Would appreciate your thoughts on this early draft of Chapter One. Thanks, everybody! <3
Before I download the file, I skip to the comments.
…seems really specific…might want to make it more generic…
…don't know if her hostility is all that believable…
…really hot, but I found it hard to accept that he'd really be so attracted to a woman with so little self-confidence…
…I think you slipped up at one point there, who's Meghan?…
My heart stops.
Who's Meghan?
I zero in on the comment and read the whole thing again.
The story is really hot, I liked it. :) Not exactly believable, but hey, that's not what we're in the business for. The only thing I'd say is that you could use a proofreader. If you already have one, get another one or two. There are some typos, and I think you slipped up at one point there, who's Meghan? I thought the heroine was named Amanda.
Gripping the edge of my desk, I stare.
Who's Meghan?
With shaking hands, I click on the file. It downloads rapidly, and pops up on my screen.
Would you like to download an update for -?
"No!" I hiss, out loud, clicking the offending window out of the way. I just have to hope that Adrian didn't hear me.
Adrian.
I start reading.
The whole first chapter is very different from the version I knew, introducing Amanda while she fetches coffee for her insufferable boss. I almost want to giggle when I remember the incident it was based on.
I hit Control-F, and type Meghan.
"Meghan," Dirk whispered, his lips so close my ear that I shivered and squirmed.
This scene, I know. It was the first almost-but-not-quite encounter between the two of them, when he left her wet and panting, and she ended up getting herself off in the ladies' room afterwards. I read it many times.
There's just one difference.
Meghan.
Hastily, I close the file. The realization is coming to me slowly, and then all at once, and for a moment I feel like my head's been dunked underwater.
This isn't new. He's wanted me for a long time. But not just for a night, or he would have just seduced me the way he's certainly seduced a thousand other girls.
There's something at stake, here. I really do matter, and for more than just keeping his favorite fuckbuddy in a good mood.
The truth, I realize, has been there all along. Even Izzy saw it.
Standing up on trembling legs, I know what I have to do. I can't leave this alone.
I pop the first few buttons on my blouse, and knock on the door to his office.
"Hmm."
He's masking his anger pretty well, but I can still feel it radiating from him when I open the door. "Everything all right, Sir?" I ask, sweetly.
He looks up at me, and seeing his eyes fixed on mine - now that I know - makes me tremble inside. But I keep my cool.
"Yes," he says, sharply. "Bit of a difficult morning, that's all."
"I changed my mind." Clearing my throat, I sit down. "If you haven't found somebody else to do it, that is."
He gazes at me, curiously. "Changed your mind?" he echoes. "About what?"
I don't believe him for a moment. I just raise an eyebrow.
"That's over, Meghan," he says, giving in at last. "I'm finished with it."
"With what?"
"With Natalie. The books. The whole thing. I'm not writing anything else. There will be no more tours. Eventually, she'll be forgotten completely." His face is perfectly impassive, almost. But there's something behind his eyes. "I think that's best for both of us."
My cheeks are burning with anger and embarrassment. "Maybe for you," I tell him. "But that paycheck would be pretty nice, for those of us not already fellating a silver spoon on the regular."
He shrugs. "If you've got bills piling up, I'm sure I can find some extra projects for you to work on."
"I'm sure you could," I say, bitterly. "As long as it's all in private, right?"
Adrain's mouth thins. "See, this is why I knew it would never work." His eyes are blazing with barely-restrained anger. "Now everything's somehow about the fact that we slept together. That's exactly what I was afraid of, and God damn it, here we are." He lets out a dramatic sigh. "Okay, Meg. Here we go. Of course that's not the kind of project that I meant, Meg. I would never pay you for sex, Meg. I would never disrespect you like that, Meg. Now would you please, please stop acting like you're offended at an innocent comment, and tell me what's really upset you?"
Oh boy, where do I start?
"Nothing, Sir." I don't bother to tame the vitriol in my tone. "Did you need me for anything else?"
His eyes flick to my cleavage, then down my body, briefly resting on my skirt before they return to my face.
"No," he says, at last, his tone flat. "In fact, why don't you go home early? Take a half day."
My heart sinks. "I don't want to take a half day."
"You look like you could use some rest," he goes on, waving his hand dismissively. "Go."
Well, fuck you too.
***
I'm halfway through a Storage Wars marathon, and a bowl of Easy Mac, when I hear someone knocking on my door. My heartbeat quickens immediately, and I'm trying not to hope as I put my eye to the peephole.
It's him.
Swallowing hard, I pull the door open.
His expression is stormy, and he stands there in silence for a moment before he pushes his way inside, crowding me up against the wall with his body and kissing me.
