I made the wrong decision with Carter. What works on some will not work for others, and in Carter’s case, my games were only fun while they lasted. I’m like a shiny new toy for most men. They use me up and cast me aside when they’re through. That’s also why I write from experience. It’s my way of getting revenge on the men who fucked me over. But it’s also what drove Carter away.
Stopping in front of my editor’s office, I raise my hand to knock on the door, banging hard enough that my knuckles hurt as they slam into the wood.
“It’s open,” Sam calls out, loud enough that I can hear him. “Come on in. Don’t make me get up.”
When I step inside, I take in the sight of Sam’s disheveled office, staring in awe of the chaos. It’s even worse than the last time I had visited. Sam has piles of papers, folders, and binders stacked on his desk and even more lumped together on the long conference table that spans most of the room. What’s the point in having chairs? No one could sit there without breathing in a bunch of dust or without having to sit on their feet to see over the mounds of clutter.
In front of the long row of windows are plants and various knickknacks from Sam’s travels around the world. Sam is an interesting man, to say the least. He’s been my editor since I signed with the publishing house after I graduated from high school. Watching him cringe over some of my more risqué work always gives me a little joy, a small victory I have to experience in person, which is why I love pitching new ideas to him face-to-face.
I drove all the way to Manhattan just to see his expression change when I tell him about my new book. I plan to call it On His Knees. After bringing so many men to their knees over the years, I have a bit of experience in that department. And I will use every bit of that knowledge for the book. Too bad Carter ditched me before I could complete the experiment.
It also sucks that I was starting to like him. A lot. Like, way too much for the short amount of time we have known each other. I hate myself for diving in head first with Carter, only to end up with the same disappointment as the others before him.
“Sydney,” Sam says, with a smile as he gets out of his chair and comes around to my side of his desk. He kisses me on each cheek, hugging me close to his chest, but still keeping a reasonable distance between us. “You look…different.” Sam studies me for a few seconds with an odd look on his face.
Middle-aged with dark brown hair that’s graying in the front and on the sides, Sam is still handsome in his own way. But he really needs to learn how to take care of himself. Sam needs a wife or a mother or someone to help him. The coffee stain on his shirt stands out on the white oxford he’s wearing with no tie, and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His gray slacks are wrinkled and in desperate need of ironing. They also have pen marks on them.
Despite his age, Sam is old school when it comes to editing my books. He literally red pens those fuckers and makes me sit there while he does it, so he can tell me all the things I did wrong and need to fix. Then, he lectures me about what I need to work on and where I can improve.
“I haven’t done anything different since the last time I saw you, Sam.” I flip my curls over my shoulder as he takes a step back. “Same old same old.”
“Well, you look…I don’t know. Something is off about you today. It’s not your hair.” He scrunches his nose, thinking it over. “You’re not glowing. That’s it.”
I laugh so hard my stomach hurts. “Glowing? Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You are always so radiant and bubbly, full of life. Today, you seem upset. The Manhattan traffic will do that to you.” He rubs underneath my eyes. “I mean for God sakes, Sydney, you have makeup streaks on your face. Is everything okay? This is so unlike you.”
We have been friends for so long that Sam can see right through the façade. I wear my moods like a mask. If only my moods were more of a shield, so I wasn’t left so defenseless. Under his gaze, I am vulnerable and weak. Because I know I can open up to Sam, let him into my world.
“It’s a guy.” I sigh, and he clamps a strong hand down on my shoulder, waiting patiently for me to continue. “I thought it would be fun to play one of my games with him. He was into it for a while, but it’s been weeks since I heard from him. And well, I don’t know what to do. He hasn’t retuned my phone calls or texts. I’m kind of losing my mind.”
“This game,” he says, hesitant, “what did it entail?”
