by Radclyffe
“I wouldn’t know.” After a beat, Alana’s expression softened. “But I’d be happy to set up the appointment for you.”
“Thank you. I know you’re busy—”
“It’s no trouble, Ms. Frost.”
“Please. Call me Auden.”
Alana smiled fleetingly. “When would you prefer to see Ms. Nixon?”
“As far as I know,” Auden replied with a grin, “my schedule is wide open. Any time tomorrow or Friday would be fine.”
“I’ll see to it then. There’s also a message from Ms. Palmer.”
“Yes?” Auden’s pulse skipped a beat, and she hoped the faint flush she felt rise to her face didn’t show.
“She wanted you to know that she would be out of town for several days, and that you could refer any questions to Mr. Pritchard.”
“Oh.” Auden tried to hide her surprise. Odd that Hays didn’t mention that yesterday. But then again, why should she have? Auden nodded neutrally. “I see. Thank you.”
Still, as Auden walked away, she couldn’t ignore the keen sense of disappointment. She had so much work to do, work she was looking forward to, but knowing that Hays would not be right down the hall left her feeling empty in a totally unexpected way.
It’s probably for the best if I don’t see her for a few days. Clearly, too much has happened too fast. I just need to get my sense of balance back. A few days with nothing to distract me should set that straight.
She entered her office, already thinking of the people she needed to contact and the interviews that needed to be scheduled. Within minutes, she had forgotten all about Haydon Palmer and the strange happenings of the early-morning hours.
-----Original Message-----
From: [email protected]
Sent: Wednesday March 19, 10:05 AM
To: [email protected]
Subject: Personal Meeting
Ms. Dyre:
Thank you for your prompt response. I received your draft of Dark Passions and will review it as soon as possible.
I would like to arrange a meeting here in Philadelphia at your earliest convenience to discuss future projects with you in person.
Palmer Publishing resource personnel are available to assist you with travel and accommodations. Let us know what you may require.
I look forward to hearing from you,
Sincerely,
Auden Frost
Auden sent similar e-mails to the seven other authors she had inherited. She could handle the necessary negotiations by teleconference if she had to, but there was nothing like seeing a person face to face when discussing business. At least at this stage, she thought a personal assessment would be wise, considering that the future of Destiny books might rest with these eight women.
Alana had arranged several in-house interviews for the late morning. By the time Auden realized that she had missed lunch again, it was almost two p.m. She hadn’t been out of her office all day.
To her delight, when she approached the lunch room for coffee, she saw that Hays’s office door was open and heard voices emanating from within. Her happiness was short-lived, however. In passing, she was surprised to recognize not Hays’s deep tones, but Abel Pritchard’s distinctive baritone.
“Are you sure you don’t need me to come over?...Have you called Rosenberg?”
Something in his tone, a totally uncharacteristic edge of anxiety, brought Auden up short.
“Damn it, Hays, this has got to stop. You simply can’t keep this up.”
Hurriedly, Auden moved away. The conversation was obviously private. But the worry in Pritchard’s voice was hard to forget. She poured coffee, still thinking about the odd snippets of conversation. When she turned around, Pritchard was standing in the doorway watching her.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Pritchard,” she said calmly.
“Ms. Frost.”
They regarded one another silently for a moment.
Pritchard asked, “Are you settling in?”
“Getting there,” Auden acknowledged with a weary shrug. “I have a secretary and a copy editor, or I will have as soon as the transfers are approved.” She hesitated. “Should I send the personnel requests through you?”
“If these are routine matters that don’t specifically require Haydon’s input, yes, that procedure would be best. She has...enough to do.”
“Certainly.”
“You have the information about the reception Saturday evening?” His tone was formally cool.
“I do. Thank you.”
“Very well, then. I’ll be here until eight, if you need anything.”
He turned to leave and Auden said suddenly, “Mr. Pritchard?”
“Yes?” His expression was guarded.
“Is she all right?”
“Who?”
Auden smiled thinly. “I don’t make a habit of eavesdropping, but the door was open, and I heard a bit of your conversation as I passed. Hays...Ms. Palmer...didn’t look well yesterday. I was just wondering—”
“She’s fine.”
His eyes probed hers, looking for something, but what it might be, Auden had no clue. She had nothing to hide and let him search, waiting quietly.
“A touch of the flu,” he said at last.
“I’m glad it’s nothing serious.”
“No. Good day then, Ms. Frost.”
“Good day, Mr. Pritchard.”
When she returned to her office, Auden punched in a number from memory, then replaced the receiver. A few moments later, the phone rang. She answered, smiling at the familiar lilting tones.
“Dr. Dunbar.”
“Hiya, superdoc.”
“Aud!” Gayle exclaimed. “Where are you? I don’t recognize this number.”
“My office.”
“Ooh—sounds so official. What’s up?”
“You busy Saturday night?”
“Uh,” Gayle muttered. “Let’s see. I’m off call, so I had planned to hit all the hot spots. Sisters. Key West. The 2-4. Maybe bring home the love of my life.” She laughed. “Make me an offer.”
“I have a feeling this won’t compare,” Auden remarked glumly. “A cocktail party with some people from Palmer. Some of the authors, too.”
