The Bondage Club

by Alexandrea Weis

  “Then what exactly happened, Kat?”

  She strolled into the living room and wrapped her hand around the neck of the bottle. “Why are you reading that?” She pointed to the open spiral-bound book on the coffee table.

  He went to the coffee table and closed the book. “Why are you here?”

  “Frank couldn’t get me a deal in New York.” She took a long swig from the bottle.

  “I’m sorry. I know what it meant to you to get to New York.”

  She wobbled on her feet. “All he could get me was some shitty show in New Orleans.”

  He examined her glassy eyes. “Are you drunk?”

  Kathleen held up the bottle. “Not completely, no, but I plan on getting there real soon.” She shot back another big gulp of vodka.

  Hunter sighed, knowing that soothing Kathleen’s bruised ego could take a while. “So what’s wrong with a show in New Orleans?”

  She lowered the bottle from her lips and let go a contemptuous laugh. “It’s not like that’s the cultural Mecca of the country, Hunter. It’s smaller than Atlanta.”

  “It’s a pretty cultural town, Kat. A lot of big artists got their start in New Orleans.”

  She slapped the bottle on the glass table, sending a loud clang echoing about the first floor. “I’m not a jazz musician or a writer, Hunter. I’m a photographer. To be anyone I have got to get into New York galleries, and Frank promised he would get me there.” She pouted her lips together, sparking Hunter’s ire.

  “Stop acting like a spoiled child. I’m sure Frank did the best he could.” He grabbed the bottle from the table and went back to the kitchen.

  “His best? And how would you know if he did that?” she debated, coming behind him. “Did you ever do your best for me?”

  He stopped at the breakfast bar and turned to her. “What is that supposed to mean? I took the job with the publishing house for us.”

  She sashayed up to him, swinging her hips enticingly from side to side. “We both know that’s not true. You said you were going to be this big writer and buy me the moon.”

  Ignoring her attempted seduction, he replaced the cap on the bottle of vodka. “I could have bought you the moon as a publisher, but you didn’t want me then.”

  She snorted and swiped at the bottle. “That’s because you gave up being an artist. I’m an artist; I need another artistic type to understand me.”

  He held the bottle out of her reach. “Frank’s a lawyer, Kat, and far from artistic, but you’re going to marry him.”

  “I’m only marrying him because he’s rich, baby.”

  He gawked at her, upset by her admission, but not that surprised by it. “Maybe that’s all I was to you; some rich man’s son.” He slammed the bottle down on the bar. “All those years together you kept telling me I was creative and talented, but you never read my book, never read anything I ever wrote, no matter how many times I asked. How could you possibly know if I was artistic…or even good enough to make it as a writer?”

  “You had an artistic vibe, Hunter. I knew one day you would make it as a writer. But you gave up writing and everything changed between us.”

  “Jesus, Kat. Everything changed between us when I went to work at the business. But we needed to eat, and I had an obligation to my family.”

  “Hey, you had an obligation to me, asshole. I was there for you when you wanted to be a writer, but as soon as you sold out I couldn’t be with you anymore. You were just like me when we started out, but when you began working at Donovan Books you changed.”

  “I grew up!”

  “You gave up,” she fired back. “You don’t get it, Hunter. I could have lived with you as a publisher if you hadn’t walked away from your dreams. You gave up being a writer the moment you took over that company. It was like the guy who used to be filled with ideas and stories just disappeared. That’s how I knew you were a writer, Hunter, because you embraced your imagination and didn’t…run from it.”

  Tightly gripping the bottle of vodka, he went around the breakfast bar and into the kitchen. “You’re drunker than I thought.”

  She slinked to the stairs. “I want to sleep here tonight.”

  “No, Kat. Go back to the fancy apartment Frank got you.”

  “I’ll be alone there.” She held on to the metal railing along the stairs, steadying herself. “I don’t want to be alone.”

  “Where’s Frank?”

  She sagged against the railing. “Visiting his kids at his wife’s house. He won’t be back until morning.”

