Overwhelmed

by Marita A. Hansen

  “Then why are you in my bedroom looking all ready to unwrap?”

  The butler came up behind him. “I do apologise, Master Tate. I thought you were out for the night and the lady needed a place to change.”

  “She’s welcome to change again.” Tate walked towards me. “Or how about you strip instead?”

  “I don’t rob cradles.”

  He smirked. “Then you’ll be fine with me, because I’m all man,” he said, patting his crotch.

  I held up my left hand. “I’m married.”

  “Married, single, it’s all the same to me.”

  I frowned, thinking he was an even ruder version of his father. I went to leave the room, stopping as Tate mirrored my step. “Please move out of my way, I need to see your father.”

  “So, you’re his new bit.”

  “No, I told you I’m married.”

  “Like with me, he doesn’t care who he fucks.” A sneer spread across Tate’s face, his eyes flashing with anger.

  “Well, I do,” I retorted, “so please move. I’m an author, nothing more.”

  Tate stepped aside. “With your looks, I doubt it.”

  I ignored him and headed into the foyer. The butler followed me, apologising profusely. I told him it was alright, leaving him behind as I entered the ballroom.

  I spotted Eric several metres away, talking to a man and a woman. His eyes moved to me, his hot gaze stealing my breath away. He said something to the couple, then headed in my direction, his eyes all over my body. I held out the contract as he neared me.

  Ignoring it, he moved in close, placing a hand on my hip. “When I saw the dress, I instantly knew it would be perfect for you.”

  I stepped back and thrust the contract in his face, using it as a barrier.

  Looking amused, he took it off me. “You signed it?”

  “Not yet. I wanted to see if I could possibly shorten the book tour.”

  He shook his head. “No. It’s a requirement.”

  “I’ve got two young children.”

  “It’s only for six months.”

  “Which is a long time to be away from my kids.”

  “Then I will hire a nanny for you.”

  “A nanny isn’t needed. I’m concerned about not being around them, especially my daughter.”

  “Isn’t she almost sixteen?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then she’ll be fine. I moved out of home at that age.”

  “My daughter has problems, which is why I don’t want to leave her behind.”

  “What about your husband? Can’t he...” he breathed out. “Look, this isn’t the right place to discuss this matter. I will talk to you later in my office. Tonight is for making connections, not discussing contracts.”

  I felt like my hand had been smacked for being a naughty girl, though he was right to tell me off. I was allowing my annoyance with him to affect my judgement. I would’ve still questioned him over the contract’s details, my daughter’s well-being more important than his money, but now was definitely not the appropriate time to argue with him.

  He indicated for a waiter to come over. He handed him the contract with instructions to give it to the butler, then turned back to me, his expression now slightly amused. “You really are quite feisty, not at all like you were at the club.”

  I frowned. “I’m not feisty. I’m just a concerned mother who doesn’t want to leave her children for such a long period of time.”

  “I’ll see whether I can break the book tour up so you’re not away for too long.”

  “Thank you,” I smiled, relieved.

  He smiled in response, softening me a little. “Now, let me introduce you to someone who will be the most important person in your writing career—aside from me.” He took a hold of my arm and laid it against his.

  Not comfortable with him touching me, I went to pull away, but he placed his other hand on top of my arm and leaned in close to my ear. “If you don’t want to meet the agent, go ahead and pull away from me.”

  I wanted to snap at his patronising tone. I didn’t know how he could make me smile one second, then want to slap him the next. He was impossible.

  He ran his hand over my arm, causing goose bumps to rise. “By the way, you look absolutely stunning, even more so than you normally do.”

  “Th-thank you,” I stuttered out, the compliment taking me by surprise, the man playing my nerves like a violin. How could he patronise me, then compliment me in the next breath? I didn’t know how to react to it, nor the fact that he was now turning me on, his touch no longer unwanted.

  He looked down at my arm with a knowing smile, so damn sure of himself.

