Always a wallflower, Sylvie tried her best to blend into the woodwork and not be noticed. She’d gasped when she walked into the room and looked around at the other guests. Everybody who was anybody was here: celebrities, literati, media types, the rich and the famous. She and her ugly dress stuck out like a sore thumb amid all the ‘beautiful people.’ Sylvie was decidedly underdressed for such an elegant event, a soirée held to honor Connor’s book, Battle Weary – Chaos and Carnage, being on the New York Times bestseller list for 52 straight weeks. She was mortified. Compared to everyone else, she looked like something the cat dragged in.
Sylvie should’ve listened to her instincts when the dresses arrived two days ago. They were all hideous! When she put them on, she was instantly transformed into ‘frump girl.’ Even TJ, who always agreed with Connor’s dictums and opinions, no matter how stupid, thought they were ugly and told Sylvie she wouldn’t be caught dead in one. ‘Especially not at a party!’ Not only were the clothes ill-fitting and baggy, but they were out of style, from a bygone era. Like 60 years out of style! Something you’d find in a thrift store trash can among the other ugly discards. The fabrics and patterns looked like what you’d cover a couch with, not wear. The one she had on was the best of the lot and it was ugly as sin! The material was a brown and blue windowpane plaid, with a drop-waisted, gathered skirt and a bodice that was three times too big for the rest of the dress. Her A cup boobs were lost in it, causing the neckline to droop, the arm holes to gape, and the bust to curve inward and flatten, making her appear even more flat-chested than she really was. The seamstress they’d called in to alter the dress said that other than hemming it, there was nothing she could do. She suggested that Sylvie might want to burn it and find something else to wear. There wasn’t time for that since Connor had given her several deadlines which would be difficult to meet even if she stayed at her desk 18 hours a day. Sylvie had no time to shop for anything. She only owned two decent dresses, the ones that Connor had bought her in Ottawa; and they were too summery to wear to a fancy fall event. She had no alternative. She had to wear it and hope for the best. Sylvie tried stuffing wads of tissue into her bra to give her a bust line, but gave up when she realized it made her boobs look not only lumpy but lopsided as well. TJ just about peed her pants laughing when she saw her. Sylvie’s other choice had been a chartreuse, jacquard sack. That one really looked like shit on her. It was as though Connor had set out to make her look like an unattractive dweeb. If that was his intention, he’d succeeded. Everyone was dressed to the teeth in expensive designer cocktail attire. She, on the other hand, looked like she’d rummaged through her grandmother’s attic and pulled out a dress the old lady had worn in the 1950s. She knew some people liked the retro look, but this was ridiculous. Maybe if she’d accessorized with black tights and cowboy or combat boots, wrapped and tied a long scarf round her neck, and maybe tucked her hair up into a slouchy knit beret, she might have been able to pass herself off as a Brooklyn hipster…but it was too late now. She looked like a nerd!
Sylvie was sure this was Connor’s revenge. He was pissed at her for ‘violating his privacy’ and ‘betraying his trust.’ At first she couldn’t figure out how he knew she’d been snooping through his things. But then she realized a man as paranoid as Connor must have security alarms, hidden microphones, and surveillance cameras installed throughout the apartment. Especially in the library, which was filled with rare books and first editions; and in his bedroom, where his watches, rings, and other expensive jewelry were kept.
It took her a while to find the cameras. They’d been placed behind the intricately carved ceiling moldings. Very ingenious really. She’d discovered them by shining a small flashlight over the walls and ceilings of each room. The beam of light reflected off the tiny camera lens. She’d missed her true calling; she should’ve been a detective! Sylvie couldn’t do anything about the cameras she’d found in the rest of the house, but she could damn well do something about the ones in her bedroom and office. Sylvie refused to be spied on. She’d borrowed the housekeeper’s stepladder, the one the staff used to replace light bulbs, dust high spots, and wash the windows and doors opening onto the rooftop terrace and gardens. She covered the lens with purple tack putty. The same stuff she used to stick up the weekly schedules, character notes, plot outlines, and timelines to the wall above her desk. Connor was livid. But there wasn’t much he could do about it. Not from Saranac. Mrs. Haver tried to remove the sticky tack, but Sylvie told her she was wasting her time. The minute the woman walked out of the room, Sylvie would put it right back up again.
