Page 30 of Wolfish Player
Confused, I grab one and flip it open.
Inside, a card addressed directly to an author, my signature copied in thick black ink beneath a note:
I believe in the power of storytelling, and I believe in you. I know how hard working and staying focused can be—especially when the characters aren’t behaving and the world-building feels like it’s collapsing—so here are some things that I hope will inspire you to write your best.
Beneath it sits a custom Grey Wolf Publishing tumbler and mug, a pound of coffee, bundles of tea, framed editor notes and glowing reviews, a playlist QR code, and a sleek set of Bluetooth earbuds.
“Can I see the email I supposedly sent you about this?” I ask flatly.
“Each box cost like five hundred dollars.” She beams. “But it was worth every cent. Every author is wowed.”
I snap the lid shut. “Tell Miss Barrett to haul her ass in here.”
“But I thought?—”
“Now.”
I turn toward the wall of windows, clenching the edge of my desk to keep my temper in check. By the time she enters, heels clicking across the floor, I already feel the burn of irritation tangled with something else I don’t want to admit.
Her grey dress is fitted, soft fabric hugging curves it has no right to. When she crosses the room, I catch the familiar and faint imprint of pink lace beneath the fabric. My throat tightens, and I clear it roughly before lifting one of the boxes.
“What the hell is this?” My voice is clipped.
“It looks like something I supposedly sent out to your authors as some kind of goodwill stunt.”
“I didn’t give you permission to do this.”
“I know.” She shrugs, eyes sparking. “That’s why I didn’t ask. I felt inspired after getting back into writing to do it.”
“Do you have any idea how much money it costs to pull off what you did?”
“One less Audemars Piguet watch.” Her gaze flicks deliberately to my wrist before meeting my eyes again. “And let’s be honest—you already have enough of those.”
“Okay. I need you to formally apologize before I fire you.”
“I’ll pass. Just fire me.”
“Heather…”
“Asshole…”
Before I can bite back, she’s too close. The air between us ignites, and I don’t remember if I grab her or if she moves first.
Our mouths crash together, angry and hungry. The kiss is all teeth, tongue, and defiance. She tastes like rebellion, and it goes straight to my cock.
I back her into the desk, pinning her hips against the edge, and shove a hand beneath her dress. The lace panties I glimpsed are exactly where I want them—already damp.
She gasps when I tug them aside and press my thumb against her clit, hard enough to make her moan.
Her nails scrape down my shirt, desperate, while her mouth devours mine. Her hips grind shamelessly into my hand, chasing friction, and I can’t resist sliding two fingers inside her, pushing deep.
“Adrian—” Her voice breaks into a cry as I curl them just right.
“You like this?” I growl against her throat, biting the skin there before soothing it with my tongue.
“Yes…” she pants, clenching around me, dripping into my palm.
I thrust my fingers faster, my thumb circling ruthlessly, driving her closer until her body bows off the desk.