I shrug. “The usual. I wanted Carter to work for the sex, and he was a good sport about it at first, but I have no idea why he flipped the switch. I’m starting to get worried about him. He’s a friend of a friend, so it’s not like we won’t see each other at some point. Our friends are having a baby together, which makes the likelihood of us seeing each other high. I wouldn’t be surprised if he were the godfather of their child. And I already know I’m the godmother.”
“Which friend? Kennedy?”
“Of course. Do I have any other friends?” My tone is sarcastic.
Sam notices my irritation immediately and frowns, shaking his head. “Don’t beat yourself up over a guy. There are plenty of fish in the sea.”
“You know, Sam, I really hate that saying. It’s probably the dumbest thing I ever heard. Whoever came up with that had no idea what they were talking about, that much is obvious. While there may be more than enough men to go around, you have to account for the number that is married,” I say, counting each one off on my fingers, “gay, already in a relationship, borderline insane, basement dwellers, unemployed, or in prison. You get the point I am trying to make here, don’t you? If you round up the number of men that are not a complete disaster or unavailable, I’m sure you are left with only a handful of fish. And I’d be willing to bet I’d still want to throw their asses back into the sea.”
He laughs and pulls out a chair for me to sit, before taking his place behind his desk. “You have such a way with words, Sydney.”
“Well, I should. After all, I am a writer.”
“I didn’t mean it as a compliment.” He flashes a wicked grin that makes me want to slap the look off his face.
“Not you, too, Sam. I’m not in the mood for anymore nonsense today. My bullshit meter is full and on overload. Why don’t we forget about Carter and my love life and get down to business.”
He folds his hand on the desk in front of him. “Okay. You called this meeting so let’s hear it. What’s your new book idea?”
“Have you ever seen the movie How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days?”
“Yes,” he nods, “once or twice with my ex-girlfriend. It’s the one where she tricks the man into breaking up with her, all while he’s supposed to get her to fall in love with him. Right?”
“Yup. That’s the one. The game I was playing with Carter got me thinking. I did all of this crazy shit to see how far I could push him, only to lose him, just like Kate Hudson in the movie. But and this is a big but…she got him back in the end.”
He leans forward, hanging onto every word and genuinely interested in my story. “So far, I like where this is headed. Tell me more.”
“Okay.” I suck in a deep breath as I try to figure out the rest of the concept. “I guess losing him was part of my plan. I just didn’t realize it until after he stopped talking to me.”
I hadn’t fleshed everything out before I decided to get in my car and drive to New York City. Not the brightest of plans. Luckily, Sam had an opening in his calendar.
I had a three-hour drive with traffic. You would think that would have given me enough time to sort this out before I got here. Instead, I’m staring at Sam, speechless for once, which is such an odd thing for me.
When do I ever have a loss for words? Words are my weapons of choice. Without them, how would I convey my feelings to the world?
“Here’s the thing. I thought I would be the exception and that Carter would hang around to find out if we could make our relationship work. But I was wrong about him. We never even ended things. He just disappeared.”
“Th
at’s such a guy thing to do,” he says, shaking his head. “We all do it.”
“Because you’re cowards,” I spit back. “Because you don’t have the balls to sack up and tell the girl why you don’t want to be with her anymore.” My anger pulses through my veins, commanding control over my body. I’m taking my frustration out on the wrong man.
“I’m sorry, Sam.” I sit back in my chair, trying to compose myself and hold up my index finger. “Just give me a moment. I don’t know what has come over me. Carter has gotten so far under my skin he makes me crazy.”
I am like a feral animal let loose around ordinary people. When I’m like this, someone should stay with me to keep me from doing stupid things. Like, taking out my issues with Carter on Sam. I even flipped out on Kennedy the other day for spending too much time with Tyler as if I have the right to tell her what to do.
“No worries. Take as much time as you need.” Sam shuffles some of the papers around on his desk, pretending to be busy. He’s not.
Now, that is a typical man response. Even the nice ones are no different from the bad boys like Carter. They all use the same tactics with women just adapt to a different playbook.
