He took a sip from his soda and peered at us. “Oh, come on, girls, get real. Do you really think an author whose work has been translated into God knows how many languages will sign with us, a measly publishing house who can’t really afford him? Have you ever heard of such a thing?”
“It could happen,” Magda insisted. “I’ve heard of bestselling authors switching to smaller houses. It’s possible.”
I narrowed my eyes at Jeremy. “Alfred told me you didn’t want to work with Seton. Was that the reason why you didn’t want the job, because you thought it would be a waste of time?”
“Yeah, pretty much.” His dark eyes flickered with irritation at Magda. “And yes, it has happened, Magda. It’s happened to authors whose books no longer sell like they used to and therefore have no choice but to settle for a smaller house. But hugely successful authors don’t do that. They just don’t. Might as well throw in the towel now, Margie girl, ’cause he won’t sign with us no matter what you do or say to try to convince him.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I muttered sourly.
He shot me a quizzical look, then leaned forward and grabbed a slice of bacon from my wrap and shoved it into his mouth. “No offense to you, hon. I thought it was time for a reality check, is all.”
Magda turned her whole body toward Jeremy. Her back was facing me, but I could tell by the tone of her voice that she was clearly exasperated with her former crush. “Let me remind you, Mr. The-Glass-Is-Half-Empty, that David J. Seton approached us, not the other way around. And Alfred believes he could win him over. So why are you so damn sure he won’t?”
Jeremy chewed thoughtfully, frowning. He took a long sip of his soda to wash down his bite and then looked earnestly at us. “Alfred’s been drinking a little too much of the Bookends-is-gonna-be-big-one-day Kool-Aid. The old man’s deluded. As for Seton, I don’t know the guy…” He paused and flashed me a quick, unreadable look before continuing. “I don’t know the guy, but I think he approached us just to amuse himself.”
I choked on my soda. I couldn’t believe his choice of words, words not unlike the ones uttered by Seton himself. As I coughed from the soda that went up my nose, Magda and Jeremy turned to me and shot me an identical concerned look.
Magda patted me hard in the back. “You okay?” she asked.
I composed myself and nodded. Once the coughing subsided, I wiped my choke-induced tears away and took a big bite of my BLT. With my mouth full of sandwich, I waved at Jeremy to continue.
He cast one last worried glance my way before speaking. “I think Seton moved here very recently and heard about us. His contract with Randolph Press has run its course, and he’s out shopping for a new publisher. He was probably bored and decided he would let us drool after him for a while—get a nice ego boost in the process. After he’s finished getting his jollies he’ll go for a major publisher. Mark my words.”
I took another bite of my sandwich and regretted it the minute it hit my already churning stomach. Damn. Jeremy’s prediction bothered me. But maybe he was right. Maybe Seton had no serious intentions about signing with Bookends. Maybe he had approached us for mere amusement. Seton himself had admitted as much to me. Perhaps he’d already gotten his jollies—got a kick out of seeing what a book editor would do to obtain his book, that she had gone as far as to become his sex slave and whore for a night—and had moved on to greener pastures. But I refused to believe that. Why would he go through all the trouble of singling me out and making a proposal that was tantamount to sexual harassment if he had no intention of writing for us? Why would he give me the ankle bracelet and toe-ring, symbols of his physical ownership and mastery over me, if he had no intention of going through a long courtship process? I knew I was trying to convince myself that Jeremy was wrong. I had no way of knowing what Seton’s real intentions were. I barely knew the guy, after all.
“Whoa,” Jeremy exclaimed, his eyes staring straight ahead. “Speak of the devil.”
