Bettie Page Presents: The Librarian (21 page)

CHAPTER 41

Regina stopped at the foot of the library stairs, then turned to wave to Sebastian. He opened the window of the Mercedes and called out, “I'll pick you up at six.”

“Okay,” she said, and watched the black car disappear into Fifth Avenue traffic.

Her mind was flying high with a euphoria she'd never experienced before, but her body was not exactly with the program. Every part of her ached—her back, her feet, her arms. Her ass. And so, standing in front of the stone lion Patience—or was it Fortitude?—she adjusted her strappy high-heeled sandals and her bag over her shoulder before making the long ascent to the entrance doors.

It was past noon. She had woken to her phone alarm at seven, at which time she'd called and left a message for Sloan that she didn't feel well and would be in a little late. Then she went back to sleep until eleven, when she jumped up and took the fastest shower of her life. Sebastian directed her to his closet, where she found a Prada shirt and skirt with tags still on them. She dressed quickly, and he had driven like a maniac to get her to the library before lunchtime.

Inside, the entrance foyer was cool and quiet. Regina took a deep breath and told herself that it would be fine. People got sick. They had doctor appointments. They showed up late.

She jogged up the central staircase quickly, the padlock bouncing heavily against her throat.

Sloan's office door was open, and she noticed Regina immediately.

“Well, look who decided to roll out of bed and grace us with her presence,” Sloan said. Regina swallowed hard, knowing the woman's choice of wording was more than just a handy catchphrase. It was pointed, and if there was any doubt about it, the contempt in her blue eyes removed it.

Sloan drummed her tanned thigh with her left hand, her enormous diamond ring catching the overhead light. Regina found herself watching it, mesmerized.

“I'm really, really sorry,” Regina said, forcing herself to look Sloan in the eye. “It won't happen again. I'm here now, and I can stay late. . . .”

Sloan glanced at Regina's neck, calling attention to the fact that she was playing with the padlock. She immediately dropped her hand to her side.

“You've really disappointed me,” Sloan said coolly. “You were one of the better applicants for the job, but certainly not my only option. I hired you not only because of your school transcript and recommendations, but because you seemed like the type of girl who would put this job first, above all else. Who would appreciate it . . .”

“I do, Sloan. I do appreciate it. I dreamed of this job for most of my life. It was there, driving me, in front of me, all four years of school. And so while I might have been late or missed a day, that is not a reflection of how seriously I take this position. My work at the Delivery Desk has
always
gotten done—and done well. I'm a hundred percent involved in the fiction award. I—”

“You're fired,” Sloan said.

Regina looked at her, shocked. Something in Sloan's face told her how happy she was to have an excuse to fire her, and Regina's surprise turned to anger.

“Is this really about my work?” Regina asked, her face hot and her heart starting to race. “Or is this about your feelings for Sebastian?”

“You can deflect the blame for this all you want. But you're still fired. As for Sebastian Barnes, he's not a paid employee of this library—I am. And I hire and I fire as I see fit. If you test me on this, you will be sorry.”

•

Carly returned to the apartment at four in the afternoon and let out a little yelp of surprise to find Regina sitting on the couch.

“What are you doing home?” she asked. Her hands were so full of shopping bags she could barely manage to close the door without dropping something.

Regina, despite having had several hours to process the horrendous turn of events, could barely bring herself to answer her roommate's question. She was still stunned. After Sloan fired her, she'd been so rattled she'd left without even picking up the books she had stored under her desk, or saying good-bye to Alex, or Margaret.

The thought of Margaret brought a lump to her throat. She reminded herself that Margaret was leaving, anyway. And then, in the downward spiral of her state of mind, she thought of the Young Lions gala coming up in two weeks, that she would miss it.

All her years of work at school—studying instead of partying, tallying up her GPA as if the numbers were the building blocks of her future, dreaming about the day when she might find a job at an actual library. The cool, rainy days in March when she interviewed at NYPL. The perfect day in April when she got the call from Human Resources that changed her life. All of it—down the drain.

