SWNOVELS : Chapter 9
She stared at the computer screen, exhausted. She’d been working 12 to 15 hours a day, every day, for the last two weeks. Saturdays and Sundays included. The first book was done: editing, proofreading, title page and front matter, back page blurb, cover art; even the application for copyright had been sent out.
Saying he had other, more pressing, things on his mind, Connor had Sylvie work with the graphic designer on the cover art for the books. He left it to her to choose the trilogy’s basic cover. The background was obsidian black. The title and Connor’s pen name, Miranda Stark, were imprinted in red and white letters edged in gold. In the upper left corner of the design was a girl in sheer, black lace panties and matching blindfold, her hands bound, her long dark hair strategically arranged to cover her naked breasts. Her lips were stained a glossy crimson to match the lettering in the title. To her right were a flogger and a knife dripping blood. That portion of the cover remained the same for each book. The bottom right corner, however, changed to reflect the events and location of that particular book. The first was a Manhattan skyline at night. The second an aerial shot of Las Vegas glowing with neon. And the third a New Orleans French Quarter streetscape.
He’d approved the design with a terse, emailed ‘OK.’ No pat on the back or praise. No ‘Good job Sylvie!’ No ‘Great work!’ Not even a damn ‘Thank you!’ Lately, Connor had become a man of few words. He was never a jolly sort to begin with, always serious, surly, and brooding. That was bad enough, but now he’d become taciturn and distant as well. And incredibly irritable and ill-tempered. The man had a perpetual stick up his ass! She tried to be understanding and cut him some slack. She knew the current situation weighed heavy on his mind. Sylvie wanted with all her heart to help him, to ease his worry; but how could she when he continually pushed her away and shut her out.
Darkness and gloom was finding its way into his writing as well. What started out as a run-of-the-mill erotic romance had suddenly morphed into an erotic thriller. In the second book of the series, Sam, the ingénue/submissive in the story, is being stalked by a homicidal serial rapist. She’d escaped the man two years before after he’d attacked her on the street and dragged her into the basement of an abandoned building. During the struggle to get away, she managed to wrench the ski mask from his face. She was the only one of his victims who could identify him. She hadn’t posed a threat until he’d inadvertently killed one of his victims. Now, he had to silence her or face justice for his crimes. The original story, meant to titillate female readers, had taken a decidedly dark and sinister turn. It was a case of art imitating life.
There was also a discernable change in Elias, the hero of the story. All through the first book he’d been a romantic dom. A stern and hunky spank you, fuck you kind of guy. He was playful and protective. Demanding and loving. The things he did to Sam were sensual and sexy. In the second book, however, the hero lost some of his luster. He’d veered off the rails, his actions seeming sadistic at times. It made Sylvie extremely uncomfortable. She couldn’t help but wonder if Elias’ character reflected Connor’s innermost desires.
Sylvie was struggling to keep up with all the work. Some days she was completely overwhelmed. The stress was beginning to get to her. She popped aspirin like they were candy, trying to relieve the constant pain in her neck, shoulders, and back. Her muscles were in knots. The medicine, however, caused stomach problems; so in addition to a stiff neck and sore back, she now had an aching belly as well. TJ had called in a masseuse to administer daily massages in an attempt to relieve the tension in her muscles, but it didn’t help. The woman came at 7 AM Monday through Friday before Sylvie started work. She actually needed her at 9 or 10 o’clock at night; the end of the work day, when her muscles were so tight and stiff she couldn’t move her neck without causing pain! At Connor’s insistence, TJ was in the process of finding masseuses to cover evenings seven days a week. He told her to spare no expense. He’d also had TJ order an ergonomic desk and chair setup for Sylvie. He didn’t want her to wind up with back problems. In the interim she’d have to learn to deal with the discomfort, because her workload was increasing rather than decreasing. While their separation left Sylvie in a blue funk, wanting to stay in bed all day, hiding under the covers and wallowing in self-pity, it had the exact opposite effect on Connor. It sparked his genius, making him even more prolific than before.
