The Dom of My Dreams: A BDSM Novel (12 page)

Jeremy perched on the other side of the bench, grumbling something to himself about being nice to ungrateful bitches.
 

           
I left them to their bantering and took a big bite of my BLT, chewing with relish.
 
I hadn’t eaten well during the last couple of days.
 
Four days had passed since my passionate—albeit intercourse-free—encounter with Seton and I hadn’t heard a peep from him.
 
He never returned my e-mail.
 
He also never responded to the text message I sent him the day after that.
 
So I finally called him yesterday, and when he didn’t answer his cell phone, I left him a brief message on his voice mail.
 
He was obviously avoiding me.
 
I had decided not to contact him anymore.
 
When I almost accidentally-on-purpose walked by his house yesterday, I realized I had to get a grip.
 
We had only spent one night together, for crying out loud!
 
We didn’t even engage in intercourse.
 
Even though our D/s encounter was absolutely incredible, I had to face the possibility that it may not happen again.
 
For all I knew, he had changed his mind about Bookends AtoZ.
 
And so, I had to mentally prepare myself for the inevitable “thanks but no thanks” phone call from him.
 

But try as I might, I couldn’t help thinking about him.
 
I couldn’t help asking myself if I’d done something to upset him.
 
And I couldn’t help but pray that he hadn’t changed his mind about Bookends AtoZ, that he hadn’t changed his mind about me.

           
“So how are things with Mr. Bestseller?” Magda asked me.

           
I swallowed my big bite of sandwich and shrugged.
 
“I haven’t heard from him since last Monday.
 
He said he may sign with us, but is not yet sure.”

           
“He won’t sign with us,” proclaimed Jeremy, talking with his mouth full.
 
A bit of mustard clung to the corner of his mouth.
 
He licked it off absentmindedly.

           
Magda turned to him.
 
“And how the hell do you know that?”
 
I couldn’t see the expression on her face, but her voice sounded annoyed.
 

           
He took a sip from his soda and peered at us.
 
“Oh, come on, girls, get real.
 
Do you really think an author whose work has been translated into God knows how many languages will sign with us, a measly publishing house who can’t really afford him?
 
Have you ever heard of such a thing?”

           
“It could happen,” Magda insisted.
 
“I’ve heard of bestselling authors switching to smaller houses.
 
It’s possible.”

           
I narrowed my eyes at Jeremy.
 
“Alfred told me you didn’t want to work with Seton.
 
Was that the reason why you didn’t want the job, because you thought it would be a waste of time?”

           
“Yeah, pretty much.”
 
His dark eyes flickered with irritation at Magda.
 
“And yes, it has happened, Magda.
 
It’s happened to authors whose books no longer sell like they used to and therefore have no
choice
but to settle for a smaller house.
 
But hugely successful authors don’t do that.
 
They just don’t.
 
Might as well throw in the towel now, Margie girl, ’cause he won’t sign with us no matter what you do or say to try to convince him.”

           
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I muttered sourly.

           
He shot me a quizzical look, then leaned forward and grabbed a slice of bacon from my wrap and shoved it into his mouth.
 
“No offense to you, hon.
 
I thought it was time for a reality check, is all.”

           
Magda turned her whole body toward Jeremy.
 
Her back was facing me, but I could tell by the tone of her voice that she was clearly exasperated with her former crush.
 
“Let me remind you, Mr. The-Glass-Is-Half-Empty, that David J. Seton approached
us
, not the other way around.
 
And Alfred believes he could win him over.
 
So why are you so damn sure he won’t?”

           
Jeremy chewed thoughtfully, frowning.
 
He took a long sip of his soda to wash down his bite and then looked earnestly at us.
 
“Alfred’s been drinking a little too much of the Bookends-is-gonna-be-big-one-day Kool-Aid.
 
The old man’s deluded.
 
As for Seton, I don’t know the guy…”
 
He paused and flashed me a quick, unreadable look before continuing.
 
“I don’t know the guy, but I think he approached us just to amuse himself.”

           
I choked on my soda.
 
I couldn’t believe his choice of words, words not unlike the ones uttered by Seton himself.
 
As I coughed from the soda that went up my nose, Magda and Jeremy turned to me and shot me an identical concerned look.
 

           
Magda patted me hard in the back.
 
“You okay?” she asked.

           
I composed myself and nodded.
 
Once the coughing subsided, I wiped my choke-induced tears away and took a big bite of my BLT.
 
With my mouth full of sandwich, I waved at Jeremy to continue.

           
He cast one last worried glance my way before speaking.
 
“I think Seton moved here very recently and heard about us.
 
His contract with Randolph Press has run its course, and he’s out shopping for a new publisher.
 
He was probably bored and decided he would let us drool after him for a while—get a nice ego boost in the process.
 
After he’s finished getting his jollies he’ll go for a major publisher.
 
