Twist Tied

by Guimond, Heather

  “I usually don’t,” Patrick said after hooting with laughter, his hands going to his rotund tummy as he did. “But by the look of you, I just might. In my experience, it’s the shy, pint-sized ladies who pack the most punch!”

  I couldn’t do anything but laugh back. My mouth was desperate to engage, to take up a witty banter about my short stature, considering most of Patrick’s size was in his belly. He really wasn’t much taller than me, but I let my ulterior motives guide me into just a little smile.

  “What can I get for you guys?” Patrick asked as he took a beer glass down from the overhead rack.

  “You know me, Pat, I’ll have a pint of Harp,” Wyatt answered before turning to me. “What would you like, Clarisse?”

  Judging from the look of the place, I wasn’t sure how well ordering my usual Manhattan would go over. Not that it was an exotic drink, but this looked more like a no-nonsense establishment.

  “Would it be too much trouble to ask for an Old-Fashioned with Jameson?” I asked, thinking that sounded more appropriate.

  “That’s a girl,” Patrick replied, nodding in approval. “I’ll have them ready in a jiffy.”

  We headed toward a booth, Wyatt and I both flopping down, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up with us. As I looked at him, I couldn’t help but study his face. He had the loveliest warm, brown eyes framed by strong brows, not too thick, not too thin, with a small scar running through one of them. His hair was dark brown, marvelously thick on top and cropped close on the sides. His lips were thin, but I knew the kind of magic they could make. He had beautifully high cheekbones and a slight dimple in his chin. The sum of all these qualities nearly had me fanning myself. When he reached back and removed the black wool coat he’d donned to keep the frigid desert chill at bay, I wanted to drool over the lightly tattooed muscles on his bulky arms. Wyatt was built like a boxer, all broad chest and shoulders. He was tall, probably a foot taller than me, but that didn’t mean too much, considering I was just barely an inch over five feet. We probably made an unlikely looking pair, me being so petite and him anything but. He was bulky and solid. You know what they say—opposites attract.

  I became aware of Wyatt staring back at me as I slowly emerged from my lust-induced stupor. He gave me a slow grin that had my toes curling in my Uggs as my hands contracted to fists. Fuck, he was sexy. Just as I was about to blurt out something—likely something very inappropriate for an employee to say to her new boss—Patrick rescued me.

  “Here you two lovebirds go,” he said as he gave Wyatt a discreet wink.

  “Oh, no. We’re not…” I began, hurrying to make sure it looked like I had nothing inappropriate on my mind.

  “Thanks, Pat,” Wyatt said as he scooted my glass toward me. “Keep ‘em coming, okay?”

  Well, hell. What was that about? Why would he stop me? Plus, he said to keep them coming. Was he planning to get shit-faced? He didn’t know it, but I could drink. I mean drink. I was practically weaned on Irish whisky.

  “Why not go for something a little stronger?” I asked curiously. “We’ve had a hard day. Unwind a little.”

  “Clarisse, it’s only Tuesday. Don’t you think it’s a little early to be letting our hair down so far?”

  “Hey, you’re the one who said to keep ‘em coming. I figured you had a plan in mind,” I tried to be coquettish, but it came out as a challenge.

  “No, no plans. Hopes, maybe,” he mumbled so low, I could barely hear him. Just what was the man hoping for? I wasn’t about to let the comment slip by.

  “Here’s to high hopes then,” I said with a flirty wink, raising my glass in toast. He clinked his with mine, then took a long, deep swallow. I went slack-jawed as I watched his throat work before taking a healthy gulp of my own drink.

  We both sat there for a moment, unsure what to say next. At least, I was. I’d called him out on his muttering but was afraid to force the issue. The words to just come right out and ask if he’d take me under his wing were pressing hard against my teeth, but I was afraid. I didn’t want him to say no, I didn’t want to be rejected. I’d only just gotten to be his assistant, and I had to wonder if that alone would be enough. It wasn’t just about me wanting to explore my fantasies anymore, I realized. Wyatt’s allure had begun to pull me in. I’d carefully selected him as my prospective Dom through his concise and fantastically detailed prose, not to mention his good looks, but starting to get to know him made me so much more curious about him as a man. I admitted to myself that before, he’d been a target, no better than an object. Getting these few glimpses into his personality, I was beginning to see him for the man he was. But who exactly was he? I resolved to find out.