It was only the 4th of October and they were already 10 chapters into the second book. He was completing a chapter every two days or so. She had no idea anyone could write so fast. The storyline was darkly erotic, with a number of plot twists and subplots. Connor was dictating the story instead of banging it out the old-fashioned way on a keyboard. It was causing huge problems for her. Sylvie was sure he was using the best voice recognition software money could buy; but it wasn’t near good enough! Every page of the manuscript was filled with mistakes. Sometimes the sentences made absolutely no sense. He was either mumbling or the software was unable to understand his diction or the vocabulary he was using. Erotic terms were particularly problematic for the software. Puppy frequently appeared in place of pussy, nibble for nipple, cot for cock, pick for prick; and, inexplicably, talk, or a variation thereof, took the place of fuck in almost every sentence it was used in. Consequently, every time there was a sex scene in the book, and there were plenty, she spent hours trying to decipher what it was he was trying to say. His stiff throbbing cot talked her hot wet puppy hard? Disconcerting to say the least! At first she thought it was funny. However, by the thousandth time, it was anything but! Sylvie had sent him several emails suggesting he do the training exercises that came with the software to increase the level of accuracy. Or, if he didn’t want to do that, at least keep his eyes on the screen while composing and read through the text before sending it to her. Connor wasn’t one to take direction, especially not from an underling. His job was to create; her job was to ‘figure it out!’ She didn’t take umbrage. It wasn’t just her he was irking and ignoring; it was pretty much everyone and everything.
Connor had a reputation for micromanaging every aspect of the book publication process. That is until now. This time he’d dumped it all in Sylvie’s lap. The people in the editorial offices at Hudson Publishing were shocked that he’d entrusted a neophyte with that kind of responsibility. Though displeased, no one voiced an objection. They didn’t dare.
Everyone agreed Connor was a wonderful boss, always concerned with his employees’ welfare and well-being. The benefits he provided were the best in the business. Their salaries were among the highest in the publishing industry. Editors clamored to curry his favor and work with him. He was generous with bonuses and perks, recognizing and praising his employees for their efforts. Always letting them know they were an integral part of the organization. But he didn’t suffer fools or slackers. If you were employed by Connor Hudson… you better be prepared to work and work hard! If you didn’t you’d be shown the door. ‘Firm but fair’ was how everyone described him. Loyal to his staff, he seemed to genuinely care about them. She’d heard stories of people he’d helped, offering generous paid leave for bereavement and personal illness and extending the length of the leaves granted for maternity and adoption. He provided paid family leave enabling his workers to care for sick children, spouses, or parents. Often paying for things insurance didn’t cover and giving interest-free loans when misfortune or disaster befell them. He instituted onsite daycare, flextime, and job sharing for those who needed it. To their way of thinking, their boss was a frigging saint! Sometimes, when she heard them singing his praises, she couldn’t believe they were talking about the same Connor Hudson she knew: the abrasive, hard-hearted, self-centered asshole. That’s why his recent behavior had come as such a shock to everyone.
Sylvie had the misfortune of being at a meeting yesterday morning when the publicity director foolishly called Connor to clarify the timetable for the second book which was being released in early February in time for Valentine’s Day. In addition to arranging the usual print and broadcast interviews, reviews, and holiday-themed media and bookstore events, there was also a line of sexy lingerie coming on the market named after the books called ‘Forever and Always Yours.’
