26

      On Friday morning Zach was stuck in a staff meeting and finding it hard to concentrate for two reasons. Reason number one—the phone call from Grace that had left his heart aching. Reason number two—the phone call from Nora last night that had left his body aching.

      “And as most of you know,” J.P. said, “in two weeks our Zach Easton will be going west to take over as chief managing editor at the L.A. offices. I’m sure all of you will miss his sunny presence. To quote the old Irish blessing, may the fog rise up to meet you or something like that.” A gentle murmur of laughter rippled through the room. Only that pompous arse Thomas Finley wasn’t laughing, merely smirking as usual.

      Thomas he would not miss. But he would miss his assistant, Mary, and J.P. Of course it was Nora’s presence in his life he’d miss more than anything from his time in New York. She had become the embodiment of the city to him—reckless and wild, fascinating and beautiful, dark and dangerous, so spoiled and so very generous.

      “So two weeks from now,” J.P. continued, “in the conference room we’ll have a going away party for Easton. I suggested all of us go out to the Four Seasons but someone vetoed that suggestion so blame Easton for his half-assed fare-thee-well.” A smattering of playful boos were thrown Zach’s way.

      The meeting concluded and the staff started filing out. Mary gave him a hug on the way out and said, “Take me to California with you,” in a stage whisper in his ear. J.P., standing next to Zach, mouthed, “Not a chance” at her, and Mary departed wearing a faux pout on her face.

      There were friendly shoulder pats and a few hearty handshakes from his fellow editors. Zach turned to ask J.P. something when he heard a smug laugh behind him.

      “How’s Nora’s book coming, Zach?” Thomas Finley asked in his unctuous tone. “Coming hard and coming often?”

      “The work is progressing very well, Thomas,” Zach replied, ignoring Thomas’s childish insinuations. “Thank you for asking.”

      “Cracking the whip, are you?” he asked with a sneer. “Oh, wait, that’s her job.”

      “Finley, that’s enough,” J.P. said, pointing an angry finger on his way out of the conference room. “Our writers deserve our respect.”

      “Respect her?” Thomas snorted as soon as J.P. was gone. “If I paid her to put her boot on my back then maybe I’d respect her.”

      Zach stuffed his papers in his messenger bag.

      “I see Mary was right,” Zach said calmly.

      “Right about what?” Finley demanded, his face reddening.

      “About your professional jealousy. I’m sorry if you thought the position in L.A. should have been yours. The fact that you responded to my promotion with juvenile pranks is proof that you barely deserve this job, much less the chief managing editor position. Publishing is for adults, Thomas. It would help if you acted like one.”

      “Zach, the only reason you got offered that job in L.A. was pure pity. J.P. got wind your wife was dumping you. After all, none of my writers have ever had to sleep their way to a six-figure advance.”

      “None of your writers have ever earned a six-figure advance. And Nora will earn her advance like every other writer I’ve ever worked with—by writing her heart out. Nora and I are not sleeping together. The position is mine because I’m better at this job than you are. And this conversation,” Zach said emphatically, trying to shove past Thomas who stepped in front of the door to bar his way, “is over.”

      “Not sleeping together? Really?” Thomas feigned shock. “Let me guess, she’s out of your price range.”

      “You’re a child, Thomas.”

      “And she’s a prostitute, Easton.”

      Zach blanched and opened his mouth to protest but something stopped him.

      A wide and vicious grin spread across Thomas’s face.

      “Zach, Zach, Zach…you really didn’t know? Nora Sutherlin’s the most famous Dominatrix in this city. I guess she just hasn’t sent you the invoice for her services rendered yet.”

      “I know what she is, what she does in her free time. Her private life is not my concern.”

      “Private life? Easton—it’s not private if you have to pay taxes on it. She does it for money. She is a hooker. Friend of mine shelled out 5K just to watch him tie up and fuck his girlfriend. Do I need to put this in writing for you?”

      Zach pushed Thomas out of the way. Finley’s cackle followed him all the way down the hall.

      Zach stopped in J.P.’s office. J.P. looked up at him with wary eyes.

      “Give me your car keys, J.P.”

      J.P. dug in his pocket.

      “What did he say?”

      “Nothing I’ll repeat until I hear it from her.”

      Zach took the keys and headed to the door.

      “Easton—you’re my only new critic, remember? It’s not supposed to be about the author, just the book.”

      “It’s never just about the book,” Zach said and slammed J.P.’s door behind him.

      * * *

      Nora glanced at her handwritten notes and started typing again. She wanted to quit for the day but knew she had to push through her tiredness. She was getting close to the big crisis in the story and while she looked forward to rewriting the intensely dramatic scene, she also dreaded having to begin the process of ending the book. More than any of her previous books, this one had become her baby, hers and Zach’s, and she loved it more than she ever knew she could love something her own hands had made.

      Nora started to flip a page in her notes but stopped when she heard someone knocking on her door. The insistent knock came again.

      She smiled as she opened the door and saw Zach standing on her porch.

      “You’re making a habit of this, Zach,”