“I got fired,” she said, tearing up.

Carly looked suitably shocked.

“You're
joking,
” she said, a typical Carly response. She opened a bag from Whole Foods and offered Regina some sort of muffin. Regina shook her head—both to the offer of food and to her comment.

“No, I'm not.”

“Why? What happened?” Carly plopped down on the couch.

Regina didn't know quite how to answer that.
Um, I slept with my boss's former lover. I kept showing up for work late, in a sex fog. . . .

“It's a long story,” she said.

“I'm listening,” Carly said. Her cell phone buzzed, and she uncharacteristically ignored it.

Regina took a deep breath. “I was late a few times.”

Carly shrugged. “So? It happens.”

“And apparently, my boss and Sebastian used to . . .” She trailed off pointedly.

“No,”
said Carly, leaning forward, eyes wide.

“Yes.”

“I can't believe it! You know, Regina, you show up on my doorstep, all quiet and mousy and innocent. Now look at you. You're dressed to kill, you're banging one of the hottest guys in New York, and you have more drama than anyone I know. . . .”

“You seem to be missing the point of this conversation.
I lost my job
. I'm unemployed. I'm trying not to panic, but I moved to New York for this job. I live paycheck to paycheck. I don't know what to do.”

“First of all, relax. You'll find another job. You want me to call some people?”

“No . . . I don't know. I want the job I had. I have wanted to be a librarian for as long as I can remember. I know it seems small and unglamorous to you, but it means something to me.”

Carly's face softened. “Okay, well—if you think there's something I can do, let me know. If you're worried about paying your rent—don't. You know I don't need the money. I just need a roommate so that my parents can delude themselves into thinking it will keep me out of trouble.”

Regina looked at her in surprise. “Thanks, Carly. Now I feel bad for not holding up my end of the bargain—the keeping-you-out-of-trouble part.”

Carly laughed. “Now
that
would be a full-time job.”

“I mean it, though—thanks. But I can't take you up on that. I will find a job.”

“What did Sebastian say?”

“I haven't told him yet.”

“Why not? He could probably pull a few strings for you somewhere.”

She hadn't told Sebastian because she didn't want it to seem like she was simply running to him when faced with a problem. She didn't mind being helpless in the bedroom. But in real life, it was different.

As if anticipating her reasoning, Carly said, “Look, I get
the
whole not-wanting-him-to-see-you-in-a-moment-of-weakness
thing. And you're smart about that. But the guy really cares about you. I saw that the night he showed up here after your argument.”

Regina nodded. “Yes, I know he cares about me. For a while, I didn't. But I do now. Of course I have to tell him, and I will. I just needed to process it first.” She looked at her watch. “Actually, he's picking me up in front of the library in an hour. I can't procrastinate any longer.” She reached for her iPhone and dialed his number. It went straight to voice mail.

“He's not answering. I'm going to have to go meet him there. I'll just wait outside in front of the lions.”

“The lions?”

“Yeah, you know. The big stone lions at the base of the stairs?”

Carly shook her head. “I don't do libraries, Regina. I mean, really.”

•

Despite her intention to hide in front of the lions until she spotted Sebastian's car, the subway got her back to the library a quarter to six, and she couldn't stand idle all that time. She decided she would talk to Margaret. Regina had realized she didn't even have a personal phone number for her. And she doubted Margaret had e-mail. She didn't even know when her last day at work would be, and this gave Regina the panicked thought that she might never see her again. She knew it was irrational, but it was this thought that propelled her up the stairs—risking a run-in with Sloan—and into the library.

Regina had the paranoid thought that the security guards would ask her to leave, but she reminded herself that this was a public institution, and she hadn't been arrested—just fired. The security guard who nodded at her every morning probably didn't even know.

Sure enough, he just waved at her as she scurried through the foyer and up the side staircase to the fourth floor.

Regina passed the Barnes Room, averting her eyes. If Sloan had discovered what debauchery had gone on inside there, she would have been fired weeks ago.