  “Are we going to see this agent or are you going to stare at my arm all night?” I asked, not wanting to let on how much he was affecting me.

  He chuckled, his gaze rising to my chest. “I’d rather stare at something much more pleasant,” his eyes moved to mine, “but that would be rather impolite.” He smiled wide. “So, I guess we should move along.”

  He directed me through clusters of people, stopping in front of the leather clad man from the club, the one who’d hit on Tom. Tonight his leathers were replaced with a tuxedo, the man scrubbing up nicely, although he still had that rock star air about him, which made me wonder whether he’d been one. An old eighties song came to mind, one I loved when I was thirteen. Realisation struck me. He’d been the lead singer of an Australian band. I couldn’t remember the name of the group, since they’d only been a one hit wonder, but it was definitely him, just a good deal older.

  “Hello, Kelly,” Damian said. “It’s nice to see you again. Where is your lovely husband?”

  “At home,” I replied, trying to refrain from smirking at his disappointed reaction. My husband had been hit on by a rock star!

  “What a shame,” he said, quirking his eyebrows at the grin I was unable to suppress. “I would have liked to have apologised for my behaviour towards him.”

  “He’s over it.”

  “Good, because I didn’t mean to upset him. I don’t go where I’m not wanted, no matter how much I want to go there.”

  I nodded, thinking this whole situation was surreal.

  He smiled. “So, Eric gave me your first few books to read, and I must say, I think the series definitely has a market in New Zealand.”

  “Are you going to be my agent?”

  “I don’t need any more clients, since my book is filled, but I will make an exception for you.”

  “Who are your clients?”

  He wheeled off several famous people’s names, a couple of them singers who’d written autobiographies, the man definitely impressing me.

  He stopped talking as a waiter neared us with a tray of wine. Eric leaned across and took one, surprising me, considering he’d told me he was a recovered alcoholic. A second later I found out why.

  “For you,” he said, holding it out.

  “No, thank you.”

  “Still take it. You need to look like you’re enjoying yourself.”

  “I don’t need a glass of wine to do that.”

  “It’s not wine, it’s punch, so stop giving me trouble and take it.”

  “No, and I don’t appreciate you speaking to me like that.”

  Damian started laughing, drawing our attention to him. He stopped at our stares, though a few sniggers escaped.

  “What’s so funny?” Eric snapped, looking annoyed.

  “You two, you’re acting like an old married couple with your bickering.”

  Eric’s frown deepened, not appearing pleased with the observation. “That’s because she doesn’t listen to good advice.”

  “I don’t listen to patronising tones,” I retorted.

  Eric breathed out. “You are so frustrating. I am trying to help you out here, yet you always have to answer back.”

  “That’s because you talk to me as though I’m a child half the time, and the other half you treat me like a sexual object.”

  Damian
started laughing again. “You two are so entertaining.”

  Eric’s head snapped around to him. “Don’t encourage her.”

  Damian shrugged. “Just put it this way: even if she couldn’t write, I’d take her on as a client just so I can watch her get you all flustered, which never happens.” He raised his eyebrows. “Though, we all know why you’re both fighting?”

  “And why’s that?” Eric asked.

  “Plain and simple: you both want to fuck each other’s brains out, but Mrs. Hamlin here doesn’t appear to want to act on it. And sorry, Eric, but if I had her husband to come home to I wouldn’t either. Now, I see another client I must talk to, so continue with your sexual foreplay.” He grinned wickedly. “And, Eric, best of luck with the blue-balls she’ll be giving you, because I don’t foresee a ‘happy ending’ for you in the future.” He walked off, leaving Eric’s mouth hanging open, the man for once not looking his cool, collected self. I covered my mouth to stop from laughing at him.

  His eyes moved to me, his expression souring. “Are you laughing at me?”

  I shook my head, but still kept my hand over my mouth.

  He snorted. “Yes, you are, and really, I can’t believe how ungrateful you are after I’ve offered you so much.”

  I dropped my hand. “You just need to learn to stop using words that annoy me, ungrateful being one of them.”

