The Titan Was Tall (Triple Threat Book 1)

by Kristen Casey

  “Now wait just one minute,” she muttered, then winced at her tone. Her voice was too freaking breathy to sound anything but flirtatious.

  “I’d like to say that I’m a gentle giant to make up for it, but then I’d be lying to you within five minutes of meeting you, and that hardly seems sporting.” Then the bastard winked. Winked.

  Piper nearly swallowed her tongue. What the hell was happening here? Was he flirting back?

  “I’m sure you’re a perfectly fine person, towering or not,” she managed. If MacLellan was a perfectly proportioned person, issues with endowment would not be a problem for him. But she was Not. Going to. Dwell on that. For crying out loud.

  “Anyway.” The head of PKM cleared his throat and shifted his gaze to the side, looking thoughtful. “It goes without saying that hanging on to you—particularly through this transition phase—is imperative for Trident. I wanted to meet with you face-to-face to get your thoughts on that, as well as to deliver this new contract to you.” His eyes, when they returned to her, were a deep brown, like chocolate.

  Piper took the packet and flipped absently through the first few pages. Numbers jumped out at her, and she felt her eyebrows notch upward.

  “I…have no current plans to leave Trident,” she said. Not now, anyway.

  He chuckled—a low, delectable sound. “I’m relieved to hear that.”

  Quickly, she added, “But naturally, I’ll need to review this with my attorney before I sign it.”

  MacLellan smiled wider. “Of course. That copy is yours. We’ll forward another to your lawyer and let them know when we need it back.” He shuffled through his file. “Perry Shanahan, correct?”

  Piper nodded, and he began gathering the papers on his desk, arranging them neatly back into their file. All the facts and figures breaking down her career, her passion, and who knew what else for him—all encased in their slim, brown cardstock folder. If only her real life could be arranged so easily.

  Their meeting was clearly at an end. Piper wondered briefly if MacLellan would be sitting in on any of the others she had scheduled, but decided that would be more of a nuisance than anything else.

  She slipped her new contract into her bag. “Thank you for this, and for taking the time to meet with me personally. I appreciate the effort,” she began. Though not as much as she planned to appreciate some of those zeroes she’d spotted in the new contract. PKM wasn’t messing around.

  “Of course,” he said. Then, like he really could read her mind, he added, “I have no doubt the other meetings Wayne set up for you will go equally smoothly.”

  In the next couple of days, Piper would be talking to employees who would have a far more direct influence on her career—PKM’s new editors, cover designers, and audiobook performers. Getting used to an unfamiliar crew would be an adjustment, but they could hardly be more difficult than the disorganized set-up she’d had to deal with before.

  “I’m sure they will.” She would probably never lay eyes on this man again. It would be insane for him to get involved in Trident’s business at such a microscopic level. She frankly couldn’t believe he’d even gone through with this meeting.

  “You’re heading back to Maryland afterward, I assume?”

  “Yes.” Piper set her bag in her lap and prepared to stand. Now that her uneasiness had mostly subsided, she was realizing that she’d never eaten lunch. She was hungry and more eager than ever to get out of there so she could go find something to eat.

  MacLellan drummed his fingers on her file. “Any other plans while you’re here?”

  Again, Piper tried not to notice what great-looking hands the man had, but it was hard. Noticing superior male traits like that, then writing about them to perfection, was kind of her jam.

  His wrists were oddly tantalizing, too—tan and lean where they peeked out from the starched white cuffs of his dress shirt.

  “No,” she blurted abruptly, then added sheepishly, “Not really.” By way of explanation, she tacked on, “I wasn’t sure what I’d have time for.” Right. Not lame at all.

  MacLellan contemplated that information, then seemed to make a decision. “Listen.” He hesitated, then plowed on with a determined look, “You’re my last appointment of the day. Why don’t we grab some dinner?”