Connor was still furious with her. She’d gone over to say hello to him tonight, but he barely acknowledged her. He’d nodded curtly, never speaking or making eye contact, then turned his back on her, cutting her dead. Sylvie couldn’t believe he would snub her like that. She was hurt.
Seanna, on the other hand, had watched the whole exchange and was ecstatic. She loved seeing Sylvie put in her place. Fixing her lips in a big, saccharine-sweet smile, she looked up at Connor adoringly. She wanted him, every well-endowed inch of him! Who wouldn’t? He was a billionaire! And a hottie! They’d been together off and on for years now. But their relationship, such as it was, was fraught with problems. Connor had a roving eye. He didn’t want to be tied down to just one woman. He wasn’t into marriage or long-term relationships. She wouldn’t hear from him for months at a time while he pursued other women, his latest conquests. But in the end, when he tired of them, as he always did; when the romance was over, he always came running back to her. Seanna was patient. Perhaps with ‘little miss nobody’ out of the picture; they could pick up where they’d left off. Seanna put her hand on Connors shoulder possessively; then turned to glare at Sylvie. Her smile was condescending and dismissive, her eyes cold and filled with hatred and loathing.
Sylvie stood her ground, but Connor continued to ignore her. After a few minutes she gave up and stalked away in defeat. Seanna, the bitch, had won this round.
Though Sylvie wouldn’t admit it, Connor had every right to be angry with her. She’d be outraged if he did the same thing to her. Who was she kidding? She’d tear him a new asshole. She’d turned off her phone Sunday night, never realizing he knew she’d been snooping through his things, and was furiously trying to contact her. When she turned her phone back on at 7 AM Monday morning there were 20 irate texts and 10 equally irate emails waiting for her. Still angry and reeling from what she’d found, Sylvie responded by sending him a selfie of her extended middle finger. Not very diplomatic…but if he was pissed about her learning about his secret life, too damn bad! She was angry at him too. He’d kept things from her. She’d gone into this arrangement blindly. Like an innocent lamb to the slaughter. When he said he wanted to be her dom, he hadn’t elaborated and explained all that entailed. He shouldn’t have kept her in the dark about the kinds of things he did to his submissives. The kind of desires and inclinations he had. They were far darker and perverse than anything she could have imagined.
She’d kept her phone turned off all day Monday and Tuesday, deleting everything he sent her. Connor had been more or less incommunicado since she’d been sent to the city. Now, it was her turn! He threw a fit calling security, Mrs. Haver, and TJ, demanding they put her on the line. Sylvie, however, was in no mood to talk to him and refused. From the sound of their conversations, Connor was nearly apoplectic. Mr. Hudson was fuming! He was used to people bowing and scraping, doing his bidding without question. But he could rant and rave all he liked, Sylvie would not be intimidated! ‘Mr. High and Mighty’ better get over himself…pronto! He was not the aggrieved party here…she was!
By Wednesday she was in a better mood. She’d turned her phone back on to call Aunt Tiz’s lawyer, a man named Roger G. Pearly. What a shock that was! All the lewd and erotic figurines her aunt had created over the years had made her very wealthy. Maybe not by Connor Hudson’s standards, but certainly by Sylvie’s. The lawyer, who was the executor of the estate, informed her that according to the terms of the will, Sylvie would inherit the bulk of her aunt’s assets and property. In addition to the land, the house, and all its contents, Sylvie would receive money from the bank accounts her aunt had held in trust for her. They totaled just shy of half a million dollars! And there were stock and bond holdings too, but he hadn’t ascertained their total value yet.
Sylvie wasn’t sure how she felt about getting the lion’s share of the estate and voiced her concerns to the lawyer. He assured her that her father, siblings, and the rest of her extended family had been treated fairly and given generous bequests.
He explained that her aunt was grateful for all Sylvie’s kindness and concern over the years. Her visits when Tiz was sick and ailing. The long trips she’d made and the time she’d spent celebrating holidays and birthdays with her aged aunt. The summer vacations she’d devoted to keeping Tiz company and helping out around the place. And all the phone calls, cards, letters, and gifts she’d sent. The birthday cakes and Christmas cookies she’d baked. Tiz had told the lawyer her great niece had never forgotten or abandoned her. That she was like a ray of sunshine in her life, bringing happiness and cheer, easing her loneliness and despair. Sylvie, she’d told him, was the daughter she’d never had.