  “I’m offering you a million dollars. How many other authors can say they get that?”

  “How many other authors have you slept with?”

  He blew out a breath. “And, you say I’m arrogant?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that you think I’m willing to throw away a million dollars just to get you into my bed.”

  I shrugged, knowing the thought was absurd, but he was annoying me. Or maybe I was looking for an excuse to turn down the contract, which I had no idea why, considering it was for a million dollars. I breathed out, realising I was being an idiot, my familiarity with Eric compromising my judgement.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  He blinked. “You are?”

  “Yes. I overstepped the mark. Of course you wouldn’t offer me that money for anything other than my writing.”

  A soft smile formed on his face. “True. So, can we be friendly now instead of snapping at each other.”

  I nodded.

  He held out the glass. “And please, take this.”

  I took it off him.

  He pointed at the glass. “It’s a delicious punch one of my friends makes for all my soirees.”

  I brought it to my lips and took a sip, surprised that I liked it. I took a bigger drink, getting a smile from Eric in response.

  “It’s very nice, isn’t it?” he said.

  I nodded, and took another drink, not sure what to talk about now, after we’d stopped arguing. Actually, I did know. I lowered the glass. “I met your son Tate.”

  Eric frowned. “I thought he was out.”

  “No, he came into the room where I was changing.” I held up a hand at Eric’s concerned look. “Don’t worry, I was dressed at that stage, though he’s definitely your offspring.”

  “You mean his looks?”

  “And attitude. He hit on me.”

  Eric snorted out a laugh. “At least my son has taste, though, he needs to learn to look for wedding rings.”

  I held up my hand. “And so does his father.”

  “Touché.”

  Relaxing at his friendly tone, I took another drink. Eric turned to shake someone’s hand and started talking to them. His other hand went to my waist, pulling me in close to him. He introduced me to the man, although I couldn’t take in his name, due to being plastered to Eric’s side. I refrained from pulling away from him, instead smiling at the man he was introducing me to. The guy reminded me of Runkle from Californication, with his bald head and funny little face.

  I said a few words to him, mostly small talk, then allowed Eric to take over the conversation. I drank the rest of the punch and held the glass out for a waiter to take. He stopped and offered me another one. I took it and continued to drink, feeling happier as I neared the bottom of the glass, no longer self-conscious. Eric and the man continued to chat as if I wasn’t there, although Eric’s arm was still firmly fixed around my waist.

  Once the punch was finished, I handed it to another waiter, starting to feel tingling up my arm. I frowned, concerned that Eric had lied to me.

  “Does the punch have alcohol in it?” I asked him, cutting into his conversation.

  “No, I already said it didn’t,” he replied, then continued talking to the man as though I hadn’t interrupted.

  Annoyed as well as bored, I looked around the room, noticing Leather Clad man... No, his name was Damian. I really needed to remember that. Anyway, he was talking to the blonde Russian woman from the club, standing way too close for just a friendly conversation. I’d never met anyone bi-sexual before. It kind of fascinated me how he could go from hitting on my husband to hitting on a woman.

  A waiter stopped by my side. With my mind now on Tom, I took another glass of punch, feeling pleased for some reason that Damian found Tom attractive. Maybe it was pride or the fact he’d given me a reason to moon over my husband, because I definitely needed something to distract me from Eric’s arm around my waist.

  I drank down the punch a little too fast, the taste really nice, especially since I caught a note of passionfruit in there, one of my favourite fruits. I giggled. I didn’t know why, only that the thought of passionfruit was funny all of a sudden. My mind went to Tinky-Winky, the Teletubby. Maybe because he was purple like a passionfruit, or were passionfruits grey? I couldn’t remember, but it amused me, and so did Damian, whose hand was now resting on the blonde’s red-clad chest. I giggled, thinking he could be the purple Teletubby since he was effeminate, while she could be the red one. It made me wonder whether Tinky-Winky was going to get it on with Po tonight. I narrowed my eyes and tilted my head to the side, trying to imagine it. I burst out laughing. A sudden bout of dizziness stopped me short, making my legs go weak.