  He marched to his front door and opened it. “Go home, Kat.”

  Gliding up to him, she ran her hand up the front of his button-down shirt, grinning suggestively. “Don’t you want me, Hunter?”

  For a split second he thought of Cary standing before him, saying the same words. “We’ve played this game too many times, Kat. I need…I want something more.”

  She stared at him, slightly taken aback. “You’ve never turned me down before. I thought you liked it this way. No ties, no commitments. You said you never wanted a relationship.”

  “Well, maybe now I do.” He removed her hand from his shirt. “Go back to Frank. He’s going to be your husband, Kat, and you need to start acting like his wife.”

  “His wife? What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It’s time you invested your heart in the future, and stopped holding on to the past.” He kissed her forehead. “You have a great life. I wish you only the best.” Shoving her into the hallway, he quickly shut the door.

  Resting his hand on the door, he felt the thrill of accomplishment. For years they had been stealing moments together, adding to his self-loathing. He had never wanted to admit it before, but Kathleen’s lack of support for his writing had been discouraging. Now he had finally found a woman who could feed his muse and not stifle it. But how could he win her back?

  Glancing toward the living room, the book on his coffee table called to him. Making his way across the hardwood floor, he remembered what Cary had told him about releasing his inner demons, and suddenly he understood that she had been right. He needed to vent his raging emotions. With a tentative hand, he lifted the book from the table.

  Climbing the metal steps, he reviewed the notes he had made in the margins. Perhaps he should consider taking one more crack at his book to see if he could make it work. It would give him a chance to rediscover the Hunter Donovan he had once been; the young man who had been filled with so much…hope. But could he be that man without Cary by his side to inspire him?

  Peering up the stairs, Hunter willed the image of Cary out of his heart. “Let’s find out.”

  Chapter 16

  Over the next few weeks, Hunter threw his energy into preparing for the launch of the Hot Nights erotica line. Determined not to think about Cary, he stacked his pile of manuscripts on top of her desk—attempting to blot out the ever-present reminder of her—and told the staff that she had to take a leave of absence due to a family crisis. When that did not help to rid his mind of her, he redecorated his office. Removing his father’s bookcase of dusty Alexander the Great statues, he bought some cheerful potted plants, and even put a few of the green leafy shrubs around her desk. However, all of his feeble efforts to erase her memory proved to be in vain, and when he wasn’t staring at her empty desk, Hunter was wondering what she was doing or if she was thinking of him.

  Luckily, work was the only thing that kept him going. When not bogged down with his usual pile of day-to-day management duties, Hunter’s time was occupied with phone calls to bookstores and other connections in the business, touting the new line and the premier of The Bondage Club. Hours were spent on the computer, notifying book bloggers, reviewers, and making last minute changes to the new website before it went live. But the e-mails to Cary were the hardest for Hunter. Preparations for the new book had to be finalized, and with every communication, there was not a hint of the woman he had come to know. Her words were always businesslike, and every message he re
ad from her only added to the heaviness in his heart.

  Despite the demands of his business, at the end of the day, he still had to return to his condo. Every evening when he shuffled through his front door, he would be unhinged by the emptiness of his home. The restlessness that had consumed him since parting ways with Cary only burned stronger at night. To ease his burdens he would occupy his mind with his manuscript and a bottle of vodka. But as time went on, he discovered that the margins of his book, The Other Side of Me, were becoming filled with more corrections and his need for vodka was dwindling.

  On one particular night, when he was lying in his bed and looking up at the full moon through the skylights above, he kept mulling over endings for his novel. Frustrated with tossing and turning, he threw the covers aside. Tugging at his green pajama bottoms, he walked from the bedroom and across the hall to the second bedroom he used as an office. After switching on the lights, he went to the laptop on his white metal desk and flipped up the cover. As he waited for the machine to come to life, he cracked his fingers and let out a loud breath between his gritted teeth. It had been a long time since he had written anything, but tonight, more than any other, he felt compelled to give it a try.

