckless. And it wasn't her business decisions that concerned him. She'd lost weight and clearly wasn't sleeping.
"She's had experience in publishing."
"Editing. Not publishing. When we discussed the acquisition of WomenWords, the plan was to hire someone who could actindependently from the outset." Not for you to take on more work.
"Auden Frost is capable of running the division." Hays's tone was unyielding as she thought of Auden, clear eyed and unwavering as she outlined a development strategy off the top of her head. And then Hays remembered the spark of excitement in those blue-green eyes and heard again the anticipation in Auden's voice. Her own spirits lifted fleetingly, a rush of pleasure long forgotten. "The only thing she lacks is experience with the genre."
"That's a big deficiency."
Hays grinned and repeated Auden's words. "That can be remedied."
"Run that by me again, slowly," Gayle Dunbar instructed. She wore a faded green scrub shirt and boxers with red hearts, having just gotten up from a nap when Auden called her. Now she sat across from her friend at the small kitchen table in her third-floor apartment. The window was open, admitting a warm breeze that carried the scent of blossoms and the promise of spring.
"I am the new director of the lesbian fiction division at Palmer Publishing." Auden couldn't keep the glee from her voice.
"Uh—I'm ecstatic for you, honey, I really am. But how in the hell did that happen?"
"It's a bit complicated," Auden confided with a grin. She'd changed into jeans and a scoop-neck cotton sweater and sat with one leg curled beneath her as she leaned forward, elbows propped on the table. "I'll just give you the short version."
Gayle listened intently, absently petting Shylock's head as the dog snuggled in her lap. After a few moments, she interrupted. "Wait a minute. Back up. Describe her again."
Blushing unexpectedly as she remembered the way Haydon Palmer had looked leaning against the door, the charismatic intensity she exuded with no effort, Auden struggled to describe her. "She's about my age, very...beautiful. Strong face, sharply sculpted. Black hair, intense dark eyes. Taller then me, tight and lean. Deep voice, kind of...smooth and sultry."
"Jesus," Gayle breathed. "You're making me wet."
"What doesn't?" Auden laughed. "And she is gorgeous."
"Don't tease me. I'm in need." Gayle feigned a look of pain.
"What about...who is it? Lillith?"
"She was last week."
"Oh, so you're feeling deprived already?"
"Hey," Gayle protested good-naturedly. "A surgical residency is very demanding. I need to balance all that mental stress with a little fun."
"I don't know that Haydon Palmer could be described as fun." For a moment, Auden pictured the dark-haired woman again. She imagined that the publisher might be many things—driven, demanding, determined. There'd been passion in her eyes, too, when she'd spoken of the new division. But fun? There hadn't seemed room for that. "She seemed so focused, so single-minded."
"Tall, dark, handsome, and passionate. Sounds like she made quite an impression on you," Gayle observed, one eyebrow raised. That's somet
hing new. In more ways than one.
Auden shifted and shrugged, still not quite certain what to make of the feelings the publisher had engendered. She wasn't used to anyone affecting her so strongly after such a brief encounter. "Funny," she mused aloud, We were only together a few minutes, but I feel as if we talked for hours."
"Mm-hmm." Gayle got up to fetch a soda from the fridge. "Want something?"
"What?" Auden was still lost in the memory of Haydon Palmer. "Oh. No. I'm fine."
"So," Gayle continued as she resettled into her seat and Shylock reclaimed his spot in her lap. "Is she gay?"
"I don't know. How would I know?" Nonplussed, Auden blushed again. "We didn't get personal."
"Well, there's the lesbian fiction thing." Gayle sipped her Fresca and watched her friend carefully. She'd never seen Auden quite so off balance, or quite so excited. Not calm, organized, controlled Auden. "That must mean something."
"That doesn't mean anything. She's a publisher, for heaven's sake—"
Gayle snorted. "Oh, right. And we all know how lucrative lesbian fiction is. Come on, Auden. It's a niche market. I can't imagine anyone gets rich publishing nonmainstream fiction."
