Dirty Bad Secrets(22)
I was scaring her. She twiddled her thumbs together. “I could lend you mine.”
“Please.” I stared at Sir fucking Blackthorne’s author picture. Some piece of shit black and white thing with his face hidden behind a Casanova mask. “How the fuck do I contact this prick?”
“You can’t,” she said. “He gets so much mail he has to employ a PR agency.”
I jabbed a finger at the cover on the screen. “This isn’t fucking happening, Topaz. This was a fucking mistake. If this thing goes to fucking print, I’ll sue the poncey prick for everything he’s got.”
“She must have given him permission, Mr Morgan. He’s not an idiot. His other covers were illustrations, bird cages and shackles and feathers.”
“She can damn well take her permission back then, can’t she?” I fixed her in a glare. “What does dubious consent mean?” She couldn’t even look at me. “Topaz, what the fuck does dubious consent mean?”
“I’m sorry, Mr Morgan, I don’t know what to say.”
I slammed my fist on the desk. “Tell me!”
“It’s … it’s dark erotica, forced submission that sometimes goes over the line.”
I put my head in my hands, temples thumping. “Get me that fucking Kindle, Topaz.” I looked across to the empty desk, and Faye’s handset sitting on top of it. “And while you’re at it, pass me that fucking phone as well.”
***
Chapter Six
Faye
I’d known it was inevitable, but still the sight of Topaz hunched over Andy’s desk while he blatantly tried to guess my mobile’s security PIN was enough to drain the blood from my face. So much for my happy little jaunt to the bank and back.
“You’ll never get it. It’s a totally random combination,” I announced.
Topaz shot upright with a gasp but Andy didn’t flinch.
“Now you’re back I can stop guessing,” he said. Topaz made some blathering excuses before he waved her from the room, but I was hardly listening. Andy waited until the door clicked shut before he skimmed my phone back across the desk. “I just need his number, I can handle the rest.”
“Handle what, exactly?”
His expression darkened as he turned his laptop screen in my direction. “This. This fucking... travesty.”
If he expected shock horror he was sure to be disappointed. The picture on screen was old news. I’d seen it, approved it and signed the thing off long before I left Italy.
“Thanks, but there’s really nothing to handle.”
The scowl was etched across his face. “And you’re happy with this, are you? Not bothered that your face is going to be on every dirty cow’s Kindle screen the planet over? He can fuck right off if he thinks he’s using this picture to sell his seedy little porno book.”
I didn’t even attempt to argue the literary beauty of Vincent’s work. It would have fallen on deaf ears. “I gave him permission,” I said. “In writing. Signed, sealed, case closed.”
“Is it fuck,” he said. “What’s his fucking number?”
I couldn’t help but smile at his zeal. “I signed it off, Andy. My signature.”
“Queen fucking Elizabeth could have signed it off for all I fucking care, Faye.”
I focused on the twitch at the corner of his perfect mouth. “You’d be wasting your breath.”
“Don’t be so sure about that.” He stared right at me. “Look me in the eye and tell me you want your face on his poxy book.”
“It’s not that simple...”
“It is that simple.”
“Andy, seriously. I signed it off. End of.”
“Past tense. Permission fucking withdrawn. I have great lawyers, Faye, we’ll sue him for every penny he’s got, I promise.”
He rooted through his papers, pulled out a business card and began dialling before I could speak. The business card was one of those uber posh ones, watermarked on a thick, expensive grain. My hand was on his before he’d been connected, guiding the handset back into its cradle. “Thank you, I really appreciate your concern, but stop. Please.”
He didn’t let go of the phone. “If you’re worried about speaking to him...”
“I’m not,” I lied. “Look, I knew he’d be using that picture. It’s no big deal, he’s in Italy and I’m here, he’s busy writing books and I’m busy running a club.” I squeezed his hand. “Thanks, though. It’s nice to have someone in my corner.”
He swallowed, but kept his expression deadpan. “I mean it, Faye, we could fight this.”