  “I…that’s not necessary,” Piper stuttered out. “I’m sure my hotel has a restaurant downstairs.” She tried to picture it but came up blank. “Or something.” There was a bar, she knew that for sure. “The front desk can direct me somewhere, either way. Or, I can just get room service.” And why was she rambling, exactly?

  MacLellan stood behind his desk and reached to shut down his laptop. He looked amused, and warmer than he’d been. “I’m fairly confident that I can do better than room service if you’re amenable. What do you say? Do you trust me?”

  The giant of the business world was gone, replaced by a smiling, friendly man who was too toweringly handsome for anyone’s peace of mind.

  Piper would be no kind of romance author at all if she turned down the chance to study him a little longer. Opportunities like this one, needless to say, were a bit thin on the ground where she lived. She suspected by the end of a meal with this man, she’d have good ideas for a new character, a new story—heck, a whole steamy new series.

  “Yeah,” she replied, trying to focus. “Sure.”

  MacLellan came around the desk and led her out of his office, locking his door behind him. His hand was a barely-there hint of warmth at her lower back. When they passed his assistant’s desk, Wayne popped out of his chair like an agitated preschooler.

  “Where—” he began.

  “Clear my schedule,” MacLellan instructed blandly. “I’m leaving for the day. Could you ring down for the car?”

  His startled assistant sank back into his seat. “Okay,” he said. Wayne glanced at his monitor with a wild, desperate sort of look. “What should I—”

  “Handle it,” MacLellan ordered.

  Piper got a glimpse of his assistant diving for his phone when MacLellan ushered her out, and then the office door swung shut, blocking her view.

  As they reached the bank of elevators, Piper turned to her companion. “Last appointment of the day, huh?”

  “Yup,” he grinned.

  She had to laugh. “Mr. MacLellan—”

  “Call me Red.”

  “Okay, Red. Why are you doing this?”

  He chuckled, handing her into the elevator and then pressing the button for the lobby. “Curiosity?”

  “If that’s true, prepare to be underwhelmed,” she told him. She’d discovered the hard way that the reality of a romance novelist simply couldn’t live up to the hype.

  The doors closed, surrounding them in gleaming brass and mirrors on all sides. Piper swallowed against her sudden hyperawareness of Red, his height and intoxicating male scent. And, damn it, she had to stop thinking like she was writing. This man was not one of her heroes. He was her boss.

  Red’s eyes flickered down, apparently snared by what should have been the imperceptible motion of her throat. It was just long enough for Piper to glimpse his lashes, and quite long enough for her heart to lurch alarmingly in her chest.

  And then it was over, and he was smiling at her again. Awareness went both ways, it seemed.

  “Hungry?” Red inquired. His voice was dark. Seductive. It was as if they’d traveled to an alternate, far-sexier plane of existence when they’d entered this shining little box.

  You have no idea, Piper thought.

  “Always,” she said aloud, and the blasted man went and laughed.

  “Do you have any preferences? Likes, dislikes, that sort of thing?” Red studied her in that unnerving way of his, as if he could discern her answer just by looking hard enough.

  “I can find something to eat almost anywhere,” Piper hedged. “I’m not terribly particular, I’m afraid.”

  She took in his raised eyebrow and slightly annoyed look and sighed. So, indecision wasn’t going
to work.

  “Okay, fine,” she said. “I especially like Japanese, Italian, and Mexican food. Does that help?”

  “Much better.”

  He smelled ridiculously good. It wasn’t fair. She asked, “Do you know a good place?”

  “I know the best place,” he said smugly.

  “Then I am very much in favor, kind sir.”

  His scent infused the enclosed space, drifting around her, and clearly making her crazy. Piper knew this for a fact, because her next words were, “Do you mind if I ask what cologne you’re wearing?”

  Oh, God.

  She stumbled on, “I’m sorry. I only ask because I’m very sensitive to smells, and I don’t often enjoy perfume. I noticed yours and it’s…”

  Piper could almost hear the sound of the shovel as she dug a deeper and deeper hole for herself. Nerves. This was only nerves. Once they were out of this infernally small space, she’d be better.