For the first time since I signed with Sam, I have nothing to say at a pitch meeting. I always come into his office prepared and ready for action. Today, I’m unorganized and aloof—two traits that do not describe Sydney Carroway. My father would have a stroke if he could see me now. He equates business meetings to battle, tells me how I can control the room like a general commanding his army.
Before Carter fucked with my head, I could honestly say that was true. I would be in Sam’s office like a pit bull on a pork chop, sinking my teeth into the next book and laying down the framework for the story. Except, my original plan had gone to shit the minute Carter stopped wanting me. Too bad I hadn’t realized it until now.
How do I write a book about how to keep a man around when I lost him before our relationship had a chance to progress?
My characters are always so strong and confident, full of tenacity and spunk. Over the last few days, my mind has been too preoccupied with Carter to write the story I want to share. All the women have been weak and pathetic since Carter stopped talking to me, an accurate reflection of how I feel on the inside. I never thought my characters would become so sad and desperate, which is exactly how I feel right now.
“I need to get him back,” I tell him. “I miss him and our games.”
“I can’t wait to read the first draft of this book.” Sam sounds entertained by the idea. “What are you planning to call it?”
“On His Knees,” I say, resolute.
He laughs to himself. “Of course, you’d pick a title like that. Well, after hearing what happened between you and this guy, I cannot see that title being a good fit. You will have to do some groveling this time. Can you handle it? You’re not exactly the type of woman who begs a man for forgiveness.”
“I don’t think I have a choice. Either I let Carter go, or I hunt him down so I can win him back. No more games.”
Sam leans back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest, smiling. “It’s like you’re finally grown up, Sydney. I’m proud of you.”
I roll my eyes at him. “It had to happen at some point, I suppose.”
“I have to say, for once, you actually brought me an idea that we can market to a mass audience. While the hardcore smut lovers eat up your books, the contemporary market has been harder for us to tap into with your novels. This could work. You could make us a fortune with an idea like this. It’s quite brilliant, actually.” He stands up from behind the desk and moves his hands to his hip, staring down at me. “How about you tell me more about it over lunch?”
“I suppose I could eat,” I say. “But after we’re finished, I should head over to Carter’s house to do some serious apologizing. I hope that’s enough. This concept is so foreign to me.”
Sam steps out from his desk with his hand held out to me. He pulls me out of my chair, lifts my purse from the floor, and walks me to the door with his palm pressed against my back. “Let’s get you fed and hopefully, we can make some more money together. What are you in the mood to eat?”
My stomach has been growling since I woke up this morning. I’ve been so depressed over Carter that my last meal was a multigrain bar I ate over twenty-four hours ago.
“How about Italian? I could use a decent meal. And since you’re paying, let’s go all out.”
He smirks. “Technically, the company is paying, and at some point, it comes from your pocket. So, go ahead and pick the most expensive restaurant in the city.”
Sam thinks he’s so smart. Men. What a bunch of jerks. He wants to play games with me then I will turn the tables on him. “On second thought, how about we eat at Gray’s Papaya.”
He frowns, his eyes raking over my body before he makes his way back to my face. “You want to eat a hot dog on the sidewalk? I am shocked. I didn’t think Sydney Carroway did things like eating processed foods on street corners with commoners.”
“You’re really working my last nerve, Sam.” I punch him in the arm, joking and giving him an evil grin. “I’m not some spoiled brat who can’t relate to regular people.”
He gives me a stupid look. “Okay. If you say so. This I have to see for myself. I am going to enjoy my own little experiment. Watching you out in public bumping elbows with strangers is worth paying to see. Sydney does New York. There’s another title for you.”
“You’re such a dork.” I shake my head and follow his lead through the busy office, keeping my eyes focused on the end of the hall.
We reach the double doors that lead to the exit in silence. I have nothing more to say after he made fun of me on one of my weakest days. Just to show him up, I plan to double fist those hot dogs like a chick trying to juggle two dicks in a porno.