He insisted this was what her aunt had wanted and that Sylvie shouldn’t feel guilty. The money was an acknowledgement, a reward for all the love and devotion she’d shown her aunt. The attorney was adamant that Sylvie had to accept the money. That it would be disrespectful to her aunt’s wishes and memory if she didn’t. Sylvie still didn’t feel right about it, but what else could she do?
The lawyer was handling all the necessary arrangements, getting everything switched over to Sylvie’s name. He asked her what she wanted to do with the old Jeep. It had been sitting idle in the driveway for over eight months now and probably didn’t even run anymore. He referred to it as a death trap! An accident waiting to happen! He suggested she junk it; sell it to a scrap metal dealer he knew who’d haul it away for free. Sylvie didn’t necessarily agree with his assessment. She’d learned to drive in that car. Yes, it was a clunker covered with dents, dings, and rust. But it had character! Okay, so the tires on the old jalopy were nearly bald and it needed shocks, a new battery, brakes, and God knows what else. She just couldn’t bring herself to part with Tizzy’s pride and joy. The old lady would never forgive her. She told the lawyer the car was a classic and she wanted to keep it. He tried to talk her out of it, but his words fell on deaf ears. She’d made up her mind and wouldn’t be dissuaded. Since Sylvie couldn’t drive it in its present condition, he asked if she wanted him to contact a local garage he knew of and arrange to get it tuned up, inspected, and in good running order. She agreed, wondering what all his services were going to cost her. When she asked, he told her not to worry about it. His fees had been prepaid; Tizzy had taken care of everything.
The one thing about having money was that it gave her freedom. It was nice knowing that if she walked out the door tomorrow, leaving Connor and her job behind, she wouldn’t starve. She’d survive just fine. Sylvie had been putting every cent she made toward her bills. She’d maxed out her credit card, taking cash advances to make payments on her past-due student loans and a payday loan; and to pay her day-to-day living expenses when she wasn’t earning enough to pay rent and buy groceries before she got the job with Connor. She’d added to her debt by purchasing an overpriced laptop and ereader from an electronics store on the installment plan and then buying a cell phone and $100 worth of minutes when she realized Connor was monitoring her phone calls and emails. The coup de grace was when her sister decided she and her siblings needed to pony up to pay for her Dad’s wedding reception. Even though Connor had gotten her good deals on the wine, bought her a dress, and paid all the traveling expenses incurred for the wedding, she was still in the hole, spending money she didn’t have. She’d finally managed to pay off the principal on the payday loan she’d taken out early last spring. It automatically renewed every two weeks, the amount of the interest owed on it withdrawn from her checking account. That caused problems because she often didn’t have enough money in the account to cover both the interest payments and the checks she’d written. She had to keep taking cash advances to cover them. When she didn’t the checks bounced and she was charged fees by her bank. Those fees were also automatically withdrawn from her account, bouncing more checks, and sending her deeper into debt. It was a nightmare! But she was finally catching up. Her student loan payments were up to date and she was trying to pay down the rest of her bills. Last week she wrote a check for $756, paying off the installment loan for her laptop and ereader. And after that she sent the credit card company one for $1200. She still owed them $1350 which she intended to pay off with her next paycheck. After that she’d be free and clear, debt-free except for her student loan. From now on, when she used her credit card she’d pay it off every month.
She surveyed the room; it appeared as though everybody knew each other. They were huddled in small groups chatting, drinking, and eating canapés. Sylvie was an outsider, so the rest of the guests ignored her. She quietly sipped her champagne and tried to be invisible. She wished she’d let Meagan come along. Her cousin had bombarded her with phone calls, begging to be allowed to accompany her. But Sylvie didn’t think she could bring a guest, so she told her no. Next time she’d bring her. At least then she wouldn’t have to stand around like a socially awkward loser, who nobody talked to or even acknowledged. She scanned the room again and saw a tall, good-looking man staring in her direction. She glanced back over her shoulder, trying to figure out what he was looking at. There was only a blank wall behind her, no paintings, no decorations of any kind. She peeked at him again, this time realizing he was staring straight at her. She nervously turned her attention to the floor, studying her feet. After a minute or two she peered up again. He was gone. Sylvie watched Connor from across the room, receiving the congratulations and adulation of those in attendance. Her jaw clenched in irritation when she saw Seanna’s arm resting on his shoulder, her fingers gently stroking the nape of his neck and playing with the dark curls that grazed his collar. She was hoping he’d shrug her arm off, but he didn’t. He was smiling and actually seemed to be enjoying it. They appeared way too chummy. Sylvie was not amused! She frowned, turning away in disgust, only to be startled by the good-looking man; who was now leaning against the wall right beside her.
