Risqué Business. Tawny Weber

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ

      She sucked in a shuddering breath and shoved a hand through her hair. Her fingers tangled in the knot she’d forgot she’d anchored in place with a pencil. With a wince, she untangled herself and tossed the pencil—along with a few carroty-red hairs she’d yanked out as well—on her father’s desk.

      He glanced at the pencil, then back at her. Then he sighed.

      “I don’t have time to debate this, Delaney. I’m due in a meeting in a few minutes and would like to review my notes. Please—” he waved toward the door “—we’ll discuss it another time.”

      Her fists clenched at her sides, she watched him turn back to his papers. And just like that, he’d dismissed her. As usual. Delaney opened her mouth to tell him just where he could shove his meeting, to demand that he address her questions and really actually listen to her. Those damned tears welled up again, this time out of frustration that he couldn’t—wouldn’t—understand her. Value her. For once. She blinked the tears—and words—back, though. What was the point?

      He’d never paid any attention to her before. Her intellectual achievements were expected, not celebrated. And to Randolph Conner, intellect was the only thing that mattered.

      Her vision now blurred with anger, Delaney grabbed her purse and stormed out of the office.

      She caught a glimpse of herself in the plateglass window. Long, skinny and…brown. She was a baggy mess. The heavy tweed of her ill-fitting suit sagged, her shoulder pads drooped. Just because the Conner family put no value on physical appeal didn’t mean the rest of the world didn’t. With a considering frown, she yanked at the waistband of her suit jacket to mimic a better fit. She captured the strands of hair flying around her face, then tucked them behind her ear. Her shoulders drooped. Still a mess. Definitely not what Belkin had in mind as a more visually appealing assistant.

      Delaney ground her teeth. So what did she do? Give up? Go teach at a different school? Resign herself to invisibility?

      Hell, no.

      She stomped down the hall and planted herself in front of Mindy’s desk.

      “Makeover, huh?” she asked.

      Mindy’s blue eyes bugged out so much she looked like a squished Barbie doll.

      “Really?” The girl scrambled to hand over the magazine, pages tearing in her haste to get it into Delaney’s hands.

      The glossy image promising a sexy, sophisticated change made Delaney pause. Then she lifted her chin. It was time she stopped letting her father decide what had value and what didn’t. After all, that was probably the only way she’d ever learn to put any stock in herself. His assessment definitely wasn’t working in her favor.

      “Instead of a well-earned promotion, I’ve been invited to teach from the comfort of my own home,” Delaney said with a sneer.

      “Huh?”

      “I’m taking over the Internet English curriculum.”

      “I didn’t know we had an Internet English curriculum.”

      “We do now. And it’s all mine. All the better to keep me invisible.”

      Delaney knew she sounded bitter, but she couldn’t help it. She was bitter. And angry. And, not that she wanted to admit it, just a little desperate. After all, her career defined her and that definition had just taken a turn for the worse.

      She glanced at the magazine again. Risqué. That was so not her. What chance did she have of winning? And would it really help? Belkin wanted visually appealing and charismatic. A few swipes of mascara and blush wouldn’t give her that.

      “Did I mention the hiring committee won’t even look at the applications until the fall semester?” Mindy asked. “Even though Belkin’s made his choice, it still has to go before the rest of the committee.”

      Delaney pursed her lips. That would give her six months. She considered for all of three seconds. Change? Or invisibility? Bottom line…invisibility sucked.

      “I’m in,” she declared, ignoring the warning blaring in her head, screaming that decisions made in anger never paid off. “How do I become visible?”

      2

      “YOU HAVE TO ADMIT, sex sells,” Nick Angel declared, leaning back in the butter-soft leather chair and folding his hands behind his head. “And I sell it better than most.”

      “Sure, sure,” Gary Masters, Nick’s literary agent, agreed with a slow nod. “Nobody is saying you don’t do great sex, Nicky. The thing is, this new editor wants more.”

      Nick puffed out a breath. This was the third meeting he’d had in two months over editorial changes. Nick wanted a solid relationship with this new editor. After all, he credited a great deal of his career success to his previous editor. Damned if he didn’t wish she hadn’t retired.

      “More sex?” He frowned, then shrugged. As long as it didn’t compromise the ratio of suspense in his books, he didn’t mind more sex. He’d just cut back on that foreplay crap, hit them hard and fast with the hot-and-wild kink. “I can do that.”

      “Not more sex,” Gary said, his voice a low rumble at odds with the sophisticated gloss of the office. “More emotion.”

      Nick dropped his feet to the floor and frowned. He’d come to New York to meet with Gary, sign his next round of publishing contracts and take in some R&R before heading back to San Francisco. From the way Gary was tapping his pen against the stack of contracts on his desk, there was a little problem or five buried in those papers.

      “He’s suggesting more emotion?”

      “More like demanding.”

      Son of a bitch. “Three books on the New York Times bestseller list and he wants to change the core of my work? You’re kidding, right?”

      “Look, you don’t have to take the demand. We can counter the contract clause. Or we can shop you around. But…”

      “But what?”

      “Well, he’s really pushing the point. He’s backed it with plenty of industry facts, data and even some fan requests. You’re starting to lose your female fan base, which composes over thirty percent of your sales, according to data.”

      Nick gave a bad-tempered grimace. He wrote erotic suspense, not romantic suspense. The only emotions in his books were fear, excitement and lust. Jaw clenched, he bounced his fist on his knee.

      “Look, those numbers came from the publisher. How do you know they aren’t skewed to their advantage?”

      Gary raised a bushy brow. “In the first place, I’m not some green newbie without a clue—I checked with my own sources. In the second place, I’ve had even more mail here requesting you tone down the meaningless sex and give John Savage a softer side. The female fans want emotions. Even your reviewers are starting to band together about this. One just slammed your writing in a national magazine.”

      Nick shrugged his disinterest. Reviewers had their place, but it wasn’t behind his computer keyboard. He wrote for СКАЧАТЬ