The Dom of My Dreams: A BDSM Novel (56 page)

The apartment, according Magda, was in a beautiful brownstone near the Harbor Islands.
 
The rent was ridiculously high, way above my price range, but I had some money saved up, and I would start my new job as soon as I got there anyway.
 
The problem was that my new job wouldn’t pay well enough to cover the rent and have money leftover for other things.
 
The new job was at a small PR firm situated on artsy and chic Newbury Street.
 
Publicity was way outside my area of expertise, but it would do for now.
 
I would have to get another job while I found a cheaper apartment though, or maybe do some freelance editing on the side.
 
Whatever.
 
I would work something out.
 
I’d do anything just to get the hell out of Northampton as soon as possible.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving,” Magda went on, sobbing.
 
“Who’s going to read those god-awful poems now?”

I rested my cheek against the windowpane and tried not to cry myself.
 
“Magda, we’ll still be friends.
 
You’ll come visit me in Boston, right?”

She sauntered over to the window and pulled me by the elbow, enveloping me in a bear hug.
 
Her tall, slightly pudgy frame sent warm comfort through me.
 
“Of course I’ll go visit you!
 
Especially now that my mother’s moving in.”

I laughed and returned her hug.
 
“Then it’s settled.
 
No more crying.
 
And I’ll edit your book if you want me to.
 
My editing fees will be reasonable, I promise.”

“What will you charge me?”

“I won’t come cheap, but I’ll cut you a deal anyway.”

“You’d better!”
 
She broke our hug and gave me a doleful smile, her dimples peeking out of her round cheeks.
 
“That’s actually not a bad idea.
 
That way, I can call you and visit you whenever.”

“Yup.
 
Sounds like a plan.”

We were interrupted by a brisk knock on the door, followed by the door swinging open.
 
Alfred, carrying a large file folder with both hands, glanced briefly at all the mayhem in the room and flashed us one of his toothy grins.
 

“Hiya, kiddo,” Alfred said, dumping the large folder on my desk.
 
“Almost done here, I see.”

I smiled at him.
 
“I’ll be finished soon.
 
I had no idea this office was so full of junk.”

Alfred waved me away and parked his butt in one of the chairs.
 
“Never mind that, darlin’.
 
No one’s rushing you.
 
No one’s fired ya.
 
We’re only sorry to see you go.”
 
He paused to light up a cigarette, his usually cheerful face turning solemn.
 
“We’re going to miss you, kiddo.”

I tore myself away from the window and sashayed over to Alfred, a fresh wave of sorrow coursing within me.
 
Man, I knew this was going to be hard, but I had no idea it would be like this.
 
The thought of leaving Alfred, Magda and Jeremy—people who were like family to me—broke my heart in two, and I almost bit my tongue to keep myself from asking Alfred for my job back.
 

“I’m going to miss you too, ’Fred,” I said, wondering if he heard the odd little squeak that escaped my throat.
 
“I don’t think I’ll ever have another boss like you.”
 
Sappy, I know, but that was how I felt at the moment.
 
I bent in front of Alfred and dropped a kiss across his leathery cheek.

He blushed.
 
“Yeah, well, you’ll always have a job here with us at Bookends AtoZ.”

“Thanks.”
 
I cast a glance out the door and raised an eyebrow.
 
“So… no goodbye cake?
 
No farewell party?
 
No cheap, tepid champagne in plastic cups?”

Alfred opened his mouth to say something, but at that moment Jeremy bustled into the room, his hands behind his back.
 
“I come bearing a goodbye gift,” he announced.

Yippee!
 
At least someone got me a little something!
 
“Eep!
 
What did you get—”

The words froze in my throat when Jeremy’s hands suddenly revealed a black carrier bag, just like the ones Seton used to give me.
 
My heart leaped, almost jumped out of my chest, and for several seconds all I could do was stare.

“What…”
 
I swallowed and tried again.
 
“What is that?”

Jeremy’s eyes dipped to the bag.
 
“Just a little going away present from Mr. David J. Seton.
 
Should I leave it at the desk or…?”

I took several deep breaths and tried to relax.
 
Then I opened my mouth to tell Jeremy to shove the bag up his hairy butt, but closed it immediately, mentally reminding myself that I was no longer the bitchy person I once was.
 
Okay, okay, so I was still a tad bitchy, but only on the general principle that bitchiness kicks meekness in the ass a thousand times, but quickly overcame my bitchy tendencies when I cast a worried glance across the room.
 
The three of them had gone suspiciously quiet, staring at me with hopeful, almost simpering eyes.
 
Identical smirks teased their mouths, and I had to stop myself from glowering at them.
 
It took a second for me to put the pieces together.
 
Alfred and Magda knew about my relationship with Seton, and Jeremy was somehow responsible for that.
 
Damn it, I knew he wouldn’t be able to keep his big mouth shut!

When I finally managed to gather enough strength to form a reaction, I said, “What the hell’s going on here?”
 

My annoyance was evident in my voice.
 
Putting up with Jeremy’s meddling was bad enough, now I had to put up with everyone else’s at the office too?
 
Boy, I was sure glad I was getting the hell out of there!

Amusement touched Jeremy’s dark eyes.
 
“Like I said, this is a going away present from David.”
 