‘Hi! I’m Jameson Kant Bryant. And you are?’
‘Sylvie Jenkins,’ she responded. What’s with these rich jerks? Don’t any of them have normal names? And why did he say his name as though she was supposed to recognize it?
‘Glad to meet you Sylvie,’ he greeted her, extending his hand.
Sylvie shook his hand and smiled nervously.
‘Are you in the publishing industry or are you a friend of the author?’ He asked.
‘Both. I work for Mr. Hudson. I’m his editorial assistant.’
‘Yes. I’ve heard about you.’
‘You have?’ Sylvie asked in surprise.
‘Lark Tang told me all about you. She said you were doing the editing on Connor’s new romance trilogy. She said you haven’t been on the job very long, but that you’re a real up-and-comer. She also told me that you don’t work out of the office. That you work from home on your own schedule. Is that true?’
‘Yes,’ she responded. She wasn’t going to tell him it was Connor’s home she worked out of.
‘So you’re a freelance editor then? I thought Connor only used editors on his staff.’
‘I am on the staff, but I report directly to Mr. Hudson.’ Sylvie wondered why he was being so nosy. Her work arrangement with Connor and Hudson Publishing was none of his business.
‘I find that quite interesting. I mean you’re being so new to publishing and yet working alongside one of the most prolific and prosperous writers in the world. You must be one heck of an editor. Please don’t take offense, but really, hiring a lowly editorial assistant to work on one of his books? That’s unheard of! Usually it’s an editorial director with 30 years’ experience.’
‘So I’ve been told!’ she shot back, trying to decide if he was dissing her or not.
‘Tell me, what experience did you have before you went to work for Connor?’
He was getting on her nerves. ‘None! I was a waitress. But I graduated top of my class with a degree in English Literature. So I guess Mr. Hudson thought I was qualified enough to do the job.’ She glared at him, daring him to him to say something.
‘And how do you find working for Connor? I hear he can be a real tyrant when it comes to his books.’
‘He’s demanding, but that’s to be expected. He’s a literary star. His books are his babies. He wants them to be the very best they can be. I don’t think there is anything wrong with that! And you Mr. Bryant, are you a friend or in publishing?’
‘Both, same as you. I was a year ahead of Connor at Collegiate Prep, so we’re old friends; but I also run the family business Bookworm Press. Which brings me to my point. We’ve got 12 distinct imprints now. They cover everything from children’s picture books, to science fiction fantasy, romance, horror, and everything in between. We’re starting a 13th ebook-only imprint which will launch on Valentine’s Day. It will publish erotic romances. They’ll be relatively short, 20,000 to 40,000 word novellas, and a few full length novels, 80,000 words max. Instead of editing the books in-house, we plan to use a network of freelance editors to do the work…people like you. That’s not to say we still won’t be sticklers for a quality story, but the turnaround time between acquiring the book and publishing it will only be two to three months, so we’re not going to be doing extensive rewrites or any major fiddling with the story: plot line, removing or adding characters, that kind of thing. We’ll be working with agents, but will also be accepting electronic submissions from writers in the genre. We’ve contracted with a handful of people to read through the manuscripts and figure out which ones are publishable and which ones aren’t. Then the freelance editors will take over and get the books out. We’re hoping that once the imprint is up and running we’ll be putting out eight to ten new books every month. There’s a lot of money to be made in this area so we’re not going to be greedy. The editors we use will be paid extremely well for their work since we don’t have to pay benefits, and the writers will get higher royalties than the normal publisher/writer split. Would you be interested in taking on projects for us? Remember, the books are short. If you’re as good as Lark says you are, you can probably work only a couple of hours a night for a week or so on a manuscript and have it ready for publication. What do you say?’
