That’s another thing most authors probably have in common. If we ever banded together during an apocalypse, we’d survive based on all our shared bits of random knowledge.
Where to start? “Domination,” I murmur as I type the word and am instantly assaulted by dozens and dozens of thumbnails leading to one video after another. Right away, I can tell this isn’t for me since some of these women look like they’re in serious pain. “No way is that a turn-on,” I whisper, horrified at the sight of a woman’s breasts bound in leather straps until her flesh is purple.
But it must be hot for some people, right? Men, I guess, or women into pain and humiliation. I don’t know that this is the audience I’m writing for. I’d better come up with a different search term.
“Handcuffs,” I suggest next.
And voilà, all the handcuffs a girl could want. Fuzzy, leather, iron shackles. A girl with her ankles cuffed too, and the chains connecting each cuff is then connected by a third chain.
Hmm. This strikes me more as erotica, and I’m not writing that.
What the heck am I writing then?
I click on one video that looks to be at least good quality. There’s not that homemade vibe about it. In one thumbnail, for instance, there are baby toys off in a corner and a laundry basket full of onesies. Actual onesies, not adult-sized. It seems viewers aren’t too discerning when it comes to how their smut is produced.
“Oh, yeah!” the girl screams within moments of the video starting up, and I almost have a heart attack because I forgot the sound was even on, much less turned up so high. “Fuck me, Daddy!”
“Shh!” I hiss, horrified, fumbling for the volume control. Only I manage to knock the laptop off my desk, sending it crashing to the floor. It stays in one piece, and the video keeps playing. I almost wish I’d broken it.
“Punish my ass!” she shrieks just before I hit the mute button, leaving the handcuffed girl screaming silently while the man in question does indeed punish her ass.
I’m frozen, eyes bulging, lips pressed together, and staring at the wall between my office and Matt’s bedroom. If there is any good in the world, if there is a chance of a benevolent higher power existing somewhere in the universe, he’s not listening. He’s somewhere else. In his living room or out for a walk with the dog.
To my growing horror, I’m pretty sure there’s soft laughter coming from the other side of that wall. I could be imagining it, but I don’t think so.
CHAPTER TEN
It’s early evening, but the noise from the street below my building is just as boisterous as ever. I lean back on my hands, tilting my head to catch the last rays of the sun. I suppose I’m a recharging battery. Maybe this will help my imagination start spinning again.
It was never this difficult before, mostly because I wasn’t stretching myself. I understand that now. It’s fine and wonderful to write exactly what I like, for the situations and words to flow smoothly because the subject matter is near and dear to my heart.
And even then, it’s not like writing has ever been super easy. It comes with challenges, even on the best days. On the hardest days? Like, if I’m not feeling my best or my hormones are off the charts or it’s been raining for several days in a row? Forget about it. I might as well be slogging through semi-set concrete.
This is unlike anything I’ve ever been through before though because the pressure is higher than ever. My first book was written practically as a lark, something to do in my free time. I only queried it because Hayley had read it and said it was worthwhile; otherwise, it would’ve been forgotten on a hard drive. After that, I sort of coasted on the success of my debut.
Now? I might as well be starting from scratch.
“What are you doing up here?”
I close my eyes at the sound of Matt’s voice. It’s not an unwelcome sound per se, but I’m a little too busy brooding to want to get into a deep conversation—or even worse, a playful one. I’m not feeling particularly playful at the moment.
Especially now that he knows I’ve been watching porn with the volume turned up. I can hardly wait for him to make fun of me over that one.
“I didn’t know it was off-limits,” I call back over my shoulder.
“It’s not.” He comes closer. “I’ve never seen you up here before, is all.”
That gets my attention. I sit up, wrapping my arms around my knees and watching while he heads straight for the far corner of the roof, near the ledge. “You come up here a lot?”
“When the weather’s nice, yeah.” He shrugs. To my surprise, he pulls a folding chair from seemingly out of nowhere, tucked under the ledge and in the shadows.
“And you have your own chair? Boy, I never thought of that.”
“For a writer, you need to open your mind up a little.” He drops a wink, unfolding the chair nearby. “You want it? Please, by all means.”
“Nah. I’m okay on my blanket.” Though I will definitely bring a chair up next time. What a good idea.
He takes a seat, manspreading, as men so often do. He’s wearing a T-shirt and jeans with holes in the knees and no shoes.
“What if you stepped on something dangerous up here?” I ask, horrified at his bare feet.
He wiggles his toes like he’s pleased with himself. “What could there be?”
“I don’t know! And neither do you! I mean, for Pete’s sake, it’s New York. Anything’s possible.”
“I like going barefoot,” he explains with a shrug, “whenever possible. It’s a thing of mine.”
“You know, I just realized something.” I look him up and down, perplexed. “I never asked what you do for a living. How come you work from home? Are you a flight attendant? Or a stripper?”
I expect him to laugh at the reminder of his original ideas about me, but he looks penitent instead.
“Yes. You’ve figured out my dirty little secret.”
“You’re a stripper?” I whisper, suddenly more interested.
His face falls further. “A flight attendant.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Ooh. Scandalous.”
