“You really need to go, Miss,” a man said. He reached to guide me out, but I flinched back from his touch.
“I can see myself out,” I snapped, but softened my expression when I turned to my daughter. “Zoey, come on, mommy’s got to get home and do some work.”
Because mommy’s got to teach a pretentious asshole a lesson.
Lilith sat on my sofa with a skeptical look on her face. “That’s your plan?” she asked.
“Yes. And it’s an amazing plan.” I was holding up a piece of paper where I’d drawn a very detailed diagram of how my marketing campaign was going to show Peter Barnidge that I deserved a job working for him. And once he came begging for it on his knees, I’d tell him he could stuff it. That was the plan, at least.
Lilith pointed to the part where I wrote, “super awesome viral ad.” She was chomping into a pickle wedge with a disinterested look on her face, but Lilith always looked disinterested. “What about that part? Aren’t all these arrows and clouds kind of irrelevant if you don’t have a super awesome viral ad?”
“I’ll figure something out.” I snatched the paper back and set it by my laptop.
I heard the couch creak when Lilith leaned a little closer. “Does the fact that you’re obsessing over this mean the convention didn’t go well?” Surprisingly, she sounded concerned. Lilith had been a good friend ever since I met her at a hot yoga class a few months back. It was a first for both of us, and we were the only two people in the room who thought sweating our ass off while trying to shove our noses between our toes didn’t sound like a great idea.
She was married to a ridiculously rich and handsome guy named Liam. Her husband, and her former boss, who was also a ridiculously rich and handsome guy named William, meant she was connected to a small army of gorgeous billionaire men and their wives. The first time I had seen them all in the same room made me want to laugh. It felt like time should’ve gone into slow motion and some bow-chicka-bow-wow music should’ve come on over the loudspeakers. It was a little like being on the set of one of those reality TV shows where only insanely attractive people are cast, minus the cameras, at least.
From looking at Lilith, I would've never guessed she'd be connected to such an unlikely crowd. Today, she wore a black hoodie with a pink unicorn covered in glitter on her chest and black sweatpants. She liked to keep the hood up, as if she was trying her hardest to convince the world she wasn't beautiful. Instead, it only made her look like some kind of dark, corrupted princess. I could see why her husband had been so drawn to her.
We typically hung out at my place, and I only ever saw all her billionaire friends when she’d drag me along with her to one of their fancy parties.
I thought about her question. The honest answer was that the convention had been a complete and utter failure. The smaller authors had shown almost no interest in diving into the advertising world while the big names had all looked mildly annoyed to be bombarded with a sales pitch. I didn't feel like giving the honest answer, especially not when Zoey was playing nearby. She had one of the small tennis racquets I'd bought her and she was battering a poor, abused tennis ball against the brick wall of my apartment. She was apparently practicing her grunts and not much else, because she missed the ball as often as she hit it but was letting out impressive, guttural growls with each swing.
“The convention went okay. I think I got some interest.”
“Then why are you wasting your time on this and not on the projects you’ll get paid for?”
I couldn't help glaring a little, even though it was mostly because she saw straight through my lies. Lilith's bullshit detector was impeccable, and I should've known better than to try fibbing around her, but that didn't stop me from trying. "It's a side project. That's all."
Lilith gave me a dry look. “Side projects don’t usually get color-coded battle plans, do they? You also got this kind of creepy glint in your eyes when you talked about rejecting the job offer he was supposedly going to extend you. All that was missing was an evil supervillain laugh.”
“Okay. Fine. It’s possible that he got under my skin.”
“Understatement alert. It’s more like he’s asking you to put the lotion on your skin and planning to wear you in a couple days. Full-blown Buffalo Bill levels of under your skin.”
“Overstatement alert,” I said with a laugh.
“Buffalo Bill?” Zoey asked.
“Yeah,” Lilith said. “Buffalo Bill was this creepy guy in a movie and he—-”
“He,” I said loudly, shooting Lilith an icy look. “Loved buffalos so much that they named him Buffalo Bill.”
“Miss Lilith said he was creepy. Why?”
“Because—-”
I kicked Lilith’s shin.
“He was a sleepwalker,” I said quickly. “It just made people nervous, but it wasn’t a big deal.”
“Oh. Okay.” Zoey turned, swung her racquet and missed so hard she spun in a full three-sixty. She let out a high-pitched grunt as she fell to her butt.
Lilith was grinning. “I wasn’t actually going to tell her everything, you know.”
“Can you blame me for assuming you were?”
“No. Not really. You’re just so overprotective. It’s kind of fun to watch you get all riled up.”
“Well, speaking of overprotective people… I was kind of hoping I could ask a favor from Liam.”
“You mean you’re finally going to let us help you out? And he’s not overprotective. It’s just that he has violent tendencies when men talk to me.”
