“You’re writing my book for me and I get to fuck you? Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’m getting the better side.” He gently pulls out and goes back to the bathroom to take care of things, and I move, diving under blankets that feel like a fucking cloud.
While he’s gone, I glance at the nightstand and see a picture of Malik and an older man that looks like a carbon copy of what he might in a few decades.
Malik finds me buried when he comes back, and laughs. “Comfortable?”
“Yes.”
He slips beneath the comforter and we find each other beneath the blankets. It’s been a long time since I’ve been held skin on skin. “This is the last thing I expected,” I whisper.
“Same,” he says.
“Is that your dad?” I nod my head at the picture.
Malik immediately goes stiff, and his face is cold. Sad. “Yeah. It is.”
Okay, there’s something there, but I’m not going to touch that one right now. So, I lean up and lightly kiss him. “Tomorrow I need to go home to get things. Then I’ll be back and writing words.”
He relaxes again, and in the dim light I see him smile. “And I’ll be waiting for you as soon as you’re finished.”
Warm, happy, and spent, I sleep.
Malik
The days slip by, and ten days after Erin starts staying at my apartment, it’s crazy how natural it feels. She disappears into the small office for the day, and after, I pull her upstairs and we fuck like rabbits until we’re hungry or too tired to continue.
I’ve tied her to my bed and teased her till she was begging. I’ve reenacted her favorite scenes from my books, and some of mine as well. Everything between us matches up. She doesn’t care about the age difference and neither do I. Her version of submission is perfect for me. There’s nothing that I don’t like about this arrangement, and frankly, time is moving far too fast for me.
After the sex, I read her pages, and we talk. About life. About writing. She makes suggestions to the outline that are brilliant, and I want her to take them and run.
This is the happiest I’ve been since everything started happening with my dad. But thankfully Erin hasn’t asked about him again since that first night in bed. I want to tell her everything, but it’s so heavy and so full of emotion, I don’t want to dampen what we have. Not yet, anyway.
Michael calls. He wants to talk about how things are going, but Michael is meticulously paranoid, and doesn’t want to talk about ghostwriting over the phone. His paranoia has served me well in the past, so I don’t mind.
Erin’s at her apartment switching out her clothes, and it’s still hours until I’m meant to drown her in pleasure, so I head down to his office.
I love New York, but Michael’s office is in my least favorite neighborhood, the Financial District. It’s all high rises and concrete, no green space whatsoever. There are other neighborhoods in Manhattan and the other boroughs that are far nicer.
But at least it’s a direct shot on the subway.
Michael’s receptionist waves me back toward his office, and I let myself in. It’s still early in the afternoon, but he already has a glass of whiskey in his hand. A pretty common sight. It’s actually gotten more common in the last couple of years.
When was the last time I came to the office that Michael hadn’t been drinking?
“That was fast,” he says.
I shrug. “I had the time.”
“I imagine so, since you’re not writing at the moment.”
His tone is snide, but I decide to ignore the dig, since the fact that I’m not writing was his idea in the first place. Michael offers me a drink, but I shake my head. I don’t want to encourage the early drinking. I’ve participated before, but now…something feels different, and I can’t put my finger on what.
“How’s it going with Erin?” he asks.
I sit down in one of the plush chairs by his desk before answering. “Great, actually. She’s got talent and she’s really embraced the outline and the story.”
“That’s good to hear. And anything else?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well,” he smirks, “she’s young, beautiful, your type.”
Michael doesn’t need to know the extent of my physical relationship with Erin, but something occurs to me that makes my blood cold. “Did you pick Erin because you thought I’d want to fuck her?”
It’s Michael’s turn to shrug. “Not necessarily, but I didn’t think it would hurt your muse any to be working with someone like that. Barely-eighteen is en vogue, or so the rich celebrities seem to think if you follow the papers.” He snorts.
I narrow my eyes in anger. “I thought you picked her because she could write.”