He laughs along with me. “Okay. It’s much less of a secret than that. I manage large banking portfolios.”
“Oh? That sounds—”
“Don’t even pretend you think it sounds interesting.” He snickers. “Nobody finds it interesting, except for those of us who do it. And it is interesting really. I wake up before dawn to check out the foreign markets and run reports, which I then analyze to see if I can tweak an investment strategy here or there. The US markets open at nine thirty. I usually have time to take Phoebe for her run before then, and I settle in for work after that.”
“But you’ve already been working since before dawn.”
“Technically, yes.” He shrugs. “You’re not the only one who works odd hours. Except I’m usually getting up at roughly the time you go to sleep.”
“How would you know when I go to sleep?”
“You’re the one who pointed out the thin wall between your office and my bedroom. There are mornings when I hear you muttering to yourself in there. I guess you’re acting out the dialogue you’re writing or something like that.”
Oh, the horror. I have to grimace. “No. Really?”
“Hey, it’s nice to wake up to that sort of thing. Love talk or whatever you wanna call it. Though it does get a little sticky-sweet sometimes. No offense.”
“None taken. Remember, that’s the big problem I’m having right now. Stepping away from that and into something … rawer. Grittier. But still captivating, still something that’ll hook my readers.”
“Is that why you’re up here? To think things out?”
I nod, miserable again. “I usually go for a walk in the park, but I already walked earlier today, and it didn’t help anything. I thought a change of scenery might get the juices flowing.”
“So, you can get the juices flowing on the page?” When I shoot him a look that can only be described as withering, he holds up his hands
in a defensive gesture. “Sorry. Probably not the time for jokes.”
“Maybe not,” I agree, though I have to snicker in spite of myself.
He’s only trying to be friendly. It does seem strange that after a year of never seeing him, we’ve run into each other three times in one week, but I’ve come to accept that this is the way life works sometimes. Hayley’s super busy, and I can’t bring myself to bother her, so the universe sent me someone else to bounce ideas off of.
If I could only get past the fact that he’s so stinking handsome. It’s not easy to separate the man from his hotness. Familiarity and the passage of time should help though. I’m already less tempted to blush every time our eyes meet. It might have something to do with the fact that he’s seen me at my worst and still bothers talking to me.
“How’d your date go the other night?”
He would bring that up, wouldn’t he?
“Not as well as yours did later that same night,” I singsong with a simpering smile. “Thin walls.”
“I swear, if I end up getting distracted by wondering if you’re listening …”
“I’m not actively trying to listen to the screaming banshees you bring home,” I assure him, rolling my eyes. “But it gets loud. I wish I couldn’t hear it.”
“Earplugs?”
“A pillow over the face?” I counter.
“Only when she’s into it.”
“What?” I gasp, eyes bulging.
“Would you chill?” He laughs. “I’ve never asphyxiated a partner. Don’t go getting the wrong idea. Some things even I feel uncomfortable with.”
“What do you not feel uncomfortable with?” I have to ask.
“Are you sure you wanna know? Have you had enough to drink?”
“Okay, okay. I’m not a complete novice, you know. I’m no blushing virgin.”
“No, but you have the blushing part down pretty well.” He grins, pointing to my face. “Like right now. And don’t pretend you didn’t avoid answering my question about your date. How did it go?”
“Why does it matter?”
“Because I almost never hear you leaving the apartment, especially not at night. Which tells me you don’t do a lot of dating. Didn’t you say your editor asked when you last got laid?”
“I told you that?”
“You did.” He nodded, solemn. “Anyway, I figured it was a big deal since you looked like a million bucks.”
“I did not.”
“You kinda did. Learn how to take a compliment.” He folds his hands over his flat belly and raises his eyebrows. “Well? How’d it go? Who was the lucky guy?”
Fine. He wants to know so badly? I’ll tell him. We’ll see if he believes me. “What if I said I had dinner with Blake Marlin?”
His brows almost disappear under his hairline. “I’d say I’ve underestimated you. The Blake Marlin? Billionaire Blake Marlin?”
Bingo. I had a feeling he would know the name if he works in the financial world.
I raise a finger. “Media mogul Blake Marlin. You forgot that one.”
“Right, right.” He scrubs a hand through his hair, leaving it disheveled. “Wow. What the heck does Blake Marlin do to impress a girl?”
“It was only dinner. Really,” I insist when he cocks his head to the side. “And it was nice. I ended up having to come clean about why I was out with him, but …”
“Pardon? Why you were out with him? Why would you be out with him aside from the obvious boy-girl dating thing?”
Oh. Right. He doesn’t know about this. “Well … I needed to fulfill a certain trope I’m going to write about.”
“Blake Marlin is a trope?” He bursts out, throwing his head back with his eyes closed.
I almost forget to be annoyed with him in favor of marveling at how impossibly handsome he is.
“You know what tropes are?” I ask once he’s finished laughing himself sick.
“I know things. I’m not all numbers and currency exchange rates,” he retorts. I’m surprised he doesn’t stick his tongue out. “So, you went out with him because he’s rich?”