Who the fuck was Lark Tang? And why was she trying to get Sylvie to sign on with another publisher. One she’d never heard of! This guy claimed to be one of Connor’s friends? Really? He was trying to steal her away from Hudson Publishing, offering her a job! That was hardly a friendly thing to do, not to mention unethical. ‘I’m very flattered by your offer, but…’ Sylvie stopped short of telling him he could take his offer and cram it. The way things stood now, she had no idea how long she would or could continue working for Connor. Yes, she’d come into some money, but that didn’t mean she could stop working, at least not right away. She might need the money later on to go back to school and get a Masters or perhaps a PhD. Or fix up Tiz’s place or buy a new car, or even travel round the world. She’d heard stories of people blowing through their inheritances in no time flat. Well, she wasn’t going to be one of them. Until she figured out what she was going to do with her life she needed a job, gainful employment. And if it wasn’t working with Connor Hudson, then she’d have to work for someone else. She’d never heard of Bookworm Press before. It was probably just a little independent publisher with a very small list. But work was work; it wouldn’t be prudent to turn him down out of hand, not now when her life was so unsettled. ‘At the moment I’m busy working on Mr. Hudson’s books pretty much 24/7. I don’t have time to work on anything else right now, but I’m certainly interested in your offer and would like to learn more about it. What’s the name of the imprint?’
‘Sweet Seduction.’
Sylvie nodded thoughtfully. ‘I like it.’
‘We were originally going to call the imprint Rapture, but were worried that some people, Evangelical Christians, would think the stories were about the biblical rapture, buy the book, and be scandalized.’
‘I could see that being a problem,’ she agreed, giggling.
‘If you give me your email address, I’ll send you copies of the job description and the contract, and two of the books we’re definitely going to publish. You don’t have to commit right now. But I do hope you’ll consider it.’
Sylvie nodded and began searching her purse for a piece of paper and a pen.
‘Here. Use this,’ he said, handing her one of his cards and his pricey Montblanc pen. ‘Put your email address on the back and your phone number as well.’ He gave her a big toothy smile. ‘Maybe we could discuss editorial opportunities over dinner?’
Sylvie hesitated at first. She didn’t respond. First he wants her to come work for him. Now he wants to take her to dinner? He was cocky, she’d give him that. Connor would have a fit if he knew what was going on here. She glanced over to where he was standing. Seanna was still feeling him up. Oh, what the hell! She gave him both her number and her email address.
Jameson took back the pen and taking another card from his pocket, wrote his cell phone number on the back, and handed it to her. Before he could say anything another voice cut in.
‘Well, well, what do we have here? Two of my favorite people having a tête–à–tête?’
She looked up, surprised to see Drake smirking at her.
‘Jameson you dog. How are you? Long time no see,’ Drake said, slapping him on the shoulder and smiling. They shook hands and exchanged pleasantries for several minutes, talking about a recent charity golf tournament they’d played in; Drake pointedly ignoring her. When their conversation began to wane, he turned to her. ‘And Sylvie,’ he said, looking down his haughty patrician nose at her. ‘How nice to see you too.’ The condescension in his voice was unmistakable. The greeting was an afterthought on his part. He looked her up and down, then quirked his eyebrow reproachfully. He didn’t like her dress either!
‘Hello Drake,’ Sylvie responded coolly, trying to disguise her annoyance. For some reason Drake took perverse delight in making her feel inferior, like low-class trash. A poser pretending to be something she wasn’t, insinuating herself where she wasn’t wanted, attempting to rise above her station. Drake wanted to maintain the distinction between the classes, keep his social distance from lowlifes and peons…like her. Sylvie didn’t want to give the son of a bitch the satisfaction of knowing he was getting under her skin. She gave him a weak smile, a grimace really; then turned her attention back to Jameson.
‘Vic!’ Drake called back over his shoulder. ‘Look who’s here.’
Sylvie stepped back and out of the way as Victor rushed over.
‘Hey guy, good to see you.’ Victor said wrapping Jameson in a bear hug. ‘It’s been a while. When was the last time?’
‘A year ago I think. At a charity function in the Hamptons last summer,’ Jameson informed him.
‘That long!’ Victor said incredulously. ‘I remember we were planning to get together when we got back to the city for drinks and to catch up. So tell me, what’s happening with you? I understand your publishing company is really taking off, giving Connor a run for his money.’
