The Dom of My Dreams: A BDSM Novel (3 page)

“Fine, then give it to somebody else,” I countered.

“It’s you I need, Marjorie.
 
Trust me.”

Oh yeah?
 
And why’s that?
 
I wanted to ask, but Alfred would simply avert my question by giving me one of his long-winded speeches about having faith in all of his employees’ abilities or whatever, and I was
so
not in the mood to hear it.
 
He was holding back, that much was obvious, and I shuddered to think that he and Seton were in this together.
 
This situation required further scrutiny, and I had every intention of getting answers.
 

I shifted restlessly in my seat, frustration surging through me.
 
I blew out a breath, lifting the hair from my forehead.
 
“I’m not working with Seton, Alfred.
 
Give the job to someone else.”

Alfred frowned.
 
“Why, did something happen during the lunch meeting?”
 

I opened my mouth to answer but immediately closed it.
 
Hmm.
 
Did Alfred know about Seton’s sexual proposition?
 
Deep down, I knew the answer was no.
 

Alfred Williams was a kind, warm, easygoing boss.
 
A native Texan, his Southern drawl was still strong after spending more than thirty years in New England, and with his tall, lanky frame and thinning gray hair, he looked more like somebody’s retired grandfather than a respectable publisher.
 
He believed that everyone at Bookends AtoZ was one big happy family.
 
He also believed in treating his underlings as equals.
 
But that didn’t mean he didn’t expect us to do our job—oh, no!
 
He, like all bosses, was very strict in that regard.
 
“All of my employees are my family, and if one of them lets me down, he is out of the family.” He told us that once during a meeting.
 
We took his words very seriously.
 
We wouldn’t want to be “out of the family,” after all.

“I know you Marge,” he said gently.
 
“Confidence doesn’t become you.
 
You’re afraid of screwing up, aren’t you?
 
Don’t you have any faith in your skills?”

Professional skills had nothing to do with this, but I wasn’t going to tell
him
that.
 
“It’s not that—”

“Then what is it?”

I heaved out a sigh.
 
In hindsight, I knew better than to argue with Alfred.
 
He was always right and the rest of us were wrong.
 
Protestations were superfluous, so I held up my hands in surrender.

His smile touched his hazel eyes as he reached out and gave my shoulder a reassuring little squeeze.
 
“I knew you’d see it my way, kiddo.
 
You’re going to be fine,” he said, flashing me one of his toothy grins.

Heaving out a sigh, I rose and sauntered over to the window that overlooked the town square on Main Street, where all of the shops, art galleries and trendy cafés were situated.
 

Northampton was beautiful, and that morning was no exception.
 
Suit and tie types rushed to work while the bohemians stood idly at their favorite corners, playing their instruments of choice for money.
 
Coffee shops and independent bookstores boomed with early-morning costumers.
 
What a wonderful view.
 
All of the major cities in the world couldn’t compare to this chic, artsy town.
 

I swept my gaze back to Alfred, who now had his feet propped up on his desk.
 
“Why did David Seton move here?” I wondered out loud.
 
“Why this town?”

He shrugged.
 
“Your guess is as good as mine, kid.
 
I have no idea why he moved here, but I reckon he had a good reason to do so.
 
And to be honest, I have no idea why he wants to write for us.
 
I haven’t slept well since he approached us, asking myself that very question.”

“I’m guessing he wants an advance.
 
A big one.”

He shook his head. “You guess wrong.
 
He doesn’t want an advance.”

“Which is fortunate, seeing as we can’t really afford him.”

His smile crinkled his eyes.
 
“Touché.”

I raised an eyebrow.
 
“I’m assuming he does want
something
in advance.
 
Is he willing to settle for our standard five thousand?”
 

Alfred made a dismissive gesture with his hands.
 
“He doesn’t want money.
 
All he wants is complete creative control of his work, doesn’t want to be badgered with deadlines and whatnot.
 
He also wants the right to withhold his work in progress until he’s ready to show it to us.
 
Not a bad deal from a top ten author, I reckon.”

I snorted again.
 
“Indeed not.
 
I’m surprised his agent agrees with those ‘demands.’ ”

He laughed derisively as he extinguished his cigarette, grunting when he sat up.
 
“Of course she doesn’t agree.
 
She called me the other day, a Karen something or other—can’t remember—and told me she wouldn’t let him sign up for anything less than one mill.
 
It’s a good thing I had a word with him
before
I spoke to the money-hungry hag.
 
I reckon she’ll give us a hard time, but Seton could ditch her if he wanted to.
 
He doesn’t need an agent to help sell his work at this point in his career.”

I nodded absently as tension left my body.
 
Alfred had no idea what was going on.
 
My boss wasn’t expecting me to sleep with our prospective big author.
 