As if I’m a specimen under a microscope, Sam analyzes my every movement. He’s waiting for me to crack, tell him I am not cut out for “normal people” behavior. But like most people, Sam has underestimated me once again. I know that everyone thinks I’m a spoiled brat. Even Carter called me Princess from the first time we met.
I hate that the mask I wear to shield myself from the world comes off that way. For once, I want to be the down-to-earth girl that all the guys want to hang out with. In other words, I want to be Kennedy. My best friend has always been so calm and collected. Throw in her love of sports and useless trivia and guys fall at her feet. She never seemed to notice how men respond to her. The reaction she gets from them is nowhere close to what I get.
With Kennedy, they’re looking for friendship or the feeling of something more. And with me, they want sex. That’s it. It makes me feel so cheap and trashy, which is why I wear my mask, and I like to think I wear it well. Most of the time it keeps me from getting hurt, builds the walls high enough that the losers stay out. This time it backfired.
“How’s your hot dog,” Sam asks, eying me up as I shove the roll into my mouth.
Speaking between bites, I choke out, “It’s good, so stop staring at me. You act like I’ve never eaten a hot dog on a street corner before. Must I remind you I live in Philly? I have gotten food from street vendors tons of times with Kennedy.”
He wipes the mustard from his lip with his napkin, and then smiles, flashing a set of yellow teeth. “I bet your parents wouldn’t approve of that.”
“For someone who has mustard smeared on their teeth, you sure have a lot to say about me,” I quip.
Sam blushes ten shades of red, which amuses me. Turning away from me, he takes a sip from his soda and licks his teeth.
He’s been so outspoken about my life today. One more comment from him might send me over the edge. Everything in my life is changing at the same time. First, Kennedy and her new baby, then Carter, and now the book is falling apart. My writing has gone down the toilet since Carter waltzed into my life. It’s obvious I need him back. But how do I get him to talk to me again?
; Like a good book, my plan needs to have a hook, a way to lure Carter back into my life. I finish the rest of my food without another word from Sam. He looks impressed that I’m almost touching elbows with the person next to me, shoving processed food down my throat, and doing all of it while standing in a pair of Christian Louboutin pumps and a Chanel jacket. And looking fabulous, I might add.
If there’s one thing I inherited from my mother, it’s a sense of style. That woman sure knows how to dress and made sure she rubbed off on me. But I sure as hell stand out in this outfit. So, when the man next to me turns around, accidentally smearing ketchup along the sleeve of my white Chanel jacket, I stop breathing. My brain shuts down, and my skin sets on fire.
“My…my—” I point at the sleeve, unable to formulate a complete sentence. I want to scream or punch him in the face.
“I’m sorry,” the man says with a mouth full of food. He doesn’t even stop to notice what he has done before he moves through the crowded takeout restaurant and steps onto the even busier sidewalk.
Before I can do anything, Sam notices and comes over, dabbing at the fabric with his napkin. He takes my arm in his hand, staring at me as if he understands how much this jacket cost. It’s not even about the price. I cannot replace vintage Chanel, especially not this particular piece. My mother will kill me. This jacket has been in our family for so many decades that even my grandmother wore this when she was my age. Now, it’s ruined.
“Breathe,” Sam reminds me, and I need the encouragement. “It will be okay. We can have it sent out to our dry cleaner as soon as we get back to the office. I’ll have one of the girls help you out.”
I suck in enough air to get a whiff of cigarettes as two men walk past us, smoking. “We need to leave, Sam.” I shake my head, doing my best to hold back the tears. Having a nervous breakdown in front of everyone in this shop is the last thing I need on a day like today. “I want to stop at the drug store down the street on our way back to your office to grab some club soda. I’ll give that a shot before you waste your time sending this out for laundering. Plus, I have to get going soon so I can tell Carter how much I fucked up and want him back.”
Donovan (Face-Off Series Book 3) Page 9