‘It’s astounding! The last two years have been phenomenal for us. We’ve got a couple of dozen bestsellers to our credit, several movie deals, a limited series on HBO and another on STARZ; and now we’re adding a new imprint which we think will do really well. Life is good!’
Sylvie thanked her lucky stars she hadn’t blown Jameson off about the freelance editing job. The guy was legit. If push came to shove and she and Connor parted ways, working for Jameson wouldn’t be such a hardship.
‘That’s great!’ Vic told him, genuinely pleased his friend was doing so well.
‘And you? How’s the investment banking biz? Still raking in millions every day, I’m sure!’
‘Same old, same old’ Victor responded. ‘Did you ever get engaged to that gorgeous, red-headed, debutante-stockbroker you were living with? You said you’d been together a couple of years and were getting pressure from her and her folks to make it permanent. I thought you were serious and wanted to make an honest woman out of her.’
‘No, we broke up. The relationship wasn’t working. She was serious. I wasn’t. I’m not ready to take on the old ball and chain just yet. I’ve still got some wild oats to sow. How about you? Anybody in your life?’
Victor shook his head no.
‘Vic, you remember Sylvie, don’t you?’ Drake asked, grabbing Sylvie by the shoulder and pulling her close to him.
Sylvie stiffened. The last person in the world she’d want to touch her was Drake. He was certainly attractive, but his personality left a lot to be desired. He was an arrogant shit: raised rich, and indulged all his life. Every word he spoke, every facial expression and gesture betrayed an attitude of entitlement. She found him offensive. Everything about him rubbed her the wrong way. She shrugged his arm off.
‘Of course I do,’ Victor chided him. ‘How are you Sylvie? It’s nice to see you again.’
‘Nice to see you too, Victor.’
‘Last time we saw little Sylvie, you’ll recall, she was wandering the streets after enjoying a night on the town. She was kind enough to entertain us with her impromptu dancing, raucous singing, and her sparkling conversation. You could hear her up and down Park Ave. Sadly, she was somewhat under the weather,’ he said, directing his comments to Jameson, ‘Green around the gills actually,’ he sneered. ‘Imbibing too much wine will do that to you.’ He paused, staring at the glass in her hand. ‘I would have thought you’d learned your lesson and sworn off drinking after that. You must have had one hell of a hangover.’
Sylvie cringed with embarrassment, her cheeks turning bright crimson. Flustered, she wished she could come up with a smart-assed rejoinder, but her mind went blank. Seething, she wanted to tell him to fuck off, but didn’t. This was neither the time nor the place for such a confrontation. What with her ugly dress and discount store shoes, her plain hairdo and understated makeup, she already looked out of place here. The last thing she needed was to draw more attention to herself by having words with Drake. ‘It was not one of my better nights,’ she said, glaring at him. ‘Thanks so much for reminding me.’
‘Still charming, I see,’ Jameson interjected, looking askance at Drake. ‘One of these days you’re going to pick on the wrong person and get your comeuppance. You’re lucky the lady didn’t take offense at your feeble attempts at humor and throw her champagne in your face. You’d get no sympathy from me if she had. I think Sylvie is showing great restraint!’
Don’t put any ideas in my head! She was having difficulty keeping her temper in check as it was.
‘Nonsense! Sylvie knows I’m only teasing. Don’t you?
‘Oh, I’ve got your number alright Drake. Tell me, where’s the rest of your motley crew?’
‘Motley crew?’ he asked puzzled.
The man was dense. ‘Your homies? Your homeboys?’ Where had he been living for the last 20 years? Under a rock? Victor and Jameson started laughing. ‘Alex, Nathan, and Sean?’
He frowned at her. ‘Well, aren’t you the funny one! Homies indeed!’ he snorted, not the least bit amused. Sean’s in Saudi Arabia this week. He’s meeting with some sheik. They’re working on an oil deal. But last I heard Alex and Nathan planned to be here. Why do you ask? Are you on the prowl tonight? Looking for another beau?’
‘Hardly!’ she retorted.