"Maybe that's not her intention!" Auden flushed, wondering why in the world she was coming to Haydon Palmer's defense. She didn't even know the woman. In a quieter tone, she added, "Maybe she just wants to publish quality works, no matter what niche they fall into."
"Yeah, maybe," Gayle conceded. Casually, she asked, "Does she know you're not gay?"
"It was a job interview. She wouldn't ask that," Auden said stiffly. To hide her uncertainty, she busied herself rearranging the salt and pepper shakers on the red and white checked tablecloth, avoiding her friend's too-knowing gaze. And even if she had asked, what would I have said? "I don't know what 1 am. Not much of anything, I guess."
"I just thought she might have hinted at it, considering the area you'll be working in." Sensing her friend's discomfort, Gayle brushed Auden's fingers gently. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to push."
"That's okay." Auden smiled. "And you did too mean to push. Just because I'm not falling into bed with every person I meet—"
"Any person."
Auden sighed. "It just hasn't happened yet, okay?"
"If you're waiting for bells or thunderclaps, you'll wait forever." Gayle gave a pained look, genuine this time. "Aud—there just aren't any virgins after the age of twenty any longer. You're practically an endangered species."
Embarrassed, Auden looked away. "Stop."
"I just want you to enjoy life, honey," Gayle said quietly. "When you see the things I do, you realize that time is precious."
"I know. But I can't create feelings out of thin air."
"What about that Bernard dude you were seeing?"
"Oh my God. He's last year's news," Auden said with a laugh. "Listen, I do need your help and not in the dating arena."
"What then?"
"I need to read all of your lesbian fiction."
"All of it?"
"Uh-huh."
"By when?"
"Tomorrow should do it."
"Do you know how many books I have?" Gayle screeched. "I've been collecting them for years."
"No kidding. I've seen the piles of books in your spare room." Suddenly energized, Auden stood and began pacing. Shy lock jumped down and followed hopefully on her heels, apparently thinking that food might be in his future. "Seriously, I need a crash course so I can get to know what they're like. What readers want. I need a...feel...for the style, how they read."
"You're going to have to narrow it down a bit," Gayle protested. "Otherwise, you won't leave the house for six months, and when you do, you'll be blind."
"Okay, how about what's the most popular?"
"Come here." Gayle stood abruptly and grabbed Auden's arm. She tugged her into the next room with a disappointed Shylock following. "Let me show you something."
Auden followed her friend into the corner of the L-shaped living room that served as Gayle's study, then leaned down to look over Gayle's shoulder as the other woman sat at the computer.
"You want popular," Gayle muttered, opening Internet Explorer and scrolling down her Favorites list, "Here we go—Amazon's lesbian bestseller list."
"What is this?"
"You've never ordered from Amazon?"
"Not books. A DVD once in a while." Auden scanned the titles. None of them were familiar. "So they... what...rank them somehow?"
"Mmm," Gayle clicked through to the page she wanted. "This will just give you an idea of what's selling. Here—look at the top twenty-five best sellers under lesbian fiction. One, two, three, four..."
Auden waited while Gayle counted, trying to get a sense of the contents of the books scrolling past.
Gayle leaned back in her chair and tilted her head. "Eighteen of the top twenty-five are romances or erotica. There's a mystery or two thrown in, but those are strong on romance, too. No matter when you check this list, and it changes daily, you'll find the same thing. Romance sells."
"Romance." Auden groaned inwardly. "Like Nora Roberts. Or Jackie Collins."
"Well, the dyke equivalent, yeah." Gayle rose and turned to face her friend, leaning her slim hips against the edge of the desk. "But don't knock it'til you've tried it. Just because it's not serious literature doesn't mean it can't be good."
"So—tell me where to start."
Gayle shrugged. "You asked for it. Come on."
An hour later, Auden stretched out on her bed with a dozen books spanning almost twice as many years arrayed around her, all of which Gayle had recommended as popular examples of the type of book she would soon be expected to evaluate and publish. For the first time, the task seemed daunting.