He tastes like alcohol and a thousand bad decisions, and I moan into his mouth as his tongue claims me. The kitchen is the closest room to the front door so that's where we end up, my hands tangling in his hair and my whole body trembling with desire and anticipation.
I want to talk to him about what I saw, about what I've realized. That his books weren't just an ode to how much he wants to fuck me - they're much more than that. They tell the story he wishes we could have had.
But there's no time for talking now.
He hoists me up on the counter and pulls my pajama pants off, kneels down to taste me, his tongue darting in and out. Just a few moments, enough to get me ready for him, but not nearly enough for anything else. When he stands up, though, I don't complain. I just grab his belt and pull him close, kissing him again, and again, tasting myself on his lips and tongue, sharp and tangy, just like that fucking Beaujolais nouveau.
I want to laugh, but then he's slamming into me and I just gasp. It's hot and fast and explosive, and I hear my dishes rattle in the cabinets, all the silverware jostling together, and then I can't hear anything at all for a moment.
When it's all over, and my body sags on the counter, I hold him a little bit tighter for just a few seconds.
"Stay with me tonight?"
He shakes his head. "I can't," he says. A little hoarsely. Those are the first words he's spoken since he walked in.
He withdraws from me quickly and pulls himself back together, and leaves. It all happens within the space of a few moments, and I don't cry, although it's threatening, a lump in my throat that just won't let go.
After a few fitful hours of sleep, I wake up much earlier than usual and pull on my workout clothes. If I can't make any sense of my fucked-up relationship with Adrian, at least maybe I can get something productive done.
I know it's just the adrenaline, the stress, the mania, making me think that jogging is a good idea. I'll end up hurting my knee and limping home just like last time. But I have to try something. I can't keep sitting around and waiting for him to decide what he's going to do with my life.
As I step through the front door, something compels me to check the mailbox. I know it's unlikely that anything's been delivered since the last time I looked at it, but for some reason, I open the lid and peer inside.
There is a little piece of paper folded up on the bottom. No envelope. A wave of nausea
slams through me, and I unfold it with shaking fingers. I know this paper. I know the heavy type on the heading, the particular way in which the letterhead is stamped.
It's not pink, but I know what it means without having to read the words.
I let myself see it - TERMINATION OF EMPLOYMENT - just so I can be sure. I let the words sink in, and I sit there in my front hallway with the door hanging open, and the paper hanging between my fingers, my head hanging between my knees.
My first thought is to call Izzy, but I realize I have no story I can tell her. This doesn't make any sense. I could concoct something about Adrian resigning from his job as my editor, but that's going to take more energy than I have now.
All I can do is stare and disbelieve and cry.
Chapter Sixteen
I know I'm fired. I know I don't have a job anymore. But when I wake up, I get in the shower anyway, I get dressed, I even manage to eat a few spoonfuls of yogurt before I gag. I do this before I bother picking up the piece of paper and looking at it again, my hands shaking, and drop it on the floor again as the tears come.
Last night, I tried to call Adrian at least ten times in a row. It shouldn't come as a surprise that he's not answering. Clearly, he wants nothing more to do with me.
And obviously, that's for the best.
I can't accept it. I know I have no choice, but it grates against everything I feel about him. Is there some way I can possibly make him understand? Can I find the words to tell him how I feel? Would it even matter?
My phone dings with an incoming email as I sit there, curled up on the sofa in my favorite skirt and blouse. I stare at the screen, with unfocused eyes.
It's from Natalie McBride.
The same address I used to correspond with "her," back when I thought she was real. Those emails that Adrian claims were from Kara, even though everything she wrote seems at odds with what I've seen of her personality.
The email is just a link. I tap it.
It's a blog article.
THE TRUTH ABOUT NATALIE MCBRIDE?
No one likes citing unnamed sources, but I simply can't let this one go. I can't share everything I was told, but suffice it to say I've seen ample evidence to convince me that this person is in the know. Natalie McBride is a man - and not just any man, one of the most prominent businessmen in his field. He's got more in common with Dirk than Amanda. According to my source, he's a bit of an egomaniac who gets off on knowing he's fooled everyone…
Heart pounding in my throat, I open the Natalie McBride Facebook page. There's a post with over four hundred comments.
Fuck.
To my readers -
I hope some of you will take the time to read this. Please understand I never wanted to lie to you, and while I would never place the blame on anyone else for my actions, I was told this was the only way to reach you. That you would not accept me for who I really am. If I can leave you with just one piece of advice: be very, very wary when you're told something like that.
I realize now that it wouldn't have mattered. You connected with my stories no matter what, and I should have been honest from the beginning. But lies are set in quick-dry concrete. You just have to keep building on them once they're there, unless you want to take a wrecking ball to the whole thing. And that was a choice I made, on my own. I was counseled to try honesty, but I was afraid.