  Red looked uncomfortable and checked the floor numbers flickering over the elevator door. “Forgive me. Is it bothering you?”

  “No! No,” Piper assured him. “Actually, I’m surprised by how much I like it.”

  At another arch look from him, she appended lamely, “Usually I don’t.”

  Red’s concern morphed immediately into an amused smirk. “Are you telling me I smell good, Miss Fulham?”

  “Great. The word you want is great.”

  He chuckled, and her heart pounded harder. Mercifully, the elevator door slid open on the ground floor, saving her from making an even bigger ass out of herself.

  The doorman wished them a good afternoon, Red whisked her across the sidewalk, and then he opened the back door of a sleek black sedan idling at the curb. When Piper moved past him to enter, she felt the warm whisper of his breath near her ear. She turned in confusion to find him very close indeed.

  He grinned, unapologetic. “Turns out you smell great, too.”

  TWO

  THE THING WAS, Red reflected that morning, he’d probably always known he loved women. He loved their bodies and their mannerisms, he loved the infinite number of ways they could express themselves, and the feel of their hair against his skin.

  What he’d taken longer to figure out, however, was why not every woman he found attractive had the ability to light his fire. As it turned out, many of them simply left Red admiring but cold, and it had taken him years to put the clues together in any meaningful way.

  Red eventually discovered that he needed a little something more than most guys to really get into the horizontal gymnastics with a woman. Once he’d recognized what that extra magic ingredient was, he’d thought it would be smooth sailing from there on out. He’d found his niche. His kink. Game over.

  There was a big problem, though. His supposed niche? It wasn’t working out for him. Red had come to the sullen conclusion that it was a very bad time to try being a dom in this city.

  Thanks to the runaway success of one infamous book, an absolute glut of popular erotic titles had hit the shelves in recent years. And while those books were helpful in the legitimizing arena, they had made Red’s tentative forays into the lifestyle a bit problematic.

  It was complicated, to say the least. Here he was, a guy in his prime in a city of millions, and he just kept coming up empty-handed. The odds had to be at least a little in his favor, right? Especially once he’d scrapped the idea of real relationships—the strings were a headache he didn’t need right now. The whole dom/sub thing should have been a practical solution.

  Of course, in the beginning he’d had no idea how to go about it. Those aforementioned books had given him some pointers, but Red wasn't so damaged that he wanted to actually hurt some poor woman in exchange for paying a few of her bills. He just wanted some kind of mutually-satisfying arrangement between two consenting adults, without all the detritus that usually accompanied that.

  Enter the internet. Even when you thought you knew everything, you never could guess what was out there until you put on some waders and went trawling through the muck.

  He’d found some forums, and then some clubs. Red’s first forays into the life had not gone well, though. The shopping for props had turned out to be more interesting than the actual using of them. And the women he connected with had been nothing like he’d expected.

  He’d had no shortage of willing partners for some of his edgier tastes. Most of the women were merely dilettantes, though, curious about trying things their girlfriends were whispering about but not committed to the lifestyle in any real way.

  Occasionally, Red stumbled across a woman he could consider an actual submissive, but as yet, he hadn’t found one who really pushed his buttons. Or rather, one who pushed the right buttons. They’d been awfully disappointing so far, like milquetoast doormats. While that should’ve worked for him—probably worked for other men—Red had merely felt…frustrated.

  The first he met had played her role to the hilt, but Red had never doubted for a minute it was a role—there hadn’t been a real reaction anywhere to be seen. He’d suspected she was a budding actress, perhaps, but aside from her looks, she’d done nothing for him. Flush with the false confidence of a novice, he’d been certain he could do better.

  Door number two was a different story. Red had gotten the hang of the process a bit more. She’d had a sweet face and a nice figure, and she’d seemed to be on board—until it became eminently clear that the whole concept of dominance and submission went against every bone in that woman’s body. So much for contracts—no matter how one refined them, they’d never cover everything. When she and Red had parted ways, it had been a relief for both of them.