"Lord."
She perused the pile and settled on one because she liked the cover. It depicted a windswept coast, wild and dangerous looking. Secret Storm.
"All right," she murmured aloud, "let's see how long I last."
The wind blew softly in the darkness, caressing her skin with gentle fingers. It was soothing, reassuring, and hopefully, would be healing. The air still held the heat of the day, as did the sand sifting between her toes as she walked along the deserted beach. It was after midnight, and all the tourists had long since retired for the night. This was the time of day she liked to walk the beach. There was something about the darkness and the unending roar of the surf that calmed her. Maybe it was the simple fact that the ocean never slept, never tired. Or maybe it was because she felt so comfortable in the darkness. Who knew, who cared, as long as the peace came?
Sentences streamed before Auden's eyes, but she wasn't thinking about structure or narrative style. With the first words, with the first hint of the wind's subtle caress, she had done nothing but feel. The loneliness of walking alone, waking alone, being alone ambushed her, and distantly, she ached.
She read on, unmindful of the time or her missed dinner, wondering, hoping, wishing that this woman who echoed the emptiness within her own consciousness would not always travel alone.
Rune Dyre rubbed her eyes and rolled her tight shoulders. The cup of coffee by her right hand had grown cold, but she lifted it and sipped absently, rereading for the fifth time the paragraphs she had written. Frowning, she highlighted a phrase, deleted it, and typed something new.
Secret- Passions - Scene One
I had expected the room to be empty, but it wasn't. She was sitting in a chair before the desk, one slender leg crossed over the other. Her skirt had abandoned decorum unawares, baring pale skin as it kissed her thighs in a delicate caress. Without even knowing her name, I wanted to trace my fingers over the landscape of her soul.
As I stepped closer, she looked up, and her very acknowledgment gave me life. Blue eyes, almost green, drifted over my face, leaving heat in their wake. My pulse rose, called forth by her gaze traversing my skin. The breath left my body, my heart pounded. Until the sound of the sea was all I could hear.
She ought to ha
ve been surprised at my uninvited entrance, but that wasn't what I saw in her eyes. There was a question. Who are you? And without even knowing the answer, there was welcome.
Let me touch you.
If she had held out her hand, I would gladly have taken it and followed. Unto death.
Rune clicked the Save icon, scribbled a note on one of the dozens of Post-its scattered over the surface of her desk, and stood. She winced at a sudden cramp in her back and glanced at the clock.
Two a.m. Another night without sleep.
Her head throbbed, and distantly she felt a faint surge of nausea. Sighing, she walked to the window and looked south toward the river. To her left, a string of blue lights outlined the soaring arch of the Ben Franklin Bridge as it curved against the starlit sky. Below her, the city slept.
She closed her eyes, imaging soft fingers brushing the weariness from her soul.
Chapter Three
I t was almost two a.m. before Auden finally fell asleep and four and a half hours later when her alarm jolted her instantly upright in bed. She had an eight o'clock meeting with Haydon Palmer, and the last thing she wanted was to be late. As it was, she probably wouldn't look her best. She usually didn't on less than seven hours of sleep. Despite her lingering fatigue, she was excited, although the rapid beat of her heart and the butterflies in her stomach seemed to be about more than the first day of a new job. Then, Haydon Palmer's dark eyes and fleeting grin flashed through her mind, and she smiled.
An adventure. Yes, I guess that's what this is.
As she stood in the shower, savoring the heat working its way into her tired body, scenes from the book she had fallen asleep with kept replaying in her mind. She wondered why she was surprised at how much she had enjoyed the story of the hard-boiled undercover cop and the emotionally wounded FBI agent.
It's not as if I've never read a romance before. Who hasn't? They're practically the staple of the American reading public, if the stands at the supermarket checkout lines and the piles on the new arrivals table at booizstores are any indication ofpopularity. They just never appealed to me. Before.
Radclyffe - Love's Masquerade Page 2