“Authors?” Gayle asked quickly, her voice rising. “Authors? Like dyke romance writers?”
Auden laughed. “Uh-huh.”
“Like who? Who?”
“Well, there’s Thane Cutlass and Margo Elliot and Rune—”
“Thane Cutlass? Rune Dyre? You’re kidding!”
“Well, I haven’t seen the acceptance list, but they’ve all been invit—”
“What should I wear? Ooh—can I wear a tux?”
“Sweetie, you can wear anything you’d like.” Auden couldn’t help but smile when she talked to Gayle. Her enthusiasm was contagious.
“Uh...what are you wearing?”
“Me?” Auden mentally reviewed her closet. “Standard cocktail fare. A black, off-the-shoulder—”
Gayle’s gulp was audible. “Hey, Aud? Is there something we need to talk about?”
“Huh?”
“’Cause you know I love you, but—”
Auden burst out laughing. “God, Gayle. It’s not a date!”
“Well, you know—when a lady invites me out, I think romance.”
“I’m not...a lady,” Auden said quietly, wondering if Gayle noticed that she hadn’t declared “I’m not gay.”
“Oh, honey,” Gayle crooned, “you have no idea.”
“So that’s a yes?”
“Most definitely.”
*
When Auden was satisfied that she had the next several days’ work organized, she checked her e-mail one more time. She opened one new message immediately.
-----Reply-----
From: [email protected]
Sent: Wednesday, March 19, 4:52 PM
To: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Meeting
Ms. Frost:
I regret that I will not be able to meet with
you in Philadelphia. I will be most happy to address any issues you may wish to discuss by email.
Sincerely,
Rune Dyre
“Well, that’s pretty definite,” Auden mused with a mixture of surprise and irritation. In her experience, authors were usually a little more anxious to foster good relationships with their publishers. The response was scrupulously polite but left no room for negotiation. “Not even an offer of a phone call. Let’s see what she has to say Saturday night.”
Before she gathered up the papers she intended to review over the next few days, Auden printed out a copy of Rune Dyre’s manuscript, Dark Passions.
“Let’s see if she can write another one as good as Secret Storm.”
*
Clad in her pajamas, Auden answered the knock on her door. It was almost one-thirty in the morning. At this hour on Friday night, it could only be Gayle or Mrs. Truman, the octogenarian who occupied the second-floor apartment. After another long day of meetings, a day in which Haydon Palmer had still not made an appearance, Auden decided to indulge herself in a late night of reading and a solitary bottle of wine. She’d finished two more novels and had finally begun what she’d really been thinking about reading for more than a day. She peered out the door and smiled.
“Hello, sweetie.”
“Hello, my lady love,” Gayle said with a grin. “I saw your lights on.”
Auden held the door wide and stepped aside so that Gayle could enter. She caught a whiff of whiskey and smoke. “You strike out tonight?”
“Not really.” Gayle flopped into the overstuffed chair in Auden’s living room. “I had an offer or two.”
“But?” Auden perched on the other chair and settled her bare feet on the coffee table. She studied her friend, who looked chic and sexy in tight black jeans, a black, tight-weave net top that revealed just a suggestion of nipple shadows, and a leather jacket. Auden searched for any hint of sexual response on her part when she looked at Gayle, but her body was quiet. She was happy to see Gayle, but she wasn’t excited. Not the way she had been in the dream. Oh, for Pete’s sake. Forget the damn dream!
“But...I just didn’t feel like it.” Gayle swung her legs over the arm of the chair and leaned her head back, gazing at Auden out of half-closed lids. “I think I’m getting old.”
“Poor baby. You’re only twenty-seven.”
“I’ve been dating girls since I was fourteen years old. I’ve never even come close to being serious about one.”
“How come?”
“Don’t know. You got any Fresca?”
“Don’t I always? Wait a minute.” Auden got up and delivered the soda, then poured the last of the wine into her own glass. “You okay?”
“Hmm? Oh, yeah. I didn’t have much to drink. Just tired.” Gayle took a long swallow. “My mom’s divorced. My older sister is a single mom. I haven’t exactly been surrounded by examples of happy relationships.”
Auden nodded. “Same here. My parents divorced when I was twelve. My mother seems happy with my stepfather though. I just always thought...”
“What?”
“That she married him because it was convenient, or maybe necessary. There doesn’t seem to be a lot of...passion between them.”
Gayle snorted softly. “I’d take someone who could stand my mood in the morning over hot sex right about now.”
“You think the two are mutually exclusive? Love and good sex?” Auden curled up in her chair, running the edge of her soft flannel shirt through her fingers. She thought about the women who had so captivated her in Secret Storm. The love and affection and physical passion the two had shared. That’s fiction, Aud. Come on.
“No, not really. Just rare.” Gayle stretched and grinned. “I’m probably just premenstrual. Give me a week, and I’ll be dragging home the next love of my life.”
“Who knows?” Auden smiled. “Maybe you’ll meet her tomorrow night at the party.”
“Huh. So what are you doin’? Homework still?”
“Work-work, actually. I’m reviewing a manuscript.”
