CHAPTER 1
Gabrielle
A thong.
Nope. Not just one. A studded, black thong and a matching hood in one hanger. The other had a star spangled set of…whatever the hell this strappy thing was.
I rose from my chair behind my desk and stabbed the sequined red, white and blue Lycra with my pen, taking it off the hanger. Then I shoved it in the space between me and Sadie, my intern. “When you pickedthatfrom the dry cleaners, you really thought it’s what I’m going to wear for the ceremony tonight?”
She shrugged. “It’s a masquerade.”
My eyes popped for a second as her insane logic put murderous thoughts in my head. “At the Indie Publisher Association Award ceremony, not at a strip club.”
A chuckle escaped her. I was losing it—the event was starting in eight hours, my dress was MIA, traded with stripper costumes, and I had absolutely no time to go shopping—and she wasamused.
I pushed my glasses up and pinched the bridge of my nose at the same time, wondering what I’d done so wrong in my life to have a twenty-one-year-old moron like Sadie as my intern.
The answer punched me in the chest—in the boob—as it’d always done. Every day. With every breath.
I’d done a lot. A person who made my mistakes deserved hell, not just a terrible assistant in training.
Shaking my head at the memory and the pang of guilt threatening to knock the air out of my lungs, I took a more examining look at the thongs to distract me.
The size of the star spangled front shifted my focus back to Sadie’s insane logic. This thong belonged to a man. With impressive junk. “Do you even realize these are not women’s…clothes?”
Her shoulder was lifting again, and it took all my energy not to snap. “Don’t answer that. In fact, don’t do anything anymore.” I squared my shoulders as she just stared back at me. I had no doubt she didn’t understand what I was saying. “Sadie, I’m afraid you can no longer finish your internship at Brighton Press. Please stop by the HR office. They will explain everything.”
She squinted at me. “Does that mean I’m fired?”
The uncertainty in her voice and suspicion in her eyes made me want to laugh and cry simultaneously. What else did I need to say to make her understand? “With a heavy heart, I have to say yes.”
“Why?” she asked as if I stabbed her in the back. “I’ve done everything you asked me to do.”
“Wrong. You’ve done everything I asked you to dowrong.” I sighed. “Sadie, I’ve tried to keep you as long as possible, hoping you’ll learn. But after two whole months of messing up…everything, even the simplest tasks like getting the coffee order right or picking up the correct laundry, I can no longer train you for the assistant position.”
Her jaw dropped. “You’re firing me for bringing you mocha lattes instead of Americanos?”
“No. For spilling mocha lattes on my silk blouses and failing to remember, even now, that I drink cappuccinos and macchiatos not Americanos. And most importantly, for bringing me thongs to wear on one of the most important days of my life.”
“I… You’re so mean!” She stomped her way out of the office.
How did I wind up to be the villain in this story? My gaze dropped to the patriotic strings hanging on my pen. Other than the Fourth of July, when would someone wear this? Wasn’t it a sign of disrespect to wear the flag as an article of clothing, let alone shimmering strips of Lycra that got wedged up in a butt? I twisted the pen and noticed the sequins that were on the back, too. Wouldn’t that itch once it got all up in his crack?
I moved to the other hanger, inspecting the leather costume. With all the BDSM novels we’d published, maybe I could go to the ceremony dressed as a dominatrix. I did have the right boots that would go really well with this outfit. I could be an internet sensation.
“Nice thong.”
Startled at the voice I wanted to strangle in its owner’s throat, I glared up, jarred by the unwelcome view of Michael Fletcher at the door frame. He smirked as he ambled inside my office without an invitation. I swore at Sadie in my head for leaving my door open. “Are you wearing this tonight?”
Quickly, I dropped the pen and hid the two costumes in the laundry bag. “I don’t recall we have an appointment today, Fletcher.”
He unbuttoned his suit jacket, his pale blue shirt tight across his chest and abdomen, and sat. The navy blue suit and the shirt made his matching eyes sparkle with a predatory gleam. Not the good kind. “Good morning to you, too, Gabi.”
There was nothing good about this morning. I lost my brand new black dress that hugged me like a second skin without a single itch, fired my intern, would have to pin all her duties on Zoey, my secretary, who already had enough on her plate, and figure out how I was going to get a new dress in less than seven hours. I really didn’t need to have a repugnant, unplanned meeting with the person who wanted to erase everything my husband and I had ever worked for and wipe Brighton from existence.
I shot an angry stare at the blond jerk. “Mrs. Brighton.”
“Not anymore. Jack has been dead for three years now.”