The woman had mistakenly put him on speakerphone so everyone in the room heard when he erupted in rage. She’d had the audacity to disturb him, interrupt his work, and Connor was livid. ‘How the hell should I know what the schedule is? That’s your job! What the hell is the matter with you?’ he yelled while the poor woman cringed, the color quickly draining from her face. ‘I thought I’d made myself clear. I am not available to anyone! How many times do I have to tell you that? Are you stupid? Do you not understand English?’ The woman withered under his tirade, tears filling her eyes. ‘Listen up people! The world can implode or explode; I don’t really give a damn! But whatever happens: be it disaster or doom, chaos or cataclysm…deal with it! I don’t want to be disturbed under any circumstances! Don’t call and waste my time with idiotic questions! I pay you plenty to run this company! Earn your goddamn salaries!’ Having concluded his tirade, he slammed the phone down. Everyone was stunned! He’d never spoken to his employees like that before. They sat staring at one another, not knowing what to do until one of the VPs adjourned the meeting and the lot of them charged out the door, hurrying back to the safety of their offices. From now on they’d be walking around on egg shells when dealing with Mr. Hudson.
Pissed at the way he’d behaved, Sylvie pulled out her cell phone and texted him. ‘You are such a dick! If they gave an award for obnoxious assholes, you’d win hands down!’
Connor texted her back a minute later. ‘Are you deliberately trying to push my buttons? Be advised you broke rules 1, 3, and 5. Not to mention you bothered me after being specifically told not to. Your ass will pay!’
‘Bite me!’ she responded indignantly, adding a frowning, red-faced emoji to the message before turning off her phone.
She wondered if he was treating the executives of the various other corporations he owned like this. She doubted it. He sought out and hired the most competent, intelligent people he could find to manage them all: film production companies, media, gaming, toys, clothing, restaurants, clubs, and hotels, residential and commercial real estate. Connor had his fingers in a lot of pies. He didn’t interfere in the day-to-day operation of his businesses. He gave his executives a free hand to run them as they saw fit…as long as they turned a profit. Connor could decide to embark on an extended sabbatical or drop off the face of the earth for that matter and the corporations would still flourish. That’s how well-run they were. But the publishing house was another story. It was Connor’s first love, his baby. He was intimately involved with every decision made there. Under his direction and utilizing his talent as a writer and ability to gauge what the reading public wanted, the publishing house became the goose that laid golden eggs. It was the catalyst, the incubator, which eventually gave birth to all his various corporations and vast holdings. It had made him a billionaire! Now, his head was somewhere else, mired in an ongoing murder investigation, struggling with feelings of guilt, rage, and regret. It was obvious to her that he felt responsible for all that had happened. So he’d retreated from everything and everyone. Since he couldn’t bring himself to be here right now, he’d sent Sylvie. In effect, throwing her to the wolves!
Sylvie’s position at Hudson Publishing was perplexing. Her first day at the office everyone had been welcoming and friendly. Co-workers had asked her to go to lunch with them, or have coffee in the break room. One had even asked her to join the interns and editorial assistants going out for drinks after work that night. They thought she was Connor’s gofer, the girl who answered the phone at his house in the Adirondacks, his editorial/research assistant. Translation…a peon! But when they realized she was making decisions in Connor’s stead they backed off. A few longtime employees, resentful, questioned her credentials. It was usually one of the executive editors, a senior muckety-muck, who worked on Connor’s books. Certainly not someone they’d never heard of before and who’d only been in the publishing business and on the payroll a mere three months. And who, after being assigned to the office here last month, only showed up for work sporadically. They begrudged how quickly she seemed to be rising in the editorial hierarchy, even though she retained the lowly title of editorial/research assistant, the bottom rung when it came to jobs at Hudson. The only ones lower on the totem pole were the unpaid interns. It was common knowledge that Sylvie had lived and worked at Connor’s mountain house. Nobody seemed to question that at first. But now that she was living at what they snidely referred to as the Park Ave. ‘palace,’ they’d begun to speculate on the nature of Connor and Sylvie’s relationship. Especially since somebody in HR let slip that Sylvie’s salary was almost four times what the other editorial assistants were making. Innuendos and insinuations were rife. Some thought Sylvie was climbing the corporate ladder by sleeping her way to the top! She’d overheard a group of co-workers gossiping last week. One was opining in valley girl speak that ‘she must give really, really, really good head! I mean, like, why else would he…’ Since the girl doing the talking turned beet red and nearly choked when she saw Sylvie coming around the corner, Sylvie assumed they were talking about her. A lot of the younger women on staff drooled over Connor, but he was out of their league and they knew it. They thought he was out of Sylvie’s league too. They were jealous.