Curious, I swept my gaze to Cajun Catfish, a gourmet restaurant-slash-bar right across the street from where we sat, where out walked David J. Seton, looking sharp and gorgeous in a charcoal-colored suit. George leaned against the driver’s side door of Seton’s black Mercedes, reading a newspaper. Right in front of Seton stood a tall, leggy blonde in a sexy red dress with a plunging neckline and fuck-me strappy stilettos. Her attire was a little too provocative for noontime wear. She had the glossy, put-together look of a gold-digging sex kitten. Seton walked up to her, wrapped a large hand around her tiny little waist and gently kissed her cheek. George put down his newspaper and was about to open the back door when Seton held up a hand and waved him away. He did it in that formidable manner of his that I had come to know very well. George nodded and climbed into the driver’s side while Seton opened the back door. The busty blonde swung her hips coquettishly toward Seton, leaning against him and whispering something in his ear, something that made him laugh. Then she climbed into the Mercedes, followed by Seton. The car screeched away, driving beyond Smith College, no doubt headed for Seton’s house.
“Who’s the bombshell?” Jeremy asked.
Magda snorted. “She’s either his girlfriend or a high-class hooker.”
“Maybe she’s both,” Jeremy suggested. They both laughed.
I couldn’t join in their guffaw. My body had stiffened into shock, and I suddenly felt sick, so sick I thought I wouldn’t be able to keep my food down.
Jeremy turned worried eyes to me. “You all right, hon?”
“Yes!” I said hastily and a little too cheerfully, not wanting to show the mixture of sickness and pain twisting within me like a knife. “I…I thought she looked like a famous model, that’s all.”
Magda laughed derisively and continued to eat her lunch, but Jeremy didn’t do or say anything, just looked at me, eyes narrowed. I turned my head away from his inquisitive gaze and tried to focus on my surroundings. A cool breeze stirred around me as people of all walks strolled by the park. I tried to enjoy the beautiful weather and gorgeous scenery, but I couldn’t, not anymore. I felt strangely detached from everything around me. My heart felt heavy, my spirits were low. I looked down at my half-eaten sandwich and grimaced. I wasn’t hungry anymore.
***
The rest of my lunch break passed as if in a blur.
At work, I went through the motions as I sat through meetings, met with authors and went over some notes. But, try as I might, I couldn’t get Seton and his elegant blonde-haired companion out of my mind. As illogical as I knew it was, I felt hurt and betrayed. My stomach churned with a sensation that came uncomfortably close to resembling jealousy. I knew I had no right to be jealous, and I knew that a man like Seton would have more than his hands full when it came to women, but jealous I was nevertheless.
I thought I would be enough for him during our affair. I thought that he would focus solely on our…special arrangement. But it seemed that I wasn’t enough, that he needed the company of other women—of prettier, sexier women. Of glamorous women. Was he playing dress-up with her too? If so, then he had her dress up like a supermodel, whereas he had made me dress up like a cheap hooker. I bet he didn’t make her use the side door!
He had also kissed her in public, whereas he’d treated me like nothing more than a passing acquaintance when I left both the café during our lunch meeting four days ago and later that night at his house. I couldn’t help feeling hurt at the implications in his behavior.
It hadn’t occurred to me at the time to see if she wore an ankle bracelet and toe-ring. I made a mental note to check the next time I spotted her. If there was a next time.
I grimaced in self- disgust at the pathetic turn I had taken in such an alarmingly short period of time. Why did I care so much? Why was I obsessed with a man whom I’d shared only one tryst?
It didn’t matter that I barely knew him, didn’t matter that he didn’t want anything to do with me that went beyond the physical. I had no control over what was happening in my m
ind. I was behaving like a love-struck puppy—or was that a fuck-struck puppy?—and there was nothing I could do about it.
It wasn’t over between us. It couldn’t be. He had alluded to more encounters in the future. There had to be more. There would be more. So, why had he been ignoring me? And why was he seeing someone else?
I sat at my desk, staring dolefully at the blank computer screen, wishing I had the mindset to focus on my work, when someone knocked on the door.
“Miss Fordham?”
Rosie tentatively stepped in and gently placed a black glossy carrier bag on top of my desk. “Someone left this at the front desk for you,” she said.