  “So, Wyatt, what should I know about you?” I asked, unsure how to ease my way into learning more about him. The direct approach had always been my way, anyway.

  “What kind of question is that? What you see is pretty much what you get, I guess,” he replied, looking totally confused before a wicked look descended over his face. “Unless you’re referring to my criminal record.”

  “Oh my God, do you have one?” I asked, thinking of an author I knew who was secretly in a Federal Penitentiary for embezzlement. That was a well-guarded secret only he, his PA, Martina and I knew about. I only knew because I’d gotten drunk with Martina at a book event one time, and she let it slip. I’d sworn to secrecy and would never betray her, but she now steadfastly refused to consume anything harder than Diet 7Up.

  “No, I don’t have a rap sheet or anything of the sort,” Wyatt replied, laughing. “The worst trouble I’ve ever been in was for mischief on campus when I was in college. Some of my frat brothers and I used to play this game, we called it ‘Collecting Kisses.’ There were four of us. We’d split into two teams of two and go looking for random girls. One would approach a girl, better if it was a group of girls, tell them a sob story about how his girlfriend had just broken up with him, then try to get them to give him a kiss on his face. The object was to get as many lipstick prints on your face as possible. We even had a scorecard for them to sign, so in the end, they knew it was all a joke, but somewhere along the way, there was a girl who complained, and we got hauled into the Dean’s office. As I understood it later, the girl had been hoping for a real kiss from my buddy, Nick.”

  “It sounds like harmless fun, well, immature, dickish, frat-boy fun,” I said, for once thankful I’d avoided college.

  “Is there any other kind of frat-boy fun? We were all a bunch of boozed-up assholes with ego issues.”

  “And have you grown out of that phase of your life?” I asked playfully. I didn’t expect the dark look that came over his face.

  “What have you heard?” he asked, looking a mixture of embarrassed and awkward.

  “I haven’t heard anything. I was just teasing you. Why? Is there something I should have heard?”

  Wyatt took a long sip of his beer, purposely avoiding my eyes. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then settled back into the booth and huffed out a heavy breath.

  “You really haven’t heard anything about me?” he asked quietly.

  “No, nothing other than what a great writer you are, which I already knew, and that you were a very approachable guy. Did something happen?”

  I watched as his eyes shifted anywhere but my face before he grimaced. I was half intrigued, half afraid of what he’d say next.

  “I kind of went underground last year, ostensibly to devote my time to my next series, but as I’ve mentioned, I got myself into a fair amount of trouble with a few of my readers.” My heart went out to him, seeing how uncomfortable he was admitting to something he clearly found humiliating.

  “I see,” I replied slowly. “You made them your subs?”

  “What? No! Well…” he quickly replied. “Not exactly. Let’s just say I did some shitty things, and it all ended badly for me.”

  “Okay, I have like a thousand questions, now,” I said, my mind beginning to whirr, but his discomfort was so palpabl
e, I immediately backed off. “But I won’t pry. I assume you learned that dipping into your readership is not the place to find dates or partners.”

  “I did learn a very valuable lesson. I need to remember I have a public life and a personal life, and neither should mix with the other. Enough said?”

  “Absolutely, but it does make me curious about other aspects tangentially related to the subject.”

  “What do you want to know?” he asked warily.

  “Well, just how many subs have you had?” I asked with a devilish smile. Hopefully, a playful attitude would make him feel a little easier. I wasn’t expecting the laughter that followed.

  “What makes you think I’ve had any subs at all? I mean, there was only Nicole, but we never actually met in person.”

  “Wait. Are you telling me you write all these incredibly detailed, powerful stories, and you have no dominance and submission or BDSM experience?” I asked, dumbfounded.