The door to the archives room was open. Regina knocked on the doorframe so as not to startle Margaret. When she didn't get a response, she walked inside.

“Margaret?” she called.

“Back here.”

Regina found her on a tall ladder, either replacing or retrieving a heavy book from a high shelf.

“Be careful! Let me help you with that,” Regina said, rushing over to her.

Margaret looked down. “What are you doing here? I heard you were practically escorted off the premises,” she said with a smile.

Regina looked at her, dumbfounded.

“I'm exaggerating, of course,” said Margaret. “But you know how rumors go.” She climbed slowly down the ladder. “I never thought I'd see the day when reaching my favorite shelves was more trouble than it's worth,” she said, breathing heavily. She dusted her hands on her dress. “So what happened, my dear?”

“It's a disaster,” said Regina, trying to hold back the tears that had been flowing on and off for the past five hours. “I missed a day, and then I was late, and . . . I think the real reason is that Sloan is jealous of my relationship with Sebastian.”

Margaret nodded. “I tried to warn you.”

“I know. When you told me about the necklace.”

“I have to confess, I didn't anticipate it would come to this.”

“I don't know what to do.”

“If you need a recommendation, I'm happy to give you one. Sloan might be your boss, but I've been here long enough to open a few doors. Maybe a literacy nonprofit?”

“Oh, Margaret. You've been so wonderful.” Margaret put her arm around her, and Regina took deep breaths to calm herself down. “When is your last day?” she asked Margaret. “I was afraid I wouldn't be able to get in touch with you.”

“My last day is the Friday of the Young Lions Award gala. But why would you think you wouldn't be able to reach me? You can always find me on Twitter.”

“Twitter?”

“Yes. Or my new book review blog.”

“You started a book review blog?”

Margaret nodded and went in search of a pen and scrap paper. She scribbled her number and handed it to Regina. “I'll see you soon. Let the dust settle before you make any decisions about what to do next. Sometimes it's best just to start a new chapter.”

“But you've been in the same job for fifty years.”

“Yes, and if I can face change, so can you,” Margaret said, her blue eyes shining. She squeezed Regina's hand.

“It's not change I can't face, it's failure.”

“Have you failed? Only time can reveal failure. In one year, two years, five—who knows how you'll look at this time. It might be the turning point for the rest of your life.”

CHAPTER 42

She spotted the Mercedes as soon as she walked out of the library. Sebastian was behind the wheel.

Even from the distance, she felt his eyes on her as she made her way down the wide stairs. As she approached, he got out and opened the door for her. Just the sight of him made her feel better—the first moment since being fired that she didn't feel the underlying tremor of panic.

He pulled her into a quick embrace before she got into the car. When he was back behind the wheel, she blurted out, “I tried calling you earlier, but your phone went straight to voice mail.”

He nodded, pulling the car into the crowded center lane. “I'm sorry—I spent all day on the photographs we took last night. I didn't want any distractions.” He took his eyes off the road long enough to shoot her an enormous grin.

“How did they turn out?” she asked nervously.

“I'm taking you to my apartment so you can see for yourself.”

His excitement was palpable—and contagious. She gave him a small smile back.

“Okay,” she said.

He squeezed her hand. “So what's going on?” he asked.

Could he tell that something was wrong? Did she look like someone who had just been fired? “Well, Sloan fired me.”

He laughed. “She can't do that.”

“Of course she can,” Regina said, frustrated. “She's my boss. You've never worked a nine-to-five job, so you don't get it.”

“I'll talk to her,” he said with assurance, as if that would solve everything.

“No!” she said, mortified at the thought. “Please don't. Even
if
you can force her to rehire me—and that's a big
if
—it would just be miserable for me. I need to just . . . let it go.”

Fifth Avenue was jammed with rush-hour traffic. Sebastian turned west.

“I don't agree with you on this,” he said. “Do you want your job back or don't you?”

“You don't understand, Sebastian—I blew it. I wanted that job more than anything.”

“You didn't do something that merited being fired.”

“Obviously I did. I made her jealous over you, and then handed her an excuse to fire me. It was stupid,” she said, feeling choked up again.

