The Dom of My Dreams: A BDSM Novel (23 page)

           
He sighed.
 
“I believe so.
 
Conrad overheard Karen York last Saturday boasting about a multi-million dollar offer from Leather Binding Press.
 
She was saying the offer was almost a given, for they feared there would be a bidding war with competitors.
 
They’ll agree to whatever terms and conditions York and Seton set out.
 
They need Seton’s signature to seal the deal once and for all.
 
York is trying to convince Seton to sign with them.”
 
Alfred turned to me and gave me a resigned look.
 
“It’s only a matter of time before we get the inevitable news.”

           
“I see,” I muttered after a few seconds of profound silence.
 
I looked down at the table and blew out a defeated breath.
 

Leather Binding Press was a major New York publisher that catered mostly to mystery and suspense writers.
 
They were known for landing the most on-demand authors and for jump-starting the careers of authors whose books hadn’t sold well in years.
 
They also possessed an unlimited budget and had an excellent publicity department—or so I’d been told.
 
It didn’t surprise me that they had been courting Seton, and it didn’t surprise me that Alfred thought we hadn’t a chance in hell of landing Seton now, not with a monster house like Leather Binding Press drooling after him.
  

A flicker of pain seared through my chest.
 
I knew this would happen, but what hurt me, what really shattered me, was that my affair with Seton would come to an end.
 
I’d been preparing for it, been dreading it, yet been expecting it, but I was nevertheless devastated with the news.
 
When would Seton call me to tell me it was over?
 
Later today?
 
Next week?
 
Next month?
 
Or did he plan to continue to toy with me, to have those delicious, albeit unconventional trysts with me, knowing all along that he had no intention of joining Bookends AtoZ?
 
I sighed and tapped the empty glass in front of me.
 
I had no right to complain.
 
He’d told me what was what.
 
He made no promises, no guarantees.
 
I accepted his proposition with open eyes.
 
He was not to blame.
 
Only I was to blame.

But now there was no reason to continue with the arrangement, no reason to continue to obsess about a man who saw me as nothing more than a disposable dishrag.
 
Bookends’ future was no longer at stake.
 
I no longer had that excuse.
 
It was time to get my life back.
 
I would end it with Seton before he ended it with me.
 
I wouldn’t give him the chance—or the satisfaction—to reject me.
 
Self-preservation was the key.
 
There was no use in wasting time.
 
Now was the time to do it.

“I don’t want to work with Seton anymore.”

The words came out in a rush.
 
I thought Alfred hadn’t heard me at first, but then I saw the look of surprise that flickered across his face when he turned to me.
 

“What?”
 
He ran his fingers through his thinning gray hair and paced around the room, his shrunken cigarette balanced between his long, slender fingers.
 
“Marjorie, you can’t do this to me.
 
Not now.”

“What’s the use in courting him if he’s signing with another house?”

“We don’t know that for sure!” he shouted, his face twisted in irritation.
 
His carefully neutral tone was gone—there was no hiding the frustration in his voice this time.
 
“He hasn’t signed with them, and he hasn’t turned us down, which means…which means there’s still hope!”

I shot him a look.
 
“Oh, come on, Alfred.
 
Get real.
 
Seton’s out shopping, and he’s not going to settle for Wal-Mart when he could go to Henri Bendel.
 
Do you really think he’ll choose
us
over Leather Binding Press?”

He opened his mouth to say something but closed it, choosing to glare at me instead.
 
Annoyance surged through me.
 
Did Alfred really think we had a scrap of hope of landing Seton?
 
If he did, then Jeremy was right—he had been drinking too much of the Bookends-will-be-big-one-day Kool-Aid.

A twinge of guilt stirred within me when I saw his weatherworn face go pale.
 
I shouldn’t have spoken to him that way.
 
As bosses went, Alfred was so damn sweet and easygoing that it was easy to forget that he was the big cheese and therefore could fire my ass if he saw fit.

Alfred’s eyebrows creased into a frown as he looked thoughtfully at me.
 
Then he closed his eyes briefly, grunting as he plopped down next to me and squeezed the tiny cigarette butt into an ashtray.
 

“Listen,” he said, suddenly looking very old and weary.
 
“Nobody knows about this, so I’m counting on your discretion.
 
The truth is that the company is in trouble.”

My eyes widened.
 
I was momentarily speechless.
 
The company was in trouble?
 
Bookends AtoZ—a thirty-something-year-old publisher—was in danger of going under?
 
I stared at Alfred, then realized my mouth was hanging open.
 
I closed it and refilled my glass with water, downing it in one gulp.

“Now you see why I’m desperate,” Alfred continued, voice bleak.
 
“Bookends AtoZ has been catering to unique, high-quality literature for over three decades and we’ve enjoyed some moderate success over the years, but the problem is that literary fiction is now practically obsolete.
 
No one buys poetry or deep literature anymore.
 
No one cares about discovering the next T.S. Eliot or Charles Dickens.
 