  “Not a lick. It comes from what I’ve researched online, porn I’ve watched, and a fertile imagination that can turn anything dark and twisted.”

  “Well, I’ll be fucked. I can’t believe this,” I muttered.

  “You sound disappointed,” he said, the smile still lingering on his lips.

  “Well, yeah! Here I was having all these intense fantasies based on your writing, only to find out it’s purely fiction. You sell a great image,” I said, only a little bitterly. I had to admit I was impressed with his talent at telling a story because obviously, I’d been convinced otherwise.

  “I’m glad to know my writing had the intended effect, but I’m very sorry to disappoint you.”

  “So, you really don’t have a dungeon in the other spare bedroom?”

  “Nope,” he said, taking another sip of his beer.

  “At least tell me you have a paddle, a riding crop, or a pair of handcuffs.”

  “None of those either. However, if you want to volunteer to be my muse, we can add that to your job description,” he said, an undercurrent of something lacing his words.

  I don’t know what made me say it. Her keen interest in the subject had appealed to the part of me that fantasized nightly over the things I wrote about, and without thinking, the question came tumbling out of my mouth. I could try to walk it back, make light of it, pretend I’d been teasing her, but deep inside I really didn’t want to. I wanted her to shout, Yes! and begin a voyage with me. I tried to pull back, remind myself I’d just made her my assistant, but that wasn’t the same as a reader, was it? She was a professional, not some lonely woman who’d fallen in love with a character between the pages of a book. We could call it research and keep it at that. Couldn’t we? God, Wyatt, you are a bonehead.

  “Forget I said that,” I mumbled, then continued in a much clearer voice. “I don’t need to get myself into trouble all over again.”

  “Now, let’s not be hasty,” Clarisse said, holding up her hand. “We could experiment. The culture isn’t all about sex, from what I’ve read. It would be research and can only improve the quality of your writing. As your assistant, I can help. There’s no law that says we can’t. My job is to help you with whatever you need.”

  “You’d really do all manner of perverted things with me in the name of making my books even more realistic?” I asked, my mind reeling. I couldn’t believe I was letting myself be tempted by the idea after everything I’d been through, and yet… I didn’t feel like I could walk away. We could do this without getting too involved. I wasn’t sure how much I liked the idea if I was honest with myself, but in characteristic Wyatt Chase fashion, I shoved that thought straight to the nether of my mind and let my enthusiasm grow.

  “Sure, I would. I think it would be fun and educational. I mean, obviously, I have some interest in the subject, given I read that kind of stuff all the time,” she said with a look in her eyes that hit me just south of my belt. I really should pedal as fast as I could in the other direction, but the idea it could be just a business experiment of sorts was just too seductive for my weak mind.

  I watched as Clarisse downed the last of her drink just as Pat sat another round in front of us. I couldn’t believe we’d very nearly agreed to do this before we even got tipsy. I swallowed the last of my Harp and immediately attacked the second glass, slurping mightily. I needed a whole lot more to chase my fears away because my stomach was a mixture of butterflies and boy scout knots.

  “So, what do you say, Wyatt? Want to get kinky with me?”

  Fuck, I’d felt that one right in my nuts.

  Against my better judgment, and truly any rational thought, I raised my glass and clinked it against hers.

  “Let’s get filthy.”

  Before either of us could say another word, we were interrupted.

  “Hey man, long time, no see.” It was my buddy and sometimes cover model, Brock Gideon. Though he lived nearby, he either spent all his time in the gym working on his body or showing it off to photographers and rabid fans at book signings. The man never met a camera lens, whether on a Nikon or an iPhone, he didn’t like.

  “Hey bro,” I said with a chin nod. “How’ve you been?”

  “Same as ever. Working, working out, or traveling. Who’s this?” he asked, looking down at Clarisse with his stupid model smile.

  “This is my new assistant, Clarisse. Susan decided to run off to the Middle East to get married. I’m doing a last-minute signing next weekend, and she’s here to help me get organized.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Clarisse. I’m Brock Gideon, maybe you’ve heard of me?”