  The less that was said about the third and fourth women, the better. As he’d reflected, it was tough times in the dirty neighborhood these days. Rough out there for a dom. Or whatever the hell it was the little shitheads on the street liked to say.

  He wasn’t clueless. He recognized that he might be a stubborn, domineering bastard. He’d certainly been told that by a girlfriend or two. He could be jealous, possessive, and territorial—protective, when it was warranted. However, all that should not have presented a problem.

  The bigger issue seemed to be that the unknown thing he was searching for hadn’t yet been found. Some empty corner inside him was still seeking fulfillment, seeking relentlessly and without satisfaction. Whatever mysterious attribute Red hoped to discover in a woman—which would allow him to relax into some semblance of romantic contentment—he couldn’t quantify, and he couldn’t find.

  That pissed him off.

  Red could tell the potential for it was still there, though. The friends he’d made in the life had assured him that finding a good fit was only a matter of time. Once that happened, all the pieces would fall into place. He had to learn patience.

  ALL THAT ASIDE, he had learned that it was an excellent time to be a publisher of books about being dominant. Books about getting naughty, books about finding true love amidst all the sordid crap in the world—books that hit you in the groin and the heart. Red was going to be making a pretty little penny on those books, whether or not he ever figured out how to make their fantasies a reality for himself.

  When he’d begun making forays into the arts last year, using some of PKM’s income to prop up little companies that needed the kind of boost only Red could provide, he’d never expected to find himself here. His decision to bail out the struggling house of Trident Publishing—to bring it under the mighty wing of PKM Industries and turn it into a healthy, profitable business like all his others—was looking better every day. At least, it was if his recent reading binge was any indication of what was to come.

  He couldn’t wait to prove the naysayers on the board of directors wrong. Red had an instinct that was as strong as his father’s when it came to these things, and the sooner they realized that, the better. He hoped his new author was going to make great strides in helping them on their way.

  Red flipped through his reports one last time and gl
anced at his watch. The primary reason for his good fortune, the absolute belle of the ball when it came to making big bucks writing dirty books, was due in his office in five more minutes.

  He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d insisted on handling this meeting himself. Curiosity, he supposed.

  Trident had a decent portfolio, and that was what had grabbed his interest at the start. Once they’d cracked the books, though, it had become clear that the publisher was mostly being kept afloat by the virtue of only one author’s spectacular sales. One author, with a pretty raunchy backlist. Red did love a puzzle.

  And the numbers, suffice it to say, had been intriguing. Since Red wasn’t a man to leave the important research to others, he’d dug deeper. He’d blown through Ms. Corelli’s entire library of smut in a matter of weeks, and it had been quite the eye-opening education.

  She was a talented writer, he’d give her that. He’d never imagined that the florid covers he saw in airport markets were hiding the kind of nuanced storylines he’d just taken a deep dive into. Red had always been an avid reader, but he’d never thought one way or the other about the romance genre.

  It was a failing. If anything, he ought to have been impressed by the sheer quantity of books sold, which translated rather nicely into some staggering dollar signs. He hadn’t been. Red had been oblivious to the sales figures, to the fact that most of the women of his acquaintance probably read the books, and worse—he hadn’t considered for a moment that women might want that stuff in real life.

  He’d hoped, certainly. He wouldn’t have tried the whole dominant lifestyle thing if he hadn’t. But lately, Red had been forced to confront the fact that the idea of bondage was infinitely more attractive than the actuality of it. He’d had to pause for the cause—his wannabe submissives weren’t aroused, and neither was he. Dreary and discouraging all around.

  He checked his watch once more, growing impatient. He’d been jumpy when he’d gotten in this morning, not liking how little information he had on his cash cow. A quick internet search had provided only a small thumbnail photo of Ms. Corelli, but it hadn’t been enough to get any sense of her as a person. He was having trouble wrapping his mind around who he was about to enter into negotiations with, and that did not sit well with him.