A bookstore stocks about twenty copies of one of our books, sells five of them, and the others are either sent back or are tossed over to the half-off bin.
 
So the company’s suffered losses as a result.
 
Moderate success is simply not enough anymore.
 
We will all be without jobs within two years if nothing is done about it.
 
We have to make money—big money—or we’re screwed.
 
Getting a phone call from David J. Seton, an international bestselling author, and a brilliant one at that, was like a fucking miracle.
 
That’s why I
need
him to sign with us, Marjorie.
 
It’s a quicker fix than changing our publishing strategy or, God forbid, selling the company.
 
I need my best foot forward.”

“Which is why you gave the editing job to a rookie,” I countered tonelessly.

He gave me a slanted look.
 
“Look, Marjorie, Seton wanted
you
to court him.
 
Not me, not one of the senior editors, but you specifically.
 
He was pretty darn adamant about it too.
 
What the hell was I supposed to do?
 
This was a chance in a lifetime, and if he wanted to work with you, if that was all it took, then damn it, I was more than happy to oblige him.”
 
He turned inquisitive eyes back to me, hazel eyes roving over my blouse and skirt in a way that made me squirm uncomfortably in my chair.
 
“Marjorie, has Seton…he hasn’t done or said anything inappropriate to you, has he?”

I squirmed in my seat again, wishing this conversation hadn’t shifted to such an unsettling subject.
 
“Define inappropriate.”

“Has he made any sexual advances to you?”

I chewed on my lower lip and smoothed down my skirt with sweaty palms.
 
How nice it would be to tell Alfred everything!
 
Not only would it shock the hell out of him, he would definitely not insist on my continuing to court Seton.
 
But I couldn’t tell him.
 
Alfred was like a father to me, and his respect meant everything to me.
 

“I already knew Seton had singled me out as his potential editor.
 
He told me so during our first meeting.”
 
A rueful smile teased my lips.
 
“You told me you gave me the job because I was perfect for it.
 
You lied to me.”

“I didn’t meant to—”

“I know you didn’t,” I cut him off, “and that’s fine.
 
You didn’t believe in me, that wasn’t the reason.
 
You just had no choice.
 
I understand now why you did it, so don’t worry about it.”

Alfred stared at me in silence for several seconds, then he flashed me a toothy grin and said, “I do believe you’re right for the job, kiddo.
 
I didn’t lie to you about that.”

I smiled back at him, relieved that he hadn’t noticed that I avoided his question about Seton harassing me.
 

“As for this courting business,” he continued, “well, let’s just play it by ear for the time being.
 
If Seton is at all interested in signing with us, then he’ll accept to work with one of the other guys.
 
Bookends AtoZ is courting him, not just you.
 
But after hearing about his potential book deal with LBP, I think we’re screwed anyway, so…”
 
He didn’t finish the sentence, just gave me a helpless, watcha-gonna-do shrug.
 

Alfred’s doleful expression when he uttered that last sentence made me feel all daughterly and protective of him.
 
I smiled sympathetically as I leaned forward and pressed my lips against his leathery cheek.
 
He threw a grateful grin my way as he reached into his shirt pocket and drew out a pack of cigarettes.

“By the way, are you joining the softball league this year?” he asked.

I blinked twice at the sudden change of subject and the much lighter tone in Alfred’s croaky voice.
 
I shook my head.
 
“No, not this year.”

He looked relieved.
 
I couldn’t blame him—I sucked at softball.
 
I did nothing but strike out and cause the other team to score.
 
I joined their team last year and had a blast doing casual stuff with my otherwise stuffy co-workers, until all of my colleagues-slash-teammates turned against me and blamed me for losing the division.

“You’re welcome to watch us play.
 
Our first practice game is this Friday at Look Memorial.”

I nodded and asked Alfred if I was free to go.
 
He lit a cigarette and waved me away in a way that reminded me of someone swatting away a fly.
 
I flashed him a grin before pushing to my feet and rushing out of the conference room.

Even though I was shocked and saddened by the news that Bookends AtoZ was in trouble, I was relieved that I no longer had to court Seton.
 
Besides, Alfred would find a way to keep Bookends afloat.
 
He always had a Plan B up his sleeve.
 
Why, he was already coming up with ways to revamp Bookends’ image!
 
We didn’t need Seton.
 
We would be fine without him.
 
It might take us longer to get back on our feet, but we would make it—at least I hoped we would.
 
But—book deal or no book deal—Seton and I were no more.
 
I would try to break up our arrangement as soon as possible.

No sooner had I closed the door to my office than I heard a knock.
 
Rosie opened the door a crack and said, “There’s someone here to see you, Miss Fordham.”

I was rifling through some file folders when George stepped in.
 
He stood with his hands behind his back, smiling down at me as if we shared a private joke.
 

Wariness surged through me.
 
He wasn’t here to deliver a black glossy carrier bag, was he?
 
Seton wouldn’t set up another tryst so soon after the last one, would he?