  As the blinking curser called his attention to the white page before him, he placed his hands on the keyboard. Instantly, the images in his mind came to life and the words began to appear on the page. Caught up in the frenzy of his imagination, Hunter lost himself in his writing. He could not remember when he had felt so overcome by words. For the first time in years, Hunter Donovan felt…alive.

  * * *

  Two days after the website had launched, Hunter was making last minute arrangements for Smut Slut’s cover shoot later that evening at The Hole. The early summer sun was pouring in through his arched office window as he sat at his desk reading through a pile of e-mails, when a shadow darkened his office door.

  “You and me are gonna have a serious talk, boy,” Jim Donovan bellowed, and then slammed the door with a loud bang.

  Hunter flinched in his chair at the sound. He had been expecting a visit from his old man. Despite being retired, Hunter knew his father still kept tabs on the company, and figured he had seen the new website and the announcement for the Hot Nights erotica line.

  Sitting back in his chair, Hunter braced himself for what was to come. “I guess you saw the website then.”

  Jim Donovan waved the end of his cane at his son. “Are you out of your goddamned mind? An erotica line?” He pounded the cane on the floor. “That’s not what we publish at Donovan Books.”

  Hunter took in a calming breath and rose from his chair. “You don’t know the market, Dad. You’ve been out of it for ten years now and we need—”

  “We need to stick to the kind of wholesome books we’ve always published,” Jim Donovan interrupted. “If you take us in that direction we will lose a lot of loyal customers. Bookstores won’t touch us and all the steadfast connections I spent years cultivating will be wiped out by one book.” He held up his right index finger. “Just one filthy book, Hunter, one. That’s all it will take.”

  Hunter remained defiant and kept his eyes locked on his father. “I’ve already spoken to all the bookstore chains we deal with, as well as a few of the independents, and they’re all very interested in carrying this new line. Our reviewers at all the big newspapers are interested. I’ve even picked up new reviewers and have gotten hooked into a slew of new bloggers because of this book.” He went around his desk. “The market is changing. It’s not about wholesome books anymore. It’s about sex—hell, it’s always been about sex. But today everyone isn’t afraid to talk about it.”

  Jim Donovan sighed, filling the room with all the apprehension and doubt Hunter had always sensed from his father whenever they discussed business. There were times when Hunter felt as if he were ten years old again, trying his damnedest to please a man who saw him as nothing more than a silly child.

  “Son, I know the market has changed, but that doesn’t mean we have to change with it. This is my company and—”

  “No, Dad, it’s my company. You gave it to me to run, so let me run it.”

  The office door flew open and Chris strutted inside, grinning from ear to ear. “Little son of a bitch still insisting on that new line, eh?”

  Decked out in a fitted black suit and fancy Italian leather shoes, Chris reeked of success and snobbery. His blue eyes weighed his father’s face and then he shifted his gaze to Hunter. “I called Dad when I saw the new website hit.” He shook his head and rested his hands on his slender hips. “You should have talked to both of us before doing this, Hunts. You’ve made a big mess and it will take all three of us to clean it up.”

  Hunter balled his hands into fists. “You called Dad?”

  “Of course,” Chris snickered. “I drove him down here to talk some sense into you.”

  Incensed, Hunter lunged at his brother, and he was just about to wrap his hands around Chris’s skinny neck when his father’s cane whipped in front of his face.

  “Stop it, both of you!” Jim Donovan shouted. “How did I get saddled with two sons that can’t spend five minutes in a room without trying to kill the other?” He waited until Hunter backed away before he lowered his thick, wooden cane. “Yes, Chris called me and told me about the new line, and yes he drove me down here, but it was not to argue with you about your business decisions, Hunter. It was to remind you that we have a duty to the readers that we have spent years cultivating. I cannot with good conscience allow you to ruin—”

  “Aw, for Christ’s sake, Dad,” Hunter clamored. “We’re not a church or religious group. We’re publishers. We publish books, and if some of those books are a little risqué, then so be it. You always treated this place like it was some kind of sanctuary, but it’s a business. And if we’re going to stay in business, we have to keep up with the market.” He took a moment to calm down and collect his thoughts. “Remember the time you were afraid to start publishing romance novels because you thought everyone would say they were cheap, and Mom told you to do it and ignore what everyone told you. She was right and your company tripled in size after that. Well, this is the same thing. I have to start publishing erotica novels if we are going to continue to have a business.”