‘Sworn off men have you?’ Drake needled. He turned to glance at Connor and Seanna, then gave her a smug grin. ‘Broke your heart did he? I tried to warn you. Connor can be such a cad sometimes. Love ’em and leave ’em, that’s his motto. But you have to admit he’s got good taste. Seanna is at the top of her game tonight. She looks fabulous; and her dress, well…’ he looked Sylvie up and down then made a sour face. ‘A word to the wise…you might want to try a different designer next time!’
Sylvie scowled at him.
‘Not to worry though, you’ve always got me.’ Drake suddenly planted an unwelcome kiss on her lips.
Gross! Sylvie jumped back looking horrified. ‘Thanks but no thanks! Oh, and for future reference, kindly keep your hands and your mouth off me!’ She dragged her fingers across her mouth, letting him know how distasteful she’d found his kiss.
Victor watched his friend, wondering why he was being such a dick. Why was he hitting on Sylvie? For the sheer challenge of it? Sylvie was probably the only woman in the room tonight, married or single, who didn’t want Drake’s attention. Women fell at his feet wherever he went. Sylvie was the exception. It was obvious from the look on her face that she wanted nothing to do with Drake Rowe, billionaire or not!
‘Listen Sylvie,’ Drake announced loudly. ‘They’re playing our song!’ He grabbed her by the waist and began twirling her around like a whirling dervish.
‘What the fu…’ She stopped short, lowering her voice when she saw eyes turning to watch her and Drake. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she hissed at him. Put me down, you idiot! You’re making a scene! Have you taken leave of your senses?’
‘You’re such a stick in the mud Sylvie. Lighten up! Have a little fun!’ Drake admonished her.
Before she could say anything, she saw Connor storming toward them. He didn’t look like a happy camper!
‘Drake, are you harassing one of my employees?’ He asked, his lips curled into a malevolent grin. But Connor’s words were dead serious. He looked like he was ready to punch Drake’s lights out.
‘You’re a mite overprotective…boss man. It’s after working hours and Sylvie’s a big girl. The lady’s a free agent now. She’s not off-limits anymore. Quite frankly, she intrigues me Connor. The little minx is playing hard to get. Normally I wouldn’t be interested in a discard or hand-me-down of yours, but this one’s different. She’s feisty. I’d like to get to know her better. Do you have a problem with that?’
‘The problem is the feelings aren’t mutual! It didn’t look like Sylvie welcomed your attentions from where I was standing halfway across the room. I think you should back off and leave the girl alone.’
Tensions were escalating. Sylvie didn’t know what to do. Part of her wanted to tell Drake that he made her skin crawl and to take a hike; but she was equally PO’d at Connor. Seanna’s hands had been all over him earlier. Sylvie was half expecting her to put her hand down his pants any minute.
All this macho posturing was getting to her. She didn’t know what Drake’s motives were, but Connor…Connor was jealous! She was going to play this hand!
‘I’m fine Connor.’ She slipped her arm through Drake’s. ‘You can go back to Seanna and your guests now,’ she said dismissively. Two could play at this game!
No sooner had she said the words than a hand slapped against Connor’s back. ‘Congrats guy!’ Nathan was smiling broadly as he appeared at Connor’s side, Alex trailing behind him. ‘But Connor, really, this is getting old. What’s this, the 15th or 20th book of yours to be on the bestseller list for a year? I’ve lost count.’
‘Sorry, so have I.’ Connor responded, making light of his comments, even as his eyes remained glued on Sylvie.
‘Way to go Connor! Ignore him. He’s just jealous. Nobody in their right mind would ever throw Nathan a party! The man’s a killjoy, a real downer!’ Alex laughed.
Everybody exchanged greetings and Sylvie was surprised when both Alex and Nathan kissed her on the cheek. She didn’t know what to make of these guys. ‘The six,’ as Connor and his friends called themselves, were a bunch of arrogant, self-centered, pampered rich boys. Used to being flattered and fawned over. They’d been condescending and downright rude to her in the past. So she was at a loss to explain why they were suddenly so friendly, all kissy face and hugs. She was sure they must have ulterior motives, but she couldn’t imagine what they were. Unless, of course, they were trying to recruit her to join the ranks of the bimbos. Her eyes sought out Seanna. She didn’t look like a hussy tonight. She looked perfect, like an angel…damn! No, Sylvie had no illusions about herself. She wasn’t beautiful. She could never be one of their ‘girls.’ Only gorgeous babes need apply! So what was their game? She had no idea, but she wasn’t going to obsess over it. Sylvie didn’t know anybody else at the party; she might as well hang with them for as long as they’d let her. It was better than standing off by herself, propping up a wall. She didn’t know Jameson’s net worth; but Drake, Victor, Alex, and Nathan were all multimillionaire/billionaire types. Sylvie could do worse! Even in her ugly outfit, people wouldn’t think her a complete loser if she hung out with them.