But she suspected it wasn’t just envy that made them standoffish. She believed her fellow employees had been warned to keep their distance. Sylvie was sure she’d been designated ‘off-limits’ to her male colleagues when she saw Ira Levine, the Editor in Chief, dressing down a handsome young intern who’d flirted with her. Ira must have also had a word with the female employees as well. She had a sneaking suspicion they’d all been told not to invite her out for drinks, or anything else for that matter, because the invitations ceased. She’d overheard them planning a girls’ night out at some downtown bars and clubs, seeing an off-Broadway show, and organizing a wild weekend in Atlantic City. But no one asked if she’d like to join them. She was sure Connor was behind it. He didn’t want her going out, even with co-workers. He had an obsessive need to oversee every aspect of her life: where she went, who she saw, what she did. When she was in the office, Ira, Mr. Levine, was a constant presence, ever-watchful, always hovering over and around her. Her office, such as it was, had been set up in the conference room next to his. From the moment she arrived in the morning to the moment she left in the evening, she was almost never out of his sight. Also Connor’s doing she was sure. He had people spying on her and following her around wherever she went. If a man came within 10 feet of her, security guards used strong-arm tactics to scare him away. If she left her desk to go to the ladies room or get coffee, Ira would panic and come looking for her. Yesterday, after security roughed up a man who’d run into her as she exited the car on her way into work, she’d had enough and confronted both Mr. Levine and two of her security guards and told them to ‘back the hell off!’
Sylvie was getting tired of being treated like chattel. Connor was positively Victorian, maybe even medieval, in his thinking about women. He was of the opinion that women, like little girls, needed to be looked after. That they were reckless, scatterbrained, overly emotional, and ruled by their hormones; and, therefore, incapable of taking care of themselves. Regrettably, he had the money and power to hire a cadre of security men who acted in loco parentis when it came to Sylvie. She was getting mighty sick of having men she just met, whose names she didn’t know, ordering her around like she was a toddler incapable of rational thought. Connor didn’t like high-powered female executives, professional women. Sure he employed and worked with them, but they weren’t real women as far as he was concerned. They weren’t truly ‘feminine’ as he defined the term. And he certainly didn’t date them. He liked his females dependent, respectful, obedient, and submissive. He was trying to make Sylvie conform to that image. His ‘me Tarzan you Jane’ attitude was fun when they were in bed, fucking like rabbits, but it got old damn fast out of the sack. She could accept his dominance when his spike-hard cock filled her to bursting, when his fingers brought her to violent earth-moving orgasms; but when he ordered her around and treated her like a blithering idiot, not so much! This was especially true when he tried to imply that she didn’t know how to do her job. He’d sent her a couple of really bitchy emails of late telling her he didn’t like some of her edits and suggestions for reworking certain pages of the book He told her she was slowing down progress. Connor didn’t take criticism well. He neither wanted nor tolerated other opinions. He considered himself not only a consummate and prolific writer, but a master storyteller and literary genius as well. One who instinctively knew what readers wanted. Literary genius my ass! He was writing erotic romance…mommy porn, not War and Peace or Gone with the Wind! Humility wasn’t one of Connor’s virtues! He didn’t like being second-guessed by the likes of Sylvie; who he called a ‘never-published, English major, wannabe writer…with a bachelor’s degree no less…not even a master’s!’ Sylvie was supposed to defer to him. Well think again! She was good at her job. In truth, she was better than good at it! And she intended to speak her mind and give him her honest opinion whether he liked it or not. Sex was one thing; that was their personal relationship. She had no objections to his playing ‘master’ in the bedroom. But work was quite another matter! When it came to their business relationship he’d better treat her like the professional she was or she’d hand him his ‘master’ balls on a silver platter. Sylvie tried not to take what he said to heart. Connor was being a prickly pain in the ass about everything lately. But no matter how much he groused about her edits and suggestions, nine times out of ten he followed them to the letter. He just didn’t want her to think she was getting the upper hand. Maybe it was a male thing? No, her father and brothers didn’t act like that. At least not that she remembered. Yes, Matthew and Ben could act like macho jerks at times, but they didn’t hold a candle to Connor when it came to being obnoxious.