“Wealthy,” I correct without thinking. “And yes. That was the general idea.” I leave out the whole boss part. Something tells me he’d fall off the roof and chuckle the whole way down if I mentioned it.
“And he figured it out? That sucks.” He doesn’t look or sound like he thinks it sucks. He’s too busy chortling over my bad luck.
Which is why it gives me pleasure to correct him—that, and the fact that he’s a little too smug for his own good. “Actually, he thought I was using him because of his money and connections. I set him straight. He appreciated me trying to revive my career and promised to give me plenty of material to use.”
I expect Matt to at least make a dirty joke.
His deep scowl comes as a surprise.
“What?” I finally have to ask. “It all works out. I don’t have to feel so nervous when we’re out together because I’m not putting on a pretense of trying to get him to like me while hiding the real reason I need to date him.”
“This doesn’t strike you as being sort of … wrong?”
“How is it wrong?”
“You’re dating a man just so you can write about the things you do together. And he’s okay with this?”
“It’s not like I’m using him,” I argue.
“But you are. You’re using him as research, and you’ll make money off it.”
“So will he!” Darn it. I throw my hands over my mouth, gasping as my eyes bulge.
Matt’s eyes, on the other hand, narrow. “What’s that mean? Are you giving him a cut of the profits? Is this even more uncomfortable than I imagined?”
“He … kinda, sorta … owns my publisher.” I brace myself, closing my eyes and waiting for the grief he’s bound to deliver. “Go ahead. Give it to me. Tell me what a rotten person you think I am.”
Instead of chiding me, he starts to laugh. Again. “This is the wildest thing I’ve ever heard. And I’ve heard some wild things.”
I open one eye just a little. “Yeah, I’ve heard them too. Through the wall between our apartments.”
“Kitty, I wish we’d started talking a lot sooner because you’re a breath of fresh air.” He runs his hands over his eyes like he’s wiping away tears of laughter. “Good luck with dating your billionaire boss. I can hardly wait to see how things turn out in your next book.”
“I’m glad this is so funny for you. The fact that my life brings you laughter warms my heart.”
“You might wanna be careful how much you drink around him,” he warns with an edge of laughter still in his voice. “I know from experience. And something tells me his rug is much, much more expensive than mine.”
“I’m happy to pay you for that, by the way.”
“We’ll call it even since I’ve saved so much in delivery fees from the Chinese place,” he offers.
“Oh, right. Yeah, we’re even.” I scowl. “And I have no intention of making an idiot out of myself in front of him. I need him too much.”
“And when you have enough research, you can drop him in favor of the next guy.” He gives me a thumbs-up. “Really, you’ve perfected what we men have been trying to legitimize for a long time: an excuse to date with no strings attached and then dump ’em when we’re through.”
“That sounds downright mean.”
“No hard feelings.” He shrugs. “The girl I brought up here the one time didn’t seem to mind.”
“What? You … up here? Like, out in the open?” I know it shouldn’t gross me out, but I can’t help it. “Ew, Matt! Here I am, worried about you walking around barefoot, when you’ve done a heck of a lot more than that with even less on!”
“Aw, you were worried about me being barefoot? I thought you were only getting off on bossing me around.”
“Hush.” I don’t feel right, sitting here anymore, knowing he and some random girl got it on probably right here. Sure, countless rains and snows have happened s
ince then—I guess anyway since asking for details would be weird—but still. “I should get back to work.”
“Are you feeling better about it than you did when I got up here?” he asks, getting up and folding his chair while I fold my blanket.
Am I feeling better? Strangely enough, yes. Much better. “I needed to get out of my head for a little bit, so yes. Thank you. I was starting to brood too much.”
“Then, I’m glad I decided to come up.” He grins before replacing his chair. “And I’m dying to find out how this goes. You’ll have to give me all the details.”
“Hush, I said.”
“But it’s like a soap opera. Or a reality show. I’m already hooked.”
All he gets for this is a tongue stuck out in his direction before I turn away.
“Oh, before I forget,” he calls out to the back of my head, “hit me up the next time you want to watch porn for research, and I’ll point you in the right direction. I can’t imagine you writing a character who begs Daddy to punish her ass.”
That is when I push him off the roof—at least, that’s what I imagine doing while he laughs softly behind me.
I’m glad he thinks this is so funny. For me, it’s real life. What if I burst out laughing at a stock market crash or something that would affect his job and make life crazy for him?
My phone is buzzing as I enter the apartment. I need to remember to bring it with me when I go out—one of the things Hayley’s always getting on my case for.
There’s a text.
From Blake. Free on Saturday night?
I can’t help but grin like an idiot. A Saturday night date. Everybody knows that’s a huge deal.
Sure! I reply, and then I instantly wonder if the exclamation point was a bit much. I don’t want to come off as being too eager. And crap, I answered in less than a minute. Way to look desperate.
Good, Blake replies. I’ll pick you up at your place at six. Be ready for a big night.
A big night? My hands feel all tingly as I type out my reply, assuring him I’ll be ready. In the back of my mind, I can’t help but think how this will show Matt he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.
This is going to go perfectly.
Kitty Valentine dates a Billionaire Page 7