Seton hadn’t lied.
 
Relieved, I went over to Alfred and brushed a kiss across his leathery cheek.
 

He turned surprised eyes to me.
 
“What’s that for?”

I smiled and shrugged.
 
“For believing in me?
 
Thanks for being a good boss.”

He had the grace to blush.
 
“Any time, kiddo.”

With a grin, I grabbed my jacket and bag, waved him goodbye and headed out the door.

Jeremy accosted me the second I entered my office, jumping up and down in front of me and asking the same questions over and over again.
 
He told me he wouldn’t leave me alone until I answered him.
 
He
had
to know what it was like to speak with a “creative genius” like David J. Seton.
 
Typical Jeremy, a busybody through and through.
 
He had to know every detail about my life.
 
I answered his questions with as much patience as I could muster.

“And he’s gorgeous, isn’t he?” he enthused, tugging on his tie as he perched on the side of my desk.
 
“Go on.
 
Don’t just stand there.
 
Tell me everything, hon, and I do mean
everything
.”

I often told Jeremy everything, but I couldn’t tell him about Seton’s unconventional proposition.
 
Instead, as I moved about the office, I gushed over Seton’s physical beauty and how brilliant he was, which was what Jeremy seemed to want to hear anyway.

“Is there a possibility that he might be gay?” Jeremy asked.

“To you, there’s always the possibility that any man might be gay.”

He laughed. “Yeah, but seriously, do you think he might be?”

Sighing, I bounced back to my desk and kicked off my shoes.
 
“I really don’t think he’s gay, Jer.
 
But he won’t fall in love with me, if that’s what worries you.”

He frowned.
 
“Why wouldn’t he fall in love with you?”

I rolled my eyes at him as I logged onto my computer.
 
“You think a guy like that would fall in love with me?
 
I mean, look at me!”

Jeremy’s frown deepened.
 
“What do you mean, ‘look at me’?
 
I see nothing wrong with you.”

I sighed.
 
Did I have to spell everything out to him?
 
“I’m too plain.”

“Plain?
 
You’re not plain,” so said the tall and dark hunkster who had every female at the office shaking her head in disbelief, murmuring, “What a waste.”

“Well, I’m too plain for the likes of him,” I countered.

His brown eyes gave me a quick once-over.
 
“Well, you could use some polishing up.
 
You wore that blouse and skirt because you had to meet Seton today, but you usually wear the drabbest clothes I’ve ever seen.
 
You’re twenty-nine years old, but you might as well be sixty with the way you carry yourself.
 
But you know you’re gorgeous, hon.
 
With that hourglass figure and those pretty amber eyes, any guy would fall madly in love with you.
 
Too bad you’ve never let a man be with you long enough to get to know the real you.”

I peered at him, brows furrowed.
 
“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jeremy gave me a rueful smile and leaned over to brush a brotherly kiss across my forehead.
 
“Sweetie, you know exactly what I mean.”

At home, I took a nice, long bath and then curled up on the couch with a copy of
Married
, Seton’s third and most successful novel to date.
 
The book is about a woman who only sleeps with married men.
 
She tells the men that she’s only attracted to their unavailability—their marital status gives them no right to demand love, fidelity or loyalty from her.
 
In the grand tradition of wanting the unobtainable, the men fall in love with her and long for all of the things that she denies them.
 
They even threaten to leave their wives.
 
Some of them actually abandon their families just so they could somehow win the heart of this shallow, cold-hearted woman who uses them and plays mind games with them.
 

The ending is one of the most disturbing ones I’ve ever read.
 
Seton has a unique way of starting his novels one way and then taking them in unexpected directions.
 
Married
is one of the cleverest psychological-slash-erotic thrillers ever written.
 
Seton received various literary awards for that novel, turning him into a big name in the grand tradition of John Grisham and Stephen King, only cleverer and far more gifted than the aforementioned authors.
 
At the young age of thirty-five, Seton had become a household name in the literary world.
 
Getting my hands on his next novel would be like winning the multi-million dollar lottery.
 
He had to sign with Bookends.
 
There was no question about it.

I looked at the back cover photo of
Married
and David J. Seton gazed back at me.
 
He looked exactly the same as he did at the café, only not as formally dressed.
 
He had the same dark hair and dreamy eyes.
 
He also wore the same amused expression on his handsome face and the knowing, ironic smile I was beginning to loathe.
 
I couldn’t deny that he was the most interesting man I had ever met.
 
And I was intrigued by his proposal, very intrigued indeed.
 
I hadn’t allowed myself the pleasure of admitting to myself that his proposal was the very thing I had dreamed about.
 
His dominant nature was something I had wanted in a man, a fantasy I’d tried to fulfill with Mitch, my current lover.
 
“Tried to fulfill” being the operative phrase.