He placed the glossy bag on top of the desk and cast a glance at everyone in the room.
 
“My mean man George brought it in.”

I raised an eyebrow.
 
“Your mean man?”
 

Jeremy laughed.
 
“Let’s leave Margie alone so she could inspect her gift.”

“No, no!” I bellowed as everyone scrambled to the door.
 
“No one’s leaving this room!
 
I’m not opening that bag, so you might as well take it with you.”

They ignored me and opened the door to leave.

“Wait a second!” I ordered, holding up a quelling hand.
 
“I don’t have to take this.
 
I’m not opening the friggin’ bag and that’s final.
 
I’m leaving.”
 
I grabbed my Coach bag and started toward the door, but Alfred blocked my exit.

“You’re gonna sit your pretty little butt down and accept the gift from our superstar author,” he said in a non-negotiable, don’t-contradict-me-or-else voice.

“You’re not my boss anymore, you know.”

He had the audacity to scowl at me.
 
“Yes, I am, kiddo.
 
At least for another couple of hours.
 
Now, open the bag.
 
We’ll be out of your way.”

A pleased smile touched the corners of Jeremy’s mouth as he turned and disappeared out the door.
 
Magda brushed a kiss across my cheek, and let out a slight giggle when I turned stormy eyes to her.
 
Oh, so
now
she was laughing!
 
No wonder her sobs were tearless.
 
It was all a friggin’ act.
 
I blew out a breath when Alfred gave me one of his I’m-with-ya-kiddo winks before closing the door.
 
I did nothing for a while, just stood there, stunned, staring at the black bag with trepidation.
 

Despite my reluctance, the bag called out to me like a double-fudge ice cream sundae to a diabetic.
 
I heaved out a sigh.
 
I wanted to see what was inside the damn thing, wanted to see what Seton had gotten for me.
 
Besides, the three meddling musketeers were outside, no doubt guarding my door, and those bastards wouldn’t let me out until I’d opened up Seton’s so-called going away present.
 
And I wouldn’t beg them to leave me alone.
 
A girl’s pride could only take so many blows.

Taking a deep, shuddery breath, I grabbed the bag and reached inside, extracting a heavy mass of paper held in place by two rubber bands.
 
It was Seton’s finished manuscript.
 
Pain surged through me as I tossed the empty bag onto the floor, out of the way and out of sight.

I swallowed a lump of dread and plopped down on my seat, glaring down at my old nemesis—
Madeleine
, by David J. Seton.
 
I briefly contemplated setting the thing on fire, but what would I gain from that?
 
Seton had wanted me to read his revised story, and I knew that he would insist on it until I had read it.
 
So, reaching for a half-empty bottle of water sitting on my desk, I took a long sip and slid out the rubber bands from the manuscript, turning over the page and settling down to read.

One-hundred and fifty pages later, I looked up from the manuscript, confused.
 
The story was exactly the same so far.
 
No revisions, no change in tone or storyline, nothing.
 
A quick flip through several more pages revealed nothing more than what I’d read the last time.
 
I shook my head and shrugged to myself.
 
What the hell was the point to this?
 
Why would he want me to read this crap again?
 
Was he trying to punish me or something?
 
I ran clammy fingers through my hair and rubbed my eyes, then I settled down to read again.
 
There had to be a catch, that much was certain.
 
Maybe there was a new key sentence or paragraph somewhere that he’d wanted me to read.

The changes emerged as if from nowhere.
 
They were subtle, but they were there from the very beginning.
 
About halfway through the story, the tone changed from contemptuous amusement to… love.
 
The narrator had fallen in love with Madeleine.
 
The switch was slow, gradual, almost imperceptive, and when I finally noticed the difference in tone, the ambiguous narrator was obsessed with Madeline, and his obsession mirrored S.’s.
 
S. had fallen in love with Madeleine at the same time the second-person voice had, confirming that the mysterious narrator and S. were one and the same.
 

S.’s plans to drive Madeleine mad with obsession had backfired, and he reluctantly began to notice all of her good qualities, and his sudden bursts of tenderness didn’t sit well with him.
 
She had begun to invade his thoughts, his dreams, and he hated it.
 
His mind spun with turmoil, and it echoed with Madeleine’s conflicting emotions.
 
My heart rose to my throat when I realized that Seton had in fact gone through the same things I went through.
 
We were two tormented souls, reluctantly reaching out to one another.
 
We were real life versions of one of Quinn Armitage’s darkly erotic paintings.

Despite the changes, the subtext remained sinister and satirical throughout the book, and Seton used the same ambivalent, thought-provoking conclusion as before.
 
He hadn’t changed the ending.
 
This wasn’t a love story.
 
Seton had an image and reputation to maintain—the king of erotic suspense—and there were no and-so-they-lived-happily-ever-afters in his suspenseful thrillers.

I closed my eyes against the tears that threatened to trickle down my face.
 
I may not have believed Seton’s words when he’d spoken them out loud, but I had no choice but to believe them in writing.
 
He had proven he meant every word he said, because he’d poured his heart and soul into his work.
 
Each sentence, each word, had jumped out of the pages, caressing me like a sensual, loving touch.
 
He didn’t lie that night I stormed out in the rain, nor did he try to manipulate me.
 
He was convinced that we were meant to be together, that our love was worth fighting for.