  “Everyone in the book world has heard of you, Brock. It’s good to finally meet you,” she said, holding out her hand to shake. Ever the charmer, he took her hand in his and kissed the back. He’d been my buddy almost from the beginning of my career, but now, he was in serious danger of my size thirteen shoe connecting with his crotch. I gave him a look that told him, in no uncertain terms, he needed to move on. Quickly. He tilted his chin to let me know he’d gotten the message loud and clear.

  “Well, I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ve had the one beer I’ve rewarded myself with. I’ve got a shoot coming up and can’t afford to be bloated, no matter how much I really want to scarf down some of Pat’s excellent food. If you get a chance, Clarisse, make sure to try the fish and chips. They’re amazing.”

  Clarisse gave a polite goodbye, then turned back to me.

  “He’s nicer than I thought he’d be. Several of the models who reach his level of success act like they’re untouchable.”

  “Yeah, Brock’s a good guy. He genuinely likes people in general. It’s one of the reasons I put him on several of my books. He befriended me when I was an unknown, gave me discounts on some of his pictures, so I didn’t have to use stock images.”

  “That’s really awesome,” she replied. “Now where were we?”

  I grinned at her, more than ready to pick up the conversation again. I couldn’t believe we were actually considering something I’d spent countless hours imagining, not just for my stories but for myself.

  The rest of the night we tried to talk about our new arrangement from a purely professional perspective, but as we came up with one scenario after another, and the more we drank, it wasn’t long before we’d scooted close to each other in the round booth and my arm was slung over her shoulder. We’d had to order an Uber to get back to my house, we both were so plowed we could hardly stand. We forewent dropping Clarisse at the hotel because I doubted either of us could ensure she’d safely get to her room—we were that drunk.

  I woke the following morning to her little body cuddled close to mine in my bed. Nothing inappropriate had happened, which was a funny thought, considering we’d just agreed to get our freak on together the night before. We’d honestly made a beeline for my bedroom where we passed out on my bed almost immediately.

  Now, in the morning light, my head surprisingly clear for as trashed as I’d been, I got up and went straight for the coffee maker. Clar
isse had been drinking whiskey all night, she was sure to have a splitting headache and be desperate for java. I also poured her a tall glass of ice water, knowing full well she’d feel like she had a mouth full of cotton.

  When I got back to the room, she was just beginning to stir. She opened bleary eyes and looked at me, a grateful expression as she looked from one hand to the other, clearly unsure whether she should go for the coffee or the water first. I made the decision for her and held out the water, which she readily and greedily gulped down.

  “How’s the head?” I asked, almost wincing in sympathy.

  “It’s fine. I almost never get hungover. I would like that coffee in your other hand, however,” she said putting the empty water glass on the nightstand and reaching out with a “gimme” gesture. I wasted no time handing over her magic elixir.

  I gingerly took a seat next to her on the side of the bed, not sure if I was crossing any kind of line by getting too close to her, and let’s face it, she was in a bed. I had no idea where the line existed anymore after our conversation and cuddling the night before.

  “So, where would you like to begin today, PA boss lady?” I gave my best attempt at teasing her.

  “Shouldn’t I be asking you that question if we’re going to try this whole Dom/sub thing?” she replied, tilting her chin down and looking at me like I was a little dim.

  “I suppose you’re right. Um. Hmm. Well, if we’re going to be doing this as purely research for my books, maybe I should put my current book on the back burner for a while and start a new one, one that mimics what we’re going through.”

  “Oh no, don’t do that. Save that book for once we’ve gotten our feet wet in this journey,” she insisted, then looked sheepish. “I mean, if you want, Sir.”

  Hearing her call me Sir made me want to laugh rather than have it hit me in the gut like it probably should have if I was going to be an actual Dom. I’d gotten off on it a little bit when either Annie or Nicole had called me Sir, but there just seemed something inherently funny about a woman like Clarisse calling anyone Sir. I bit back on the smile threatening to take over my mouth and nodded decisively.