  “Don’t listen to him, Dad,” Chris bellowed. “He just wants to publish erotica so he can sleep with the lurid women who write that crap.”

  Hunter leapt toward his brother.

  “Enough!” Jim Donovan turned to Chris. “You’re the one who sleeps with all the authors, not your brother.”

  Hunter silently rejoiced when his brother lowered his eyes to the floor, appearing set in his place.

  “Go wait in the car for me, Chris,” Jim Donovan ordered. “I want to speak with Hunter alone.”

  “What am I, five?” Chris barked.

  “Just do it!”

  Chris’s angry blue eyes glowered at his brother and then he turned for the door.

  After Chris had left, Jim Donovan progressed across the office to Hunter’s desk. “I know you, Hunter, and you don’t act without thinking, unlike your idiot brother. Chris was always so damned headstrong, always having to be first in everything.” He had a seat in the chair in front of Hunter’s desk. “But you…your mother said you were the thinker, and she was right. Before she died, she said you would be the one who made something of your life.” Placing his cane before him, he lowered his bold blue eyes to the carved wooden handle. “I gave you the company to run because your mother always believed in you, and I figured it was time I did, too. I’m not saying I agree with you about this erotica thing, I’m dead set against it, but you are right…this is your company now, and I need to leave you to make your own mistakes.”

  “It won’t be a mistake,” Hunter insisted, coming up to him. “The advanced buzz we have on this book has been fantastic, and I already have pre-orders for ten thousand units.”

  Jim Donovan furrowed his brow. “Ten thousand?”

 
“Bookstores are hot for this, Dad,” Hunter exuberantly told him. “I know once we launch the advanced sales on Amazon will be just as good. This author has a really big following.”

  He tapped his cane on the floor. “Yes…this Smut Slut. After I saw the announcement on the company website, I researched her on the Internet. You can imagine how surprised I was to recognize the woman you introduced to me as Ms. Simms.” He frowned. “Is Simms her real name?”

  Hunter went around the side of his desk. “No, her real name is Cary Anderson. She is the woman who was working as an editor in my office.”

  Jim Donovan regarded Cary’s desk piled high with manuscripts and dying potted plants. “Now I see why you’re excited about publishing her book.”

  “The only thing is I didn’t know that she was Smut Slut at the time. She….” He scratched his head. “She kept her identity hidden from me.”

  “You mean you couldn’t tell the two women were one in the same?” Jim Donovan chuckled. “Hunter, it was pretty obvious to me that day when I came to see you.”

  “Come on, Dad. It wasn’t that obvious.”

  Jim Donovan’s rollicking chortle rattled Hunter’s nerves. “Son, you really don’t pay attention to women, do you? Those two women had the same build, same round face, and the same great legs. I guess it takes an old man to appreciate the finer points of a woman.” He took a moment, contemplating his son. “So which one are you in love with?”

  “Neither.” Hunter lowered his eyes, unaccustomed to sharing his feelings with his father. “I…I, ah, had something with Cary…but it’s over now.”

  “By the look on your face I would hazard a guess that it’s not quite over.”

  Hunter shook his head. “Nah, we’re done.”

  Jim Donovan stood from his chair leaning on his cane. “You’re only done with a woman when your heart tells you so, not your head. Like you and that Kathleen Marx girl you shacked up with. I thought you would never get rid of her.”

  “Why didn’t you like Kathleen, Dad?”

  “Your mother and I never liked what she did to you. She made you dependent and weak. But if how you are today is any indication of what Cary has done for you, then I like her. She’s given you a backbone.”