“That too,” he says, downing what’s left of his drink.
While he’s over at the bar refilling the glass, I ask the question that I’ve been dying to ask the whole time. “Speaking of her writing, she is really good. I’ve read things from your other clients that weren’t half as good that you sold. So why haven’t you gotten her something? From what she tells me she’s been working hard to improve, and from what I’ve seen, her writing deserves to be out there. Why have her ghostwriting for someone like me?”
Michael laughs, and the tone of that laugh makes my skin crawl. “She definitely deserves to be published.”
“Then why isn’t she?”
He smirks at me. “Because it’s more beneficial to have her eager and wanting to be published. Do you think she would have agreed to write for you if she had her own publishing schedule?”
I shake my head warily. “No, but that’s all right. I would have made things work.”
“Right,” Michael snorts. “After all the delays, I have total confidence in that.”
“You know what, Michael? You know what’s been going on in my life. It’s not easy. And after ten years of meeting deadlines, I think the world would be okay if I missed one. Lucky for you I have a vested interest in making this deadline. But I want to know the real reason you haven’t sent Erin’s book on sub.”
His eyes turn hard and angry. “Why are you so interested in this?”
“Because you took a chance on me when I was new to the industry, and we both know that my writing was not nearly as polished as hers is now.”
“Fine,” he sighs and sits at his desk heavily, taking a swig of his drink. “You want to know? I’m not convinced she’s dedicated.”
A creeping suspicion crawls into my mind, but I don’t want to believe it. He’s not actually saying that…is he? “What the hell does that mean?”
He smiles, and it’s the worst thing that I’ve ever seen. “Come on, man. You get it. I know you do, you horny old dog.”
“Michael,” I growl.
“Jesus. Don’t get offended. I’m saying she hasn’t asked me properly yet. Until she’s desperate enough to get on her knees and beg me to be published with those pretty lips around my cock or bent over my desk, then she’ll be ghost writing. Or re-writing. Whatever the fuck I tell her to do because she does what she’s told.”
Rage fills my chest so fast that it hurts. Because Erin does do what she’s told. But only when it’s because that’s what she wants to do. And her kneeling in submission is the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen.
But this-this is beyond disgusting. I don’t know when Michael changed and became a creep, but it’s disturbing. Even more disturbing is the thought that maybe he was always this way and I wasn’t paying enough attention to see it.
There’s nothing I can say. It’s only silence in the office, and finally Michael rolls his eyes. “What? It’s not like you didn’t think about fucking her teenage ass the moment you walked in the room. I saw you looking her up and down.”
“I would never hold someone’s dream or career opportunities hostage for sex,” I say quietly. “And I didn’t think that you were the kind of person that would do that either.”
He shrugs. “There are worse things. You’re right, she’s talented. But that’s not enough. You of all people know that this is all about who you know, and until she decides to know me, then she’ll stay where she is. She’s not quite desperate yet enough to offer, but she’ll get there.”
My stomach roils. He’s done this before. That’s clear. And not only that, but he’s making it seem like it’s their idea. I need to get the hell out of here.
Standing, I head for the door.
“Where the hell are you going?”
“Anywhere that’s not here.”
“We’re not finished talking.”
I turn with my hand on the doorknob. “Oh, I think that we are.” I make sure the door slams shut before he can say anything else.
My thoughts are spinning. Michael is a snake. I was either too self-absorbed to see it earlier or he hid it better, but I feel sick having let him so close to my career for so long. How many times has he used my name to woo female writers into being his client only to push them to the edge so they fuck him?
Fucking hell. The minute I turn in this book, he gets a shit ton of money. He’s already gotten a ton of money from the advance. And if the book goes through, he will be entitled to royalties from it forever. I don’t want him getting another cent from me.
I need to call my lawyer and see if he can find any loopholes. Or have them make sure that Michael never has direct contact with me ever again. Maybe there’s some kind of legal action that I can take to get him away from any of his female clients.