“Kind of, but not like that.” Lilith and Liam had been trying to help me out with money since a few weeks after we met. As much as I wanted to take their offer, if for no other reason than to give more to my daughter, I was afraid of setting Zoey up for disappointment. She was happy with what we had because she didn’t know any better. If I let Lilith and Liam start showering us with gifts, I’d have to rely on them to bring her the same happiness I could give her with a bookmark or a pair of scissors and a cereal box. I’d also be teaching her all the wrong lessons. I wanted her to be strong. So much stronger than I ever was. “It’s not a money thing, really. It’s more like taking advantage of how many horny women watch everything he does like a hawk when he ends up on the news.”
Lilith grinned. “They can get in line. I’m hornier than any of them.”
“Horny?” Zoey asked.
I grimaced. I needed to get used to how much more she was starting to pick up on our conversations. Just a few months ago she’d been in her own world, and adult conversations never caught her interest. Recently, it was like she heard everything.
“Your mom has a rare medical condition, booger,” Lilith said. She insisted on calling Zoey all the grossest pet names, like booger and goblin, but Zoey ate it up. “One in every twenty million people actually grow horns. Don’t worry, it’s treatable.”
Zoey’s eyes were wide with shock.
“She’s just trying to be funny,” I said. “Trying and failing.”
“No,” Lilith said. “People actually can grow little horns. Usually just one. Look it up. My great grandma had one.”
“I wish I could say that shocked me.”
“Anyway, when does your master plan kick off?”
I sighed and stared at my battle plan on the table. She was right about one thing. Everything hinged on a good advertisement. I knew what to do with it once I had it, but I still had some serious thinking to do before it was ready. “Soon,” I said. “As soon as you get Liam to agree to help me, that is.”
2
Peter
It was good to be back in my office. I always hated attending conventions, but I knew it was a necessary evil to promote my books. I also couldn’t put the convention completely behind me. Apparently, the obnoxious woman who snuck in the back room behind my table had been busy. Liam Hightower, a local billionaire and a friend of a friend, had been doing an interview on national TV when he decided to say “Peter Barnidge should hire Violet
Browning to market his books. He’d love her.” The statement had come completely out of context, and maybe that was what had made it garner so much attention. That, or the fact that he had a bristling fan-club of women who were still hoping he’d say the whole marriage thing had been a big joke and he was single all along.
A good friend of mine, Bruce Chamberson, knew Liam, and I’d been meaning to ask Bruce if he any idea what the hell Liam was talking about.
Whatever it was, my inbox was completely stuffed with messages from fans and even my brother, Harry, who worked as my agent about how I should hire the woman. My social media accounts were being bombarded with it. Even my own staff couldn’t stop whispering and laughing about it. I’d tried to ignore it for the past two days, but they were only getting more irritating about it.
When my frustration reached its peak, I had my assistant dig up her number and call her in for an interview. I had no plans to hire the woman, but if I gave her the chance to fail at the interview, I’d at least have some ammunition to shut this ridiculous thing down.
The interview had nothing to do with the fact that she was pretty. She was pretty. I remembered that from our brief encounter at the convention. But I lived in New York City, and every bar and club was filled to the brim with pretty women. So, if this Violet Browning character thought she was special, she was mistaken.
She was due in my office any minute. Looking around, I could see that I’d let my office get a little out of control again. My staff liked to joke that I was a hoarder—-behind my back, of course. But I wasn't a hoarder. I was thorough. I always had everything I could possibly need at the ready, and there was no place I was more prepared than in my office. The majority of the clutter came from documents I decided were important enough to have printed and at the ready, even if I sometimes lost track of exactly where they were. There was a comfort in knowing they were somewhere.
I laminated the most critical documents. The lamination did create a little bit of an organizational problem, given that laminated pages are harder to stack and keep tidy. But laminating also meant I wouldn’t have to deal with the infuriating crinkled edges or tears—-or God forbid one of my staff spilling their drink or spreading their greasy fingers across it.
I had copies of all my manuscripts on hand because I often needed to go back and reference something from a previous book. I also kept the original draft as well as each edited revision because I’d once needed to recover a section from an earlier draft that had been deleted by mistake. I had files on all of my staff, personal documents, tax files, and anything I could possibly need to pull up at a moment’s notice.
The end result was admittedly a relatively well-occupied office, as I liked to put it. The idea that it was cluttered or that I was a hoarder was a gross exaggeration. The only difference was that I preferred to print what most people kept on their hard drives.
My assistant buzzed that Violet was here.
“Send her in.”
I sat back behind my desk and carefully slid a stack of laminated pages to the side so I’d have a clear view when she sat.
The door opened slowly. Violet stepped inside. Her eyes widened slightly and flickered across the room, taking in all of my papers and books. The fact that she wasn’t looking at me gave me an opportunity to study her.
She was definitely attractive. Maybe more attractive than I’d realized during our brief encounter at the convention. There was no denying that. I would’ve had to lack a pulse not to see it. But I’d already learned my lesson when it came to beautiful women. God had I learned my lesson.
And yet I sat there at my desk taking mental notes on every last delectable feature on her.
Wide, expressive eyes. Soft, milky smooth skin. Ears that some would probably consider too big from the way they just barely stuck out from behind her hair. To me, they were one of those perfect imperfections. Every truly gorgeous woman had them. Textbook beauty was boring. The kind of attractiveness that had always excited me was when a woman managed to turn what might have been faults into assets, like a proud nose on an otherwise feminine face.
