Page 14 of A Billion Dollar Romance
“What’s that?” said Margaret from her desk.
“Sorry, just–”
Just seeing his name in my email inbox again, bright and early on a Monday morning, when I finally thought I’d settled into my new job.
“I thought I finished more than I had on Friday,” I lied. “I still have ten thousand words left to proof.”
“In the cookbook?”
I nodded.
“Rough,” she said, grimacing. “Coffee?”
I shook my head. My heart was already beating twice as fast as it should ever attempt to.
I clicked into the email.
Miss Taylor,
My office, 9:00.
He hadn’t even signed it, just let the automatic signature handle the formalities.
I sat staring, unblinking, at my screen. What did he want?
I’d taken this job for all the normal reasons: student loans, health insurance. To pay the bills. I’d been excited that it was in my field, and not in some soulless megacorporation, but as I stared at my screen, I found myself wishing I’d taken any other job but this one.Anything.
Anythingwould pay my bills, andanythingwould let me stash away the money I’d need for what I’d been grandly thinking of asmysabbatical. The time off I’d need to write. To dedicate myself to actually finishing one of those manuscripts I had stacked up on my hard drive. If I could just scrape together enough money to take a few months off, a year maybe. I had a vision of getting out of the city, staying in a rental somewhere I could walk to a little coffee shop, cook my own food, not worry about anything but the necessities of life and my work.
Myrealwork, not…
I sighed, minimizing the window with his email and pulling up my edits.
I had thirty minutes until I had to be on the top floor. If I wanted to earn enough for my sabbatical, I should use them for something besides daydreaming.
* * *
“No,” I said.
He couldn’t possibly be asking what he was asking.
Could he?
“No?” he asked, leaning back in his chair, lifting one eyebrow.
“No,” I said, then, “Butwhy?”
“I’m sure you’ve heard that we’re scouting for a new romance talent,” he said. Sitting behind his desk, his midnight-blue suit perfectly tailored and skimming over his broad shoulders, tie perfectly knotted, he seemed every inch the cold, professional businessman.A new talent.Not anauthor, not awriter. There was no trace of the professor I’d admired from the middle rows. “As part of the launch, they want to… rework my image.” He smirked. “I’m sure you know my reputation.”
My stomach curdled. I did, of course, but to bring it up?I wanted the same thing as him,I reminded myself. I, too, had been looking for a one-night stand, nothing more. Why was I the one left feeling cheap?
Because I was now the one being inappropriately propositioned at the office.
“They think I need rehabilitation. Hence, an engagement. I swear, Miss Taylor. Edie,” he said, and I raised my eyes to his. “All aboveboard. Did you forget my promise to you so quickly?”
I’ll make you come so hard you forget your own name,he’d said early last Monday morning. Somehow, I didn’t think that was the promise he meant.
“You didn’t know, and neither did I. It was a mistake; it won’t happen again. I won’t count a momentary lapse in my own judgement against you.”