What was I afraid of? This. Losing the connections I've made with all of you. And just in case that sounds creepy, I want to make it clear that I never presented myself as a woman with the intention of gaining your trust so that I could take advantage of you as a man. I know anyone here who's corresponded with me will be able to tell you that. I have always tried to be respectful and to maintain boundaries.
Of everything I've gained from these last few years, it's all of you that I value the most.
I want you to know that one hundred percent of the proceeds from these books has been donated to charity. That was always the case. I never needed the money, and I didn't want to profit off of a lie. Many, many people will be better off because you bought my books. If nothing else, I hope that eases your mind.
I start scrolling through the responses.
Nat…or whatever your name is, I might be alone in this but I understand. I hope you'll keep writing because I love your stories and it doesn't really matter to me who you are. I can't believe I'm saying this because if you asked me a couple months ago, I would have been really upset that somebody would do this. But after I fell in love with your stories it's hard to say goodbye. I understand you probably won't want to write anymore but I hope that you will find a way to continue Dirk and Amanda's story, I just can't accept it's over. I understand what it's like when people around you tell you that you have to be a certain way, and even though you don't really believe them you feel like you have to do what they tell you. I know you didn't mean to hurt anybody. I'll be praying for you.
-
I agree, please keep writing.
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lol wtf is this
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I also would love to see more from you. Nathaniel McBride, anyone?
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Also praying for you, Nat. You obviously had a story in your heart that you needed to tell, and I hope people will be open minded enough to understand.
-
Honestly disappointed at all the ass-kissing in here. You realize he LIED to you, right? I don't know what the point of this confession is. Are we supposed to pat you on the back and make you feel better about yourself? It's really, really scummy to pretend to be a woman to gain somebody's trust. That's what predators do. And we're just supposed to take your word for it that you've never taken advantage of anyone? Please. Anyone who felt victimized would be too scared to step up, your rabid "fans" are CLEARLY okay with all your sliminess (and most of them have probably known all along, let's be real). They would tear anyone limb from limb if they said one bad thing about. *patiently waits to be deleted and banned*
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Anybody else need some popcorn?
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I used to think guys couldn't write romance, but you proved me wrong. Please don't quit. Ignore the haters and just be yourself.
-
Something shakes me out of my trance. It's the ding of another incoming email. My hands are trembling when I open it.
***
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Relax, I know it wasn't you. Which only leaves Kara. But to be honest, I don't particularly care anymore. It's the last thing on my list of concerns.
I didn't mean to ruin your life.
I don't know what else to say. I'm a bastard and I'm a bully and I ruined the only good thing that's ever happened to me.
That's you, in case you're having trouble following along.
You know me now, every part of me, better than anybody else ever has. That's been true for a long time.
I've been captivated by you since the moment we met. The world's a brutal place for women like you, but I never saw you falter. Five foot seven in flats, those curves always tugging on the seams of your clothes, like they didn't want to be covered up. You took up more space than you were allowed. You didn't smile when you felt like frowning. You spoke your mind, even at the expense of my comfort. And I couldn't look away.
You were beautiful, so beautiful, but that seems like too small of a word to describe what you are. You were my muse. I hadn't written in twenty years, not since my father found my journals and burned them in the backyard. Not since he told me I'd be nothing, nothing, unless I took on the family business.
But when I saw you, suddenly, I couldn't stop.
And I hated myself for giving in to it.
You'll certainly hate me now, and you're right to, but I thought you deserved to know. Not that you'll believe me, but I didn't keep emailing you for any reason other than the fact that it made me smile. That I thought I could make you smile. We hadn't connected like that in su
ch a long time, in years, because I was afraid of what would happen. Still am.
I wish I could see another way for this to end. But I don't. You deserve to be free from me and I knew you'd never leave, unless I made it happen. For all your will and spitfire, deep down, you never want to disappoint me.
You didn't, Meg. You were never a disappointment. I wish I hadn't let you believe that you were.
I'm sorry.
***
I stare, and I stare.
With shaking fingers, I open the number pad - it takes a few tries - and call Adrian. I know he's not going to pick up, but I have to try.
I wait for ten rings before I start pulling on clothes, haphazardly, grabbing my wallet and going out to hail a cab.
The whole ride here, I keep my phone by my ear, even though I know it's no use.
Adrian lives on the appropriately-named "Billionaire's Row," in the tallest apartment complex in the city. Because of course he does. I've been here once or twice, but I've always felt too far out of my element to appreciate it. Now, I'm just too angry.
But the fact that this insufferable, careless man can afford to spend this much on a penthouse condo is sickening. Perhaps not as sickening as the fact that I fell in love with him.
His Secretary: Undone Page 17