She’d fix Connor’s wagon! She’d been laboring on her journal after work and late into the night. She’d given it the title Intimate Pleasures-A Diary of Sexual Awakening. She’d added more dialogue and description, tweaking and rewriting the original text till it read like an erotic love story. The characters names had changed: Sylvie Jenkins was now Sara Jensen and Connor Hudson had become Chase Holland. It was currently a long novella at 45,000 words. But their story wasn’t done yet…not by a long shot. She was thinking about turning it into a trilogy. She’d done quite a bit of reading about self-publishing, the requirements for the various publishing platforms: Kindle Direct, Nook Press, Smashwords, Kobo, and the rest. She’d even gone to a couple of web sites and found ebook covers she liked. They were really affordable, costing anywhere from $40 to $100. She’d already formatted the book for Kindle. All she had to do was upload it. Problem was she didn’t have the nerve. She knew Connor would be furious with her if he found out. Though she’d changed their names and the setting in the story; it was still a blow-by-blow account of their sex life…a very kinky Cinderella story. But weren’t all erotic romances? Connor would never discuss their sex life with anyone, even his closest friends. She couldn’t imagine talking to anyone about it either. Yet she was toying with the idea of consigning it to cyberspace where millions of people could read the most intimate details of their life together. It made for a great story. While it didn’t hold a candle to Connor’s book, it was better than 90% of the erotic romances she’d read. It would be a shame if she didn’t do something with it. She’d altered and embellished it enough so that nobody except the two of them would know for sure who it was about. It was a work of fiction after all…well sort of. It was Connor’s fault she’d written it. Sometimes Sylvie was so lonely, so angry at the situation she found herself in, so angry at him, that she thought it would serve him right. The only thing stopping her was that she feared telling their story would mean the end of them. Connor would view it as a betrayal. The last thing he wanted was his life put out there for public consumption. Sylvie knew it was stupid and childish, but turning the journal into a book was her way of getting back at him for sending her life into a tailspin. She worked on it every day; but it was more to occupy time, give her something to do late at night other than cry. She suspected that S. E. Jenkin’s debut erotic novel would never get published.
She looked at the clock. It was almost 9 PM on a Saturday night and she was sitting alone, wondering what to do with herself. Big night in the big city!
Sylvie couldn’t remember if she’d eaten anything today. Probably not. No wonder she felt like shit! She decided she better put something in her stomach before Connor’s minions alerted him and he accused her of deliberately starving herself. He was such a drama queen! Mrs. Haver always made meals and left them in the fridge for her. The lady was a good cook, so it was usually something delicious. It’s just that Sylvie had no appetite. Still, she had to try to eat. She didn’t want to be on the receiving end of a slew of nasty emails and texts from Connor telling her she was in violation of rule number 6, concerning her health and wellbeing, and that there’d be hell to pay if she didn’t eat something this instant. Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! The man was so annoying! Sylvie grimaced as she got up from the chair, pain seizing her muscles. Her body was so stiff, she found it difficult to straighten up. She was about to leave when the intercom clicked on.
‘Miss Jenkins?’
‘Yes,’ she answered tentatively, wondering what was wrong.
‘Miss Jenkins, this is Dombrowski at the front desk. I hope I’m not disturbing you ma’am, but you have visitors. We’re sending them up.’
Before she could ask him who they were he’d hung up. She couldn’t believe it. This was the first time she had company since she got here. She wondered who they were and what they wanted? Who cares? If they were human and able to carry on a conversation in English, she’d welcome them with open arms. She hurried from the room a smile on her face. Saturday night in the city and she wasn’t going to be alone!