Lyon on a Leash (21 page)

“They’re doing okay. I’m still working on them.” Her voice sounded hollow. He knew she would rather talk about anything else.

“Renita, you were going to give me the address of that shop we were talking about,” Marguerite said.

“What kind of stories do you write?” Susan asked.

“Detective mysteries.”

He rubbed her arm.

“Wow, that’s exciting. I have a friend who’s an editor in New York. She and I went to college together. I can have her look at your manuscript if you want.”

Marcus’ stomach dropped. He heard the small gasp of excitement his Mistress made and knew they’d have that conversation regarding her manuscript soon. Hopefully tomorrow. Tonight he wanted to—

“Ask Marcus, he’s read them.”

He caught the tail end of her comment. Dread filled him. Why hadn’t he given her the feedback she’d wanted before now? He’d been afraid of hurting her feelings.
Damn.

“Don’t bother asking him, he’s going to love anything you do. Have you read it, Marguerite?” Susan asked. The drinks she’d been tossing back had loosened her up to the point she must’ve thought they were all friends.

“No, I haven’t read either of them yet.” She eyed Marcus and then Vera. “But I will. Maybe this weekend.”

“Vera said you’re creating her website and blog for her series, Marcus. How’s that going?” Renita asked, failing to pick up on the fact that neither he nor Vera were saying much.

He nodded. “Yeah, I’m working on creating a virtual part of her story. As soon as it’s launched I want everyone to go and Like her page.”

Renita nodded. Ahmed looked at him soberly. Brinks had a cunning look on his face. Marcus waited for the hammer to drop.

“What’s the storyline?” Brinks asked.

“Yeah, Marcus. You read it, what’s the story about?” a slightly tipsy Susan asked.

He felt everyone’s stare. But his Mistress’ look had him wiping his lips in preparation to respond. “It’s a story about a cop who believes American justice should be for everyone. But the town he lives in is corrupt and his life is in danger as he tries to keep this innocent girl alive.” He paused, hoping he’d gotten the confusing storyline correct.

“It’s a great story,” he lied.

Vera walked, unseeing, into her bedroom. The pain in her chest threatened to choke her. Myriad competing thoughts threatened to drive her crazy as they competed for her attention. Why hadn’t he told her? She felt like a fool sitting next to him unable to speak at his recital of her story. Was that the reason he hadn’t created her web-page yet? Was it her writing, or his reading?

Dizziness assailed her as threads of failure laced across her chest, tightening until she could barely breathe. It was too much. This was her dream, damn it. She refused to let it die.
What if it is already dead
? Writing, her silent release mechanism, kept her grounded.

Granted, she hadn’t written as much since Marcus had come into her life, but still. The thought of not being able to write both the whimsical and dark things she saw in her mind scared her.

Arms crossed tight across her chest, she waited until Marcus closed the door behind him and then lashed out. “A cop who believes American justice should be for everyone?” Her body vibrated with anger, and some hurt, as she spun around. “Where the hell did you get that idea? He’s a corrupt cop who partners with the girl to kill some of the people in their small town.”

His eyes widened. She had seen him read the manuscript. How had he gotten it so wrong? “Were you playing around tonight, or do you really have no idea what my story is about?”

He rubbed the back of his neck and then removed his tie and the black, fitted jacket. The dark fabric clung like a jealous lover as he pulled it from his shoulders. Determined not to be sidetracked by the concerned look in his eyes, she averted her gaze and gave the rest of his body the once-over.

Tonight he’d looked like he’d stepped out of the pages of GQ. Women had been checking him out from the time the two of them had stepped out of his Beemer. They’d made quite an entrance, him in his black formal, her in her shimmering, golden brown gown, which showed quite a bit of thigh. It had been nice. Even when Marcus had baited Brinks with his touches and kisses on her, it had been fun watching her boss squirm. All that had ended as she’d listened in horrified silence as Marcus completely missed the point of her story.

“I didn’t understand it,” he finally said as he turned toward her, his face a mask of distress. “The hero was all over the place. It took me a few chapters before I realized the person I thought was the bad guy was the good guy, or vice versa. I can’t remember which, exactly, right now. To answer your question….” He paused. “I have no idea what your story is about and I read both of them twice.”

It was all she could do not to grab her chest. The pain of his words slid deep, with the force of a battering ram, against her shaky confidence. Her face grew hot as the seeds of his words found fertile ground. What did he mean, he didn’t understand it? All he had to do was read it.
He did read it
.
He can read it again
.

Heartsick, she bit her lip. “You’re saying something is wrong with my story?” Her voice cracked and she hated it. But they were committed to honesty, no matter how much it hurt.

“I’m saying I don’t understand it the way it’s written right now.”

She noticed his carefully constructed sentence and released a breath. She could work with that. “What didn’t you understand? Give me an example.”