I stared, stunned, at the glossy bag. It was the same sort of bag Seton had given me at the café four days ago. “Um, did you see who dropped this off?” I asked, trying to calm my now speeding heart.
Rosie shrugged. “It was there when I came back from the bathroom. There was a short note on the desk saying the bag was for you. Why, is something wrong?”
She must’ve noticed my agitation, for she had a concerned look on her face. “No…no, everything’s fine. Thanks for bringing it in.”
When Rosie left, I bounced off my chair and paced the room several times, a big smile creeping over my face. I was suddenly so overcome with energy that I couldn’t stay in one place.
Seton sent me a package! He hadn’t forgotten about me! He still wanted me!
I went to my desk and stared at the beautiful glossy bag. It was enormous, almost covered up my entire desk. I debated for a moment over whether to open it now or wait until I got home, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to wait that long. And so, with a shriek of excitement, I grabbed the bag and dashed into my private bathroom. I needed privacy in case someone walked into my office without knocking, which happened often.
At the counter by the sink, I reached into the bag and pulled out a black cardboard box. There was a note attached to it. I opened the note and read its message.
Marjorie,
I want you to wear all of the items in the bag tonite. I also want you to pull your hair back into a loose knot this time. My driver will pick you up at precisely eight o’clock. Be outside before he arrives.
I hope you will follow these simple instructions. I look forward to seeing you.
Yours,
D.J.S.
I smiled at the note. Seton hadn’t forgotten about me at all. How silly I was to imagine things, and only because I hadn’t heard from him for four days! How pathetic was that! Well, I would be patient next time. He had made it clear that this was a business arrangement. We weren’t dating. We weren’t involved in anything other than a mutual agreement centered on the future of our respective careers. From now on, I would not obsess about Seton. I would be as emotionally detached to him as possible, which meant I had to forget about the glamazon he’d been with earlier in the day. His personal life was no concern of mine. As long as our arrangement was still under foot, he could do whatever he pleased with his free time. It was as simple as that.
Now, time to check out the items in the bag. I opened up the box and, removing the tissue paper on top, peered inside.
I slid out and unfolded what appeared to be a black top. On closer inspection, I discovered that the top was actually a corset. The corset was beautiful but strange-looking. The material was coarse—not quite leather, not quite a girdle, but made of some hard material I couldn’t place. It had a Victorian style straight-front S-curve with a black lace trim and frontal tight-lacing. The laces were made of red silk that criss-crossed from top to bottom. I sighed. Seton obviously wanted the corset to be laced very tight. I hoped this would be easier to wear than the black leather dress. I also hoped that, like the black leather dress, I wouldn’t have to wear it for very long.
I looked inside the box to see what else was in there, and found a pair of red silk shorts. They weren’t shorts per se, more like thigh-length pantalets—the sort of underwear that nineteenth century women wore. I studied English literature and history in college and know a little about period clothing, and the pantalets, like the corset, looked to be an almost accurate reproduction of a late Victorian, early Edwardian undergarment. They had silk frills at the ends and a slit at the crotch area for easy access. They were the turn-of-the-century version of a sexy thong. They were beautiful, and the material was very smooth. This must’ve cost Seton a pretty penny. You would not find a piece of fine garment like this at any old store. I wondered where he’d gotten them, and if he had them specially made for me. The idea that he went through all of that trouble for little old me made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
I peered inside the box to see what other surprises were in store for me and found a pair of black seam stockings, a garter belt, and a pair of four-inch black high-top, lace-up shoes. The shoes, like the corset and panties, were a reproduction of the late 1800s and early 1900s.
To complete the package, Seton had included another nipple chain. This one was much prettier than the last. The clasps had tiny ruby beads attached to them, and the golden chain was full of ruby studs. I smiled as I put the nipple chain and the other items back into the box.
I was about to close the box when I noticed something hidden underneath some tissue paper at the bottom. I pulled out the item and stared at it in surprise. I held in my hand a black and red mask. It was a Papier-mâché artifact like the ones used at the Mardi Gras in New Orleans or at masquerade balls. It was a beautiful mask, with a black lace trim and red silk laces that matched with the rest of the outfit. I took a deep breath and placed the mask gently on top of the other items. What were we doing tonight? What did Seton have in store for us?