“Can I sit?” she asked. There was an edge of irritation to her voice, and I realized she’d caught me staring.
I gestured to the seat across from my desk.
She settled herself down into the seat, adjusting her skirt. It had probably seemed long enough to be professional when she was standing in front of her mirror. But sitting, the fabric rode dangerously high up her sculpted legs.
I had to squeeze my fingers into my knees to control my thoughts. I knew precious little about her. But what I knew was enough. “What game are you playing, exactly?” I asked.
She straightened indignantly in her chair. “Game? I wanted to show you I was capable of generating a buzz. It looks like I’ve done that, haven’t I?”
I sniffed derisively. “You’ve called in a favor with an influential friend. That’s hardly a testament to your skill as a marketing consultant.”
“I made use of the resources I had. Did you expect me to invest thousands of dollars into marketing myself to you?”
She had serious nerve coming into my office and then giving me that kind of attitude. It pissed me off, and it made me want nothing more than to teach her exactly where her place was. “Unless you think Liam Hightower will personally endorse all of my books, I don’t see how this proves anything about your ability to be an asset to my team.”
Her jaw flexed. If I didn't know any better, I'd say she was wondering whether she could do more damage with a left hook or a right hook. I had to admit the fire in her eyes was intriguing to me. Beauty was overrated and easily available. A backbone, though? That wasn't as easy to find, and Violet Browning clearly had one. "If you can't see why problem-solving to complete a difficult task with limited resources would be valuable to your team, then you might want to consider hiring someone more perceptive to handle hiring new members of your staff."
I nearly laughed at the nerve she had. Her cheeks were blazing red, and she looked like she was between jumping across my desk to cave my skull in with her heel and bolting for the door, but she wasn’t backing down. I admired that—-grudgingly. “I expected you to give up after I turned you down at the convention,” I said, hoping maybe I could trap her into losing her temper or blowing up on me if I caught her off guard.
“Yeah, well, I didn’t.” She was glaring at me. Glaring. At me. I could actually see her pulse pounding from the vein in her neck. She was nervous or hyped up on adrenaline—-I couldn’t say which, but either way, she was willing to fight through whatever was going on inside that pretty head of hers. Most people broke down at the first sign of my temper, especially when they were in my office.
“And why is that?” I asked.
“Because I wanted to prove you were wrong about me.”
I laughed. “You’re honest. That’s great. Honest people get eaten alive in this business.”
“I can do the job. I’ve seen some of the ads they run for you. If you wanted, I could type up a proposal to outline some key points that I think would improve their performance. If you don’t believe me, you could run a split test and see for yourself if my way works better.”
“You really don’t quit, do you?”
“I can’t afford to quit.”
“And let’s say I was considering giving you this job—-which I’m not. How devoted could I expect you to be?” What the hell was I asking? I didn’t even have an open position, so why was I talking like there was a possibility of giving her a job? There wasn’t even a physical space open to put another desk in my office without rearranging everyone’s workspace.
“Completely.”
I nearly cleared my throat. When she’d said the word, it had been more like she breathed it. There was so much intensity and determination in her eyes. And some dark, dirty corner of my mind had decided to twist the meaning of my words and her response. How devoted would she be to me? Completely. I shifted in my chair, as there was a gr
owing discomfort I refused to acknowledge between my legs. “I can’t legally say I wouldn’t hire you if you had children or family obligations like a sick relative, but I will tell you that people with lives outside of their work don’t survive on my staff. I expect my staff to work their asses off, day and night. There’s no such thing as a good excuse.”
I wasn’t sure if I was imagining it, but she looked a little more pale than when she’d walked in.
“Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes.”
“So you have no children? No pressing obligations that would distract you from your work here?”
She nodded her head rapidly. “I’d be completely focused on the job.”
I was about to make a mistake. There was a buzzing sound between my ears, almost like warning sirens going off in my brain. Do not commit. Do not hire. “You can have the job. For now. But only because I decided it will get all my fans off my back faster if I give you the chance to fail on your own. I suspect I’ll never hear the end of it, otherwise.” Liar. Dirty, stupid, liar.
It took all my restraint not to let my forehead flop down on my desk at that moment. I didn’t even know what I was hoping to accomplish with this, no matter what hollow reasons I might have given her.
She leaned forward. From the look on her face, it was obvious she was about to say something, but holding it back.
“What, Miss Browning?” I knew I was being an ass. I didn’t even feel guilty for it, either. I only held back my annoyance because it was clear that the fastest way to make Violet Browning a royal pain in my ass was to provoke her. “You looked like you wanted to say something.”
“Two things, actually,” she said. It was the first time since she’d come in my office that she sounded hesitant. I wondered if she’d only barely been holding up a front of toughness to survive the interview. “The first,” she continued, “is that I need to know what kind of compensation package you’re offering before I’ll accept. The second is I wanted to know if your office always looks like… this.”
Her Secret Page 2