Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 24610 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 123(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24610 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 123(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
Adrian Wolfson
Bring the influencer list to my office at 2.
Arrange catering for tomorrow’s editorial meeting within the hour.
And don’t wear your hair up like that tomorrow. Or ever again when you’re around me… It’s distracting.
THE CEO
ADRIAN
The following morning, Heather walks into my office in a pastel pink dress and white blazer.
Her hair is pinned up in wavy curls—again—and as she walks toward my desk in nude-colored stilettos, my cock stiffens in my pants.
“Good morning, Mr. Wolfson.” She smiles. “How are you today?”
“I’d be a lot better if you followed my dress-code request.”
“My first day was very stressful, but I believe with time I’ll get the hang of it,” she says. “Thank you so much for asking.”
“Your office is to the left of me,” I say. “Find your way there. Now.”
“I wanted to let you know about a few things I discovered that may make things a bit easier around here.”
“You’ve been here for one day.” I catch a flash of black lace peeking through the neckline of her dress. “I doubt you’ve found anything worth changing.”
“The interns are now on a rotating schedule for bringing your coffee.”
As if on cue, one of them walks into my office and sets a cup down on my desk. He pauses long enough to give Heather a not-so-subtle double take before leaving.
“In addition to the advance copies being alphabetized,” she says, “I arranged them like I organize my bookshelf at home.”
“Are you planning to move in here soon or something?”
“It should be by genre,” she says. “I mean, as a publisher, you’d think you would’ve figured that out long ago.”
“Again, you’ve been here one day.”
“I also have some ideas for promo plans for the upcoming romance releases,” she says. “Theresa and I chatted about it for hours yesterday, and she said she’ll present them to you today.”
So, Theresa is going to be a problem for me too?
“I’m now going to address the long-ass checklist you sent to me at midnight.” There’s a bit of venom behind her smile. “Thank you so much for sending that so late.”
“You’re very welcome, Miss Barrett.” I glance at her office, then back at her. “Can you please step out of my sight now?”
“Gladly.” She walks away, and as much as I try to resist, it’s futile. I watch her ass until she disappears and slams the door.
I spend the rest of the day in my second office, sending her another list just to keep her at a distance.
THE AUTHOR
HEATHER
Wednesday bleeds into Thursday, Thursday into Friday—a blur of empty coffee cups and dog-eared schedules.
And somehow—between being bombarded with hundreds of authors’ release schedules and sitting through endless pitch meetings—I manage to survive three weeks, measuring time in cold takeout boxes and meetings that never end.
But not without wanting to scream every hour…
Any time I complete a task and get a chance to breathe, Mr. Wolfson sends another task to my cell phone without explanation. It buzzes mid-bite, goes off while toothpaste foams in my mouth, buzzes again while I’m flat on my back staring at the ceiling.
I’ve never hated the sound of a vibration more in my life.
When his shoulder brushes mine in the hall, heat spikes so sharp I nearly drop the files in my hands. In the office, his gaze glances off mine and I glue my eyes to anything else—the clock, the potted plant, the crack in the wall—pretending the air between us isn’t humming like a live wire.
Every night my notebook waits on the nightstand, pen clipped to the same blank page, another day gone without a word written.
At the start of week four and upon receiving my first paycheck, I decide that I need to detach from everything in my old indie author life.
I log out of every single one of my social media accounts. Mute my author email. Block every book-related site in my browser’s history—Amazon, Goodreads, Barnes & Noble, The Ripped Bodice, Flutter Bookstore, Whimstery, Audible.
One by one, I log out—every click slamming shut like a door I won’t reopen.
THE CEO
ADRIAN
Sometimes book pitching sessions are as relentlessly long as Red Flag Days. There’s always a chance that we’ll get to hear a storyline that makes the reader inside us jump at the chance to experience the finished book, but I haven’t heard a single decent story today.
I don’t make a habit of sitting in on these sessions, but the agent across from me represents a powerhouse author, so I always give them the courtesy.
I really wish I hadn’t…
To make matters worse, all morning I’ve been trying not to stare at Heather. She’s made it impossible—her hair is pinned up again when all I want is to snatch it down, drag my fingers through it, turn her around and make her submit.
Three weeks of blue balls is more than any man should endure, and she doesn’t have a clue.