Page 42 of Beyond Question

The fact that the fire in her eyes turns me on should probably concern me, but when she starts to speak again, I push that thought aside and lean forward to listen.

“Wow.” She shakes her head. “Look at this audience. There have to be, what, two-hundred people here? The biggest publishing companies in the world are represented in this room tonight. The greats, am I right?”

The words are innocent enough, but sarcasm drips from them like venom.

“Oh no,” Rylan whispers.

I glance at her and she frowns when she sees the smile on my face.

What? I can’t help it. I think we’re about to be in for a treat.

I look back at the stage as Paige continues delivering her speech in a calm, steady voice, even while fire dances in her crystalline eyes.

Murmurs of agreement sound out around me and I have to bite back a laugh because she’s about to turn this place on its head.

“If you’re the head of a house, please rise to your feet so we can acknowledge your accomplishments.” When no one stands, Paige says, “Come on now, don’t be shy. This award isn’t just for me; it’s for so many of us who have fought to get to where we are.” She smiles and it’s absolutely wicked.

And then she begins calling out every publishing CEO in attendance by name, one by one.

I reach beneath the table to adjust myself as discreetly as possible, squeezing my cock to tell it to calm the fuck down.This is not the time, buddy.

Paige calls out Cabot’s name and I whip my head toward him.

“Tick tock,” Paige murmurs.

“Don’t stand up,” Rylan urges.

He frowns as he looks around the room, but doesn’t rise to his feet.Smart man.But the other people from each table aren’t as wise, and they certainly haven’t caught on to that fire in Paige’s eyes.

Slowly, they stand while Paige eggs them on with murmured words of encouragement.

“That’s right, stand up. Come on now. Be proud of all you’ve accomplished.” As the heads of all the largest publishing companies in New York rise to their feet, others follow. From mid size houses to even a few boutiques, one or two people from each table stand.

And as I look around the room, I think I understand why Paige’s saccharine sweet smile hides venom and that glint in her eyes is disgust.

Of the people standing, only a small handful of them are women.

And in an industry that pushes for diversity, even less than a handful of the people standing are not white males.

“Please, bear with me and remain standing for a moment longer.” She flashes a lethal smile and lifts the award into the air. “When I started Turn the Paige, I was told in countless creative ways how badly I would fail. And not just by the people I’d be competing against or the coworkers I disappointed by setting out on my own, but by someone I trusted, looked up to. A mentor.” She narrows her eyes and searches the audience. “Peter, where are you? Ah, there you are.” Everyone’s heads turn to focus their attention on Peter Carrington, one of our rivals. To his credit, Peter looks like he might be ready to shit himself.

And, probably, rightfully so. I think my girl’s about to unleash.

“Peter, old friend. Do you remember what you told me the day I came to you for advice about starting my own house?”

He smiles uncomfortably and shakes his head.

“Oh, he doesn’t remember.” Paige laughs bitterly and a few people chuckle uncomfortably in the audience. “How wonderfully convenient.” She winks as she looks back across the room at Peter. “I remember.”

“Someone should cut her mic,” Cabot murmurs.

I glance quickly at him, then at his fiancée, whose expression makes me roll my lips to keep from laughing. The look in Rylan’s eyes promises that Cabot is in for a war when the two of them get home tonight.

“I believe your words were…” Paige pauses for effect, and I bring my attention back to her. The room is so tensely quiet you could hear a pin drop. “‘The only thing women in publishing are good for is’… wait, what was it? Oh, yes, I remember.” She laughs bitterly then levels old Peter with a look of sheer hatred as she deadpans, “‘writing porn for bored housewives.’”

I snort into my rocks glass. The women in the audience gasp collectively.

Peter Carrington blanches. His wife’s expression morphs from shock into indignation, and then, slowly, disdain twists her features.

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