His Secretary:Undone(22)

"I like women," he says. "All sorts of women. Confident women. Smart  women. Sharp-tongued women. Women who know how to manage difficult men."  He reaches forward, catching my chin with his finger, gently lifting my  face higher. "And yes, voluptuous women. At the moment I'm particularly  intrigued by one woman who embodies all of those qualities, yet insists  on calling herself names and then pretending that she isn't." He leans  in, brushing his lips against mine. "You're right, it's not a dirty  word. Except when it is. Which is most of the time. I can see the cloud  pass over your face when you say it."

I can't argue with him, as much as I want to. I've come to terms with my  body, I've learned to love my curves, I've cranked "All About That  Bass" and followed all the body-positive Facebook pages. I've done  everything I'm supposed to do, but yes, the word still echoes in the  back of my head, not as a schoolyard taunt, but something much worse.

You're going to have enough trouble finding a husband with that poison  tongue of yours, now you're getting fat on top of everything else?         

     



 

I only want what's best for you, Meghan …

No daughter of mine should be shopping in the plus-size department.

"You know if you actually dock my paychecks, I'll go to the labor board." I swallow down the lump in my throat, forcefully.

"Ah, but you won't." He grins. "Because if you go and do a spiteful  thing like that, I'll never put my tongue anywhere near your beautiful  pussy again. And trust me, that'll hurt me more than it hurts you." He  kisses me hard and fast this time, and although I part my lips, he  doesn't deepen it before pulling away. "Now, are you going to behave  yourself?"

"Probably not." I reach for his belt buckle. "We've got two hours before my panel, think you can teach me a lesson by then?"

Dodging my grasp, he stands up. "You know, if I were a cruel man, I'd  spend every moment of that time devouring you, but never letting you  come. Bringing you right to the edge, and then back again. And I'd make  you do your panel appearance as a sopping, incoherent mess. But lucky  for you, I'm not."

I swallow hard, my fingers twitching with the need to touch him. But he's heading for the door.

"Wait," I plead, but he's already turning the handle.

"Sorry, Ms. Burns. You'll have to live with only having me once this morning. I trust you'll endure."

"But … "

The door slams.

I pick up the phone and punch his room number in, angrily.

"Adrian Risinger speaking."

"Get your ass over here!" I shout down the receiver.

There's a moment of silence.

"Sorry, who is this?"

I throw the phone at the wall.





Chapter Ten





It's like my college literature classes, all over again.

"What do you think, Natalie?"

I clear my throat. "Well, you know, it's important to distinguish  between fantasy and reality when it comes to this stuff. Most readers,  and do pay attention to the operative word there, want to read about the  kind of guy they can't have in real life. Not because he's  inaccessible, but because he'd be a terrible partner in real life. So  you create this fantasy of the controlling bad boy who becomes something  else, during the course of the story - but without losing his teeth. He  knows exactly when to be pushy, and exactly when to back off."

I am completely talking out of my ass. The last time I was this full of  shit, I was using my memory of a Wishbone episode to convince my  professor I'd actually read The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. Don't ask me  why the fuck The Legend of Sleepy Hollow was in a college curriculum in  the first place, but thank God for small mercies.

The audience member at the microphone pipes up. "But don't you think  things are changing? Is the age of the bad boy on its way out? I keep  seeing more and more people talking about how they want to read about  nice guys."

Someone coughs.

Izzy glances down the row of panelists. "Anybody have any thoughts on that?"

"Well," I hear myself pipe up, "I think of course there's always going  to be room for something different. But it's not like alpha bad boys are  some new phenomenon. That don't-give-a-shit attitude, pardon my French,  always has been and always will be sexy. It telegraphs power and  control. It sends the message that he's a man who will fight for you,  and stand by you, even if the rest of the world turns on you. And if he  wants something, he'll go after it. If you look at those few popular  books that do feature nice guys, they still have those qualities.  They're just a little bit softer around the edges."

"Great point," says Izzy. "We're just about running out of time, I think we can take one more question."

I look up, just in time to see Adrian - who's appeared out of nowhere -  sweet-talking the next woman in line into handing him the microphone.

Oh, for fuck's sake.

"I'm curious about the billionaire phenomenon," he says, locking eyes  with me. "I see a lot of readers saying they're tired of billionaires  and they just want to read about regular guys, to the point where  they'll avoid anything that has "billionaire" in the title or  description. Have we reached the point where it's more of a harm than a  help?"

Izzy glances at me, like she's wondering if I planted him. I shake my head a little.         

     



 

"Well," she says, "not to call on you again, Natalie, but you are the billionaire romance expert here. What do you think?"

I shrug. "Plenty of books have billionaires, they just don't put it out  there. I guess you could argue in some cases it's better to be subtle  about it now, but the tropes still apply. They're powerful, but they're  isolated. A bit weird, at best. 'Eccentric' is just weird with money, as  we all know."

The audience titters.

"We just found a new word for it. Today, Mr. Darcy would be a  billionaire. All those dukes and lairds and roguish princes from the old  Harlequins - same deal. They snap their fingers, you come."

Adrian smirks.

"But I think the readership is still there," I go on, ignoring him -  even as a deep blush spreads across my chest. "You can't please  everybody all of the time, but the billionaire readers aren't going  anywhere."

He's still smiling at me.

Izzy announces the end of the panel, and we all get a round of applause.  I can see Adrian making his way up to me, and before I can stand up, he  lays a hand on my shoulder. It would look friendly to anyone else,  maybe bordering on intimate, but I can feel the power and control that  it signifies.

"A bit weird, am I?" he murmurs.

"You better believe it," I tell him, without looking up. "I think I want  to go to that serials workshop, for the last session. Unless you had  other plans."

"Go ahead," he says. "I'm heading back to the room for a bit. Have to make a few phone calls."

I'm irritated, but I don't show it. I no longer feel out of my element,  and the sour taste in the back of my mouth from implicitly lying to all  of these people has started to fade. After all, he hired me to do it.  It's not like I stole someone's identity.

I wonder who he needs to call, that's so important. Kara has been  noticeably absent from our big events. I'm glad for it, so I haven't  questioned why, but he always has a sour expression on his face when  he's just been talking to her. I wonder if she's heard about my panties.  I was worried when I first walked into the room, but so far, nobody's  mentioned anything, or even given me a sly look. Maybe the cover models  did something really crazy after I left, and eclipsed the whole thing.

Normally I'd be upset to miss it, but I can't say I regret my decision to let Adrian drag me back to his room.

No, not by a long shot.





***

The serial workshop turns into a terminal bore, so I sneak out the back  and return to my own room. Adrian said he needed to make a phone call,  after all, so I figured I'll let him have his privacy. Anyway, I'm not  sure exactly how much he wants me hanging around when we're not either  fucking or sleeping. Kicking my shoes off, I throw the curtains open to  let some light in. I wonder if Adrian's discovered his balcony. A quick  peek out the glass tells me yes, he has.

One hand has his phone glued to his ear, and the other is resting on the  railing as he looks out over the city. I watch him for a minute before I  start to feel creepy again, and return to flop down on my bed.

He could easily walk over and see me. I'm not sure if he's realized yet  that he can. A wicked idea starts to grow in the back of my mind, and  the more I try to suppress it, the more it grows. I sit up on the bed  and peer out again. He's still there, more or less where I left him. But  maybe he's a bit closer - or is that just my imagination?

Smiling to myself, I drag a chair over from the corner and situate it  right in front of my doors. If he turns around, he'll see me lounging  there. I pop a few of the buttons on my blouse and let my legs splay  open, a little more than is proper for this skirt.