Sylvie couldn’t believe it; she was actually having a good time. She’d danced numerous times with Jameson, Drake, and Victor. Jameson had introduced her to everybody who was anybody in the publishing industry. He told them she was Connor’s editor, which gave her instant cred and status among the attendees. Alex and Nathan had disappeared when Deidre, Bethany, and Caris showed up. Sylvie was in shock; the three women were surprisingly civil to her tonight. What was that about? She surmised that they no longer viewed her as a rival for Connor’s affections. As far as anybody knew he had thrown her over. Sylvie noticed they appeared to be on the outs with Seanna tonight. Their claws were out! They picked apart her designer dress— shitty color, crappy fabric! Her cleavage—resembled a crooked butt crack! The result of a bad boob job she still wouldn’t admit to having! Her plump lips—like a trout’s! Stop with the Juvederm and Restylane already! Her face—frozen! Too much Botox! Sylvie noticed each of them giving Seanna the evil eye at one time or another during the evening. Seems Connor was considered the prize catch of the group, the brass ring on the merry-go-round. He was a heartbreaker to be sure!
The party ended at midnight. Jameson offered to take her home, but she told him no. She had a limo waiting. He kissed her when he left, and not on the cheek. He’d gone for a home run, smack on the lips. When he stuck his tongue in her mouth, she pulled away. Sylvie was drunk, but not that drunk! She scarcely knew the man!
She watched him go, then noticed Drake staring at her. He walked over to Sylvie and issued a warning. ‘Watch out for him, Sylvie. He’s a player and he’s moving in for the kill. He wants you!’
‘Yeah, right!’ Sylvie said dismissively. ‘I hate to tell you. Jameson’s looking for an editor, not a lover!’
‘That’s what you think. Jameson has this thing with Connor. It’s been going on for years, ever since we were in high school. Whatever Connor has, Jameson wants: a publishing company, a Porsche, a Bentley, a penthouse in Manhattan, a villa in Italy, a vineyard in France. Nothing would make him happier than having a go at his rival’s ex. Connor couldn’t keep you, but Jameson will sure as hell try. Be careful Sylvie, the guy’s up to something. He knows you’re important to Con. If not as his girlfriend…then as his editor. Knowing that…Jameson will come after you. He’s got your scent now. He’s a predator and you’re his prey.’
Sylvie just stared at Drake. ‘You make him sound scary.’
‘That’s because he is! He fixates on whatever Connor has. And Connor has you. He’s been trying to one-up him for years. He’ll try to lure you away. Mark my words.’
Sylvie didn’t know if she should feel flattered or frightened. She thought Jameson was nice, but this whole competition thing…that was fucking creepy! She felt the hackles on the back of her neck rise. Just how far would Jameson take this competition with Connor? Had he gone after Connor’s girlfriends before? Sylvie got a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.
Drake, Victor, and the rest of the crew didn’t want the party to end and talked her into joining them for drinks at the hotel bar downstairs. She’d had five glasses of champagne already. One more wouldn’t kill her! She really didn’t want to go home to a dark apartment; especially knowing Connor was somewhere with Seanna.
It was 2 AM when she left the bar. She was surprised when Drake walked her out to the limo, but even more surprised when he took her in his arms and kissed her. It wasn’t the friendly kiss she’d been expecting, it was…Jesus, what exactly was it? It was hot and steamy, demanding and passionate. And it scared the everlovin’ hell out of her! Drake was Connor’s best friend. He wasn’t supposed to be doing this. Even if he did think Connor didn’t want her anymore. It wasn’t right! Sylvie pushed him away. She was trembling when she hurriedly slid into the backseat. His eyes were riveted on her. Shivers ran up her spine, her body visibly shaking. He smiled when he saw her reaction. ‘I’ll be in touch,’ he said, winking at her. He shut the door, then stood on the curb, watching as the limo drove off into the night.