Mark my words.”

I took another bite of my sandwich and regretted it the minute it hit my already churning stomach.
 
Damn.
 
Jeremy’s prediction bothered me.
 
But maybe he was right.
 
Maybe Seton had no serious intentions about signing with Bookends.
 
Maybe he had approached us for mere amusement.
 
Seton himself had admitted as much to me.
 
Perhaps he’d already gotten his jollies—got a kick out of seeing what a book editor would do to obtain his book, that she had gone as far as to become his sex slave and whore for a night—and had moved on to greener pastures.
 
But I refused to believe that.
 
Why would he go through all the trouble of singling me out and making a proposal that was tantamount to sexual harassment if he had no intention of writing for us?
 
Why would he give me the ankle bracelet and toe-ring, symbols of his physical ownership and mastery over me, if he had no intention of going through a long courtship process?
 
I knew I was trying to convince myself that Jeremy was wrong.
 
I had no way of knowing what Seton’s real intentions were.
 
I barely knew the guy, after all.
 

           
“Whoa,” Jeremy exclaimed, his eyes staring straight ahead.
 
“Speak of the devil.”

           
Curious, I swept my gaze to Cajun Catfish, a gourmet restaurant-slash-bar right across the street from where we sat, where out walked David J. Seton, looking sharp and gorgeous in a charcoal-colored suit.
 
George leaned against the driver’s side door of Seton’s black Mercedes, reading a newspaper.
 
Right in front of Seton stood a tall, leggy blonde in a sexy red dress with a plunging neckline and fuck-me strappy stilettos.
 
Her attire was a little too provocative for noontime wear.
 
She had the glossy, put-together look of a gold-digging sex kitten.
 
Seton walked up to her, wrapped a large hand around her tiny little waist and gently kissed her cheek.
 
George put down his newspaper and was about to open the back door when Seton held up a hand and waved him away.
 
He did it in that formidable manner of his that I had come to know very well.
 
George nodded and climbed into the driver’s side while Seton opened the back door.
 
The busty blonde swung her hips coquettishly toward Seton, leaning against him and whispering something in his ear, something that made him laugh.
 
Then she climbed into the Mercedes, followed by Seton.
 
The car screeched away, driving beyond Smith College, no doubt headed for Seton’s house.

           
“Who’s the bombshell?” Jeremy asked.

           
Magda snorted.
 
“She’s either his girlfriend or a high-class hooker.”

           
“Maybe she’s both,” Jeremy suggested.
 
They both laughed.

           
I couldn’t join in their guffaw.
 
My body had stiffened into shock, and I suddenly felt sick, so sick I thought I wouldn’t be able to keep my food down.

           
Jeremy turned worried eyes to me.
 
“You all right, hon?”

           
“Yes!” I said hastily and a little too cheerfully, not wanting to show the mixture of sickness and pain twisting within me like a knife.
 
“I…I thought she looked like a famous model, that’s all.”

           
Magda laughed derisively and continued to eat her lunch, but Jeremy didn’t do or say anything, just looked at me, eyes narrowed.
 
I turned my head away from his inquisitive gaze and tried to focus on my surroundings.
 
A cool breeze stirred around me as people of all walks strolled by the park.
 
I tried to enjoy the beautiful weather and gorgeous scenery, but I couldn’t, not anymore.
 
I felt strangely detached from everything around me.
 
My heart felt heavy, my spirits were low.
 
I looked down at my half-eaten sandwich and grimaced.
 
I wasn’t hungry anymore.

***

The rest of my lunch break passed as if in a blur.

At work, I went through the motions as I sat through meetings, met with authors and went over some notes.
 
But, try as I might, I couldn’t get Seton and his elegant blonde-haired companion out of my mind.
 
As illogical as I knew it was, I felt hurt and betrayed.
 
My stomach churned with a sensation that came uncomfortably close to resembling jealousy.
 
I knew I had no right to be jealous, and I knew that a man like Seton would have more than his hands full when it came to women, but jealous I was nevertheless.
 

I thought I would be enough for him during our affair.
 
I thought that he would focus solely on our…special arrangement.
 
But it seemed that I wasn’t enough, that he needed the company of other women—of prettier, sexier women.
 
Of glamorous women.
 
Was he playing dress-up with her too?
 
If so, then he had her dress up like a supermodel, whereas he had made me dress up like a cheap hooker.
 
I bet he didn’t make
her
use the side door!
 

He had also kissed her in public, whereas he’d treated me like nothing more than a passing acquaintance when I left both the café during our lunch meeting four days ago and later that night at his house.
 
I couldn’t help feeling hurt at the implications in his behavior.

It hadn’t occurred to me at the time to see if she wore an ankle bracelet and toe-ring.
 
I made a mental note to check the next time I spotted her.
 
If there was a next time.