  Eric’s grip tightened around my waist, his attention now fully on me. “What are you doing?”

  “I feel funny.” I held up the glass of punch, realising I hadn’t drunk it all, that there was a tiny bit at the bottom. I went to drink it, but Eric snatched the glass out of my hand. “Hey! That’s mine,” I said, reaching for it.

  Eric moved it out of my reach and sniffed at it, his expression darkening. “I distinctly told Natalija not to put alcohol in the punch.”

  “There’s wine in there?” I asked, a nervousness coming over me.

  “Yes.’

  “I’m allergic to wines with tannin.”

  His expression turned serious. “What happens?”

  “Sometimes I get sore limbs, other times I get a sore...” I burped, “...stomach, and sometimes...” I blinked, feeling dizzy again.

  He turned back to the man. “Please excuse me, I need to help Kelly.” With his arm still firmly around my waist, he directed me to the door that led onto the foyer, getting glances from his guests. But right now I didn’t care, because I just wanted to lie down.

  He steered me to the staircase, then scooped me up into his arms and carried me the rest of the way as though I weighed nothing. “Do you need me to call a doctor?” he asked.

  “No, I just need to sleep it off.”

  He turned down a passage and entered a room, placing me on a bed. “Are you sure I don’t need to call a doctor?”

  “Yes.” I ran a hand over my face, my head making it hard to concentrate on his words. “Call my husband.”

  “Okay. You just stay there.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I said, my eyelids heavy. “And don’t worry, I’m fine, just neeeed sleep.”

  I heard footsteps leave the room as I shut my eyes, my mind pulling me into slumber.

  A door slammed, jolting me awake. Eric’s concerned fa
ce appeared over mine. He said something that I couldn’t make out, so I mumbled, “I’m fine.” I closed my eyes again, drifting off to sleep in Eric’s bed.

  17

  ERIC

  I hadn’t planned on getting Kelly drunk, it didn’t even cross my mind, the fruit punch not a trick at all. Instead, I had hoped to entice her to give into our mutual attraction, because she was definitely attracted to me—that was a certainty: her blushing, smart-mouthing, and the way her irises grew big around me. I could tell when a woman wanted me, just in Kelly’s case she wasn’t willing to cheat like the other women I’d been with. Well, half of them didn’t cheat, since their husbands knew about it at the club.

  I brushed her hair back from her face, surprised by how much she was affecting me. It was probably because she reminded me of my late wife. She didn’t look like Victoria, it was just an air about her, that shy quality I had seen at the club, then the biting personality when she thought she was being patronised. I didn’t mean to patronise her, it was just how I spoke, plus if you wanted something done, you told people what to do. My wife had also been annoyed with that side of my personality, but it never stopped her from wanting to be with me ... that is, until her illness stole her away. And although Kelly snapped at me, she still couldn’t help but be drawn to me as I was to her. I just needed to find a way to get her to jump into bed with me, instead of always jumping away from me. I knew I shouldn’t have gone into her room that day, but it was worth a try. Everything was worth a try if it meant I could have her.

  I ran a finger down her face, wondering how I was going to proceed, whether I should call her husband to pick her up, ingratiating myself into his good-graces, or not phone and allow him to think she’d slept with me.

  I pulled out my phone, knowing the first option would probably work the best, especially if I had Natalija answer the door. I had noticed Tom’s eyes appraising her at the club, and if I hadn’t been so wrapped up with bedding Kelly that night, I would’ve included Natalija into the sexual romp, using her to entice Kelly’s husband into getting together again. But after Kelly didn’t ring me, I realised I’d made an error of judgement. I had isolated Tom in my greed to get to Kelly, and since she didn’t appear to be willing to have an affair, I needed to work on Tom to find a way around it. It was like in business: if at first you failed, find another avenue so you succeeded the next time.