“Bad office politics,” he conceded. “Do you regret getting involved with me?”

She shook her head no. “I don't. Not for a minute.”

“Well, even if you did, I think when you see these photos, you'd change your mind.”

•

Sitting at Sebastian's dining room table, poring over the prints, Regina barely recognized the beautiful, confident, highly erotic creature staring back at her in stark black and white. Somehow, she
had
channeled Bettie Page, but a darker and more dangerous incarnation.

Each picture seemed to reveal a different layer of her, and the sequence in which Sebastian had arranged them created a stirring progression of domination and desire.

The photographs were unsettling and thrilling at the same time.

“I can't believe it,” she said softly.

“I can,” he said, pacing behind her and looking over her shoulder occasionally. “I didn't press the issue of photographing you to make you uncomfortable or to exert some kind of control. I had a feeling the result would be something special.” He pulled out a seat so he was next to her. He took her hand. “And I was right.”

“There are so many pictures.”

“I always take a lot during a shoot, so that in itself isn't remarkable. But what is remarkable is that they're all good. Almost every one of them. Sometimes I do a shoot and only a handful are usable, so there's much less flexibility in terms of what I present. What we have here . . . it's gold.” And then he looked at her with great seriousness. “I don't want you to worry about anything. Not about your job, not about me—and not about us.”

He took her face in his hands, looking into her eyes with an intensity and focus that demanded the same in return. It gave her the usual flutter in her stomach, and in his eyes she saw the ever-present desire but also something more. There was something different in the way he looked at her, and she realized that for the first time, there was an element of admiration.

Sebastian dipped his head down and kissed her neck, sending a chill through her. She shuddered and leaned into him as he put his arms around her. She breathed him in and felt her body flood with desire, despite the lingering aches and pains of the night before.

He kissed her mouth greedily, as if they had been apart for weeks. He unhooked her bra, his hand roaming under her blouse to find her erect nipples. He brushed them again and again until she gave a small moan, and only then did he open her blouse, pulling so roughly on the buttons that a few broke off, hitting the floor with a light ping.

His lips and tongue worked on her breasts, teasing her nipples at first, then sucking so hard it hurt. She gasped, her hands in his hair, amazed that her body was its own worst enemy, wanting him shamelessly despite the lingering ache of the fucking he had given her fewer than twenty-four hours earlier. But sure enough, she felt the slick wetness between her legs, and she squirmed with desire.

Sebastian stood up, and she felt the sting of the air against her wet and bruised nipples. He swept the photos aside and lifted her onto the table. He unbuttoned her skirt and pulled it off, dropping it to the floor along with her underwear.

“Move to the edge,” he said, his voice thick with need. She slid down, her legs dangling off the side of the table. He sat back in the chair and spread her legs, leaning forward to lick her pussy with a long stroke of his tongue. She moaned and arched her back, and he slid a finger inside of her.

“Oh my God,” she breathed. His tongue flicked against her clit as his finger moved in and out. She felt her hands pulling at his hair, and she felt her pelvis moving hard and rhythmically. Her mind hummed like a motor, all her thoughts scattered and meaningless. By the time he climbed onto the table and she felt his cock brush against her pussy, she was just a trembling raw nerve that could be soothed only by his filling her. She opened her legs wider, clutching at his buttocks almost frantically. She thought he would tease her, and she knew that if he made her wait she would not be able to stand it. But mercifully, he pushed into her, and the sensation was so hard and fast, she felt her pussy spasm almost instantly, clenching him in an orgasm so strong, she felt a moment of panic at her loss of control. She was screaming out nonsensical words, and in return he murmured something, his face against her cheek, until his own tumble of words turned into a loud shout, startling her as his body shook and thrust in a nearly violent display of his own ecstasy. Afterward, he maneuvered so that his back was on the hard table, and she was cradled against him.

“I'm not going to be able to walk,” she said, only half joking.

“I'll carry you,” he said, pulling her close. And she knew he was not joking at all.