I wanted to try the clothes on, but knew I couldn’t. I’d have to wait until I got home. Smiling, I closed the box and placed it inside the bag. As I ran my fingers lovingly over the glossy bag, I thought about tonight. I was going to be with Seton again. We were going to engage in a fascinating new adventure together. At that precise moment, I didn’t care what happened in the future, or with how many more women Seton was involved with. All that mattered to me was that I was his. At least for another night.
Chapter Five
“Albany? We’re going to Albany?”
Seton nodded as he perched on the other side of the back seat to his Mercedes. He was dressed in full Edwardian finery: frock coat, fitted trousers, waistcoat, pocket watch, cravat—the whole nine yards. The only thing missing was a top hat. He was dressed all in black, save for the crisp white shirt he wore underneath. A pair of round spectacles rested on top of his nose, giving him a refined, slightly foppish look. His hair was combed back neatly, bringing out his smoldering green eyes and chiseled features to full advantage. He looked like a sexier version of the Monopoly guy.
“Yes,” he said, adjusting his glasses.
“Excuse me if I’m not impressed,” I quipped. “Albany doesn’t spring to mind when you think sexy and fun. Albany doesn’t spring to mind, period.”
“You’ll like the place I’m taking you. It fits your personality down to a tee.”
“What sort of place is it?”
He raised an eyebrow. “And spoil the surprise?”
My eyes darted down to his suit again. “Based on our clothes and the mask you gave me, we’re going to a costume party or something.”
“Or something.”
I took several deep breaths and glanced out the window. George curved into a narrow street and sped into the highway, heading for the Massachusetts turnpike. Fighting a wave of nerves, I swept my gaze back to the sexy, elegant man sitting next to me.
His smile just about seared my insides. “Do I meet with your approval?”
I realized I was staring at him with my mouth hanging open. I closed it, grasping the car’s door handle as I shifted in my seat. I shrugged and felt my face growing pink. I didn’t deny that I certainly liked what I saw. I couldn’t, not when I was blushing like an idiot.
But I wasn’t the only one enjoying a view. His g
aze slid down my body, a mix of lust and approval flickering across his face. Then he moved his hand and cupped the outline of an unmistakable erection.
“As you can see, Miss Fordham,” he said hoarsely, his fingers rubbing up and down the full length of him, “you meet with my approval too.”
I sucked in my breath and cast a quick glance at George, trying to keep my expression neutral. Seton’s body shook with silent laughter. He was clearly enjoying my discomfort. Bastard.
I sighed, adjusting my corset. Amazingly, it didn’t take me as long to tighten the lacings as I had expected. In fact, it wasn’t difficult at all, nor did I feel as if my breath had been driven from my lungs. It was almost as if the corset had been built for my body. And who knew, maybe it had.
But when I walked, I was constantly aware of its coarse material. It creaked and pressed against my ribcage, making it difficult to slouch when I sit. I had to be sitting up straight all the time, and I wasn’t used to the rigid posture. But Seton liked me in it, and I knew he would remove it at some point in the evening. At least I hoped he would.
“You look lovely, my pet,” he murmured appraisingly. “The quintessential Edwardian whore.”
Another blush hitched up my face. He’d dressed me up like a whore again. I tore my gaze away from his for a moment and sighed. That was all I was to him, wasn’t I? I was bartering away my body for his book—or so he thought—and this outfit, like the black leather dress, was a reminder of that.
“Look at me, Marjorie,” he commanded.
My eyes darted to him. He was leaning very close to me, his mouth just inches from mine, but he didn’t kiss me. Instead, he slid his hand into my corset and fished inside. He caught the chain that linked my breasts and pulled on it forcibly. I let out a startled scream, my body quivering with both pain and arousal.
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