“Anyone I know?”
“Uh-huh. Rune Dyre.”
“Oh, yeah—she’s one of my faves.” Gayle sat up and leaned forward, her eyes dancing. “Whatcha reading?”
“Dark Passions.”
“Ooh—I love that one.”
“What do you mean you love it?” Auden’s brows rose. “It’s not published yet.”
“I mean the Web version. It’s practically an Internet legend.”
“Web version?” Auden felt as if she were suddenly speaking another language. “What are you talking about?”
Gayle sighed, rose, and held out her hand. “Come on, honey. You need some more lessons.”
A minute later, they were perched in front of Auden’s computer. Gayle typed www.HeartLand.com and clicked Go. Seconds later, the website appeared.
Auden leaned forward and read:
HeartLand
Welcome to Rune Dyre’s fiction. Enter, linger, enjoy. These are love stories disguised as fantasies, mysteries, and chance encounters. The lovers are women and their love is physical.
Please send comments to [email protected]
Auden took the mouse from Gayle and followed the links to the stories.
Webversions
Hidden Dreams
Dark Destiny
Secret Storm
Dark Passions
She clicked on the first chapter of Dark Passions and began to read. Her visual memory was nearly eidetic. As she scanned the first paragraph, she immediately saw the differences from the manuscript she had just read—there were changes, but in some places they were subtle.
“This is crazy,” Auden exclaimed, scanning quickly through several more pages. “This is my manuscript.”
“Well, actually,” Gayle pointed out, “it isn’t. It’s a beta version. An early draft.”
“But it’s out here for people to read free.”
“Uh-huh. Good promo.”
“Promo?” Auden gaped at her, incensed. “How about lethal competition? Why buy the book when you can get it here for nothing?”
“Plenty of reasons,” Gayle said with an unconcerned shrug. “The print versions are lots more of a good thing—extra scenes, more dialogue, smoother prose—the pleasure of holding the book in your hands and reading it anywhere you want. A lot of authors do it.”
“We’ll see about that,” Auden muttered. “We need a market study to look at this.”
Gayle stood and rubbed Auden’s shoulders. “Wait a few days before you get yourself in an uproar. I’ll show you around the Web. We’ll check out some other authors, see what’s on other sites. You’ll need to get a sense of it anyhow, ’cause this is where you’re going to find a lot of your readers.”
“More homework, huh?”
“Yeah, but high school English was never like this, honey.”
Auden thought about what she had read so far, the physicality and the raw emotions and the sexual passion. And her own unexpected responses. “No, it most certainly was not.”
Chapter Seven
Auden sat curled up in one corner of the plush brocade sofa, her shoes on the floor, her stockinged feet tucked beneath her. Outside the windows, a light snow fell steadily. When she’d walked to the office at a little after seven, the scene that greeted her on the still Saturday morning had been breathtakingly idyllic. Rittenhouse Square lay pristine under a white blanket of fresh snow that covered the central fountain, the stone benches, and the carefully trimmed hedges. Here and there, a daring daffodil pierced the immaculate surface with an unexpected splash of color. The elegant park reminded her poignantly of the history and beauty of the old city.
Now, alone in her office in the Palmer building, she was lost in a scene that contrasted sharply with that quiet tranquility.
The stranger led her up a flight of stairs and into a darkened apartment. “Wait here.”
She was aware of lights being turned on in other rooms
and of the sound of soft music. She stood and waited, not thinking at all. When at last she heard sure footsteps approaching, her body stirred in anticipation. The effect this woman had on her was inexplicable, and, lost in the moment, she didn't try to understand. She responded purely with her senses, and she reveled in that sense of abandon. She didn’t want to think. She wanted to feel.
“This way.”
She followed the blond stranger into a bedroom lit solely by soft blue lights in a recessed ceiling track. A small table stood next to a large rectangular bed that dominated the otherwise bare room. When the stranger turned suddenly to face her, she stood absolutely still. In silence, the stranger reached out and loosed the buttons on her shirt, being careful not to touch the skin laid bare as the shirt fell away. Once exposed, her nipples contracted almost painfully, an urgent plea for contact.
“Your boots.”
She hesitated only a second and then unbuckled each of her heavy black boots and pulled them off. Naked except for her leather pants, she stood before the stranger, still waiting. A slender hand traced the muscles in her shoulders and arms, and then a palm lay against her chest and pressed, softly massaging the muscles beneath the smooth skin. Eventually, both hands moved down to her abdomen, carefully avoiding her breasts, outlining flickering muscles with deliberate strokes.
The slow, wordless survey set a fire simmering in her belly. She felt her clitoris swell and moisture flow in response to the stimulation. Her chest was covered with a thin film of sweat. She was panting slightly in the still room.
“Lie down on the bed. Face me.”
She did as directed, her eyes locked on the stranger’s.
“You can say anything you want to me right now, but after this, no more. I won’t hurt you, but once I start, I won’t stop until I’m done.”
Looking back steadily, she searched for a clue as to who this woman was. The face was edgy and strong. The eyes, even in the half-light, were piercing and clear. Inexplicably, she sensed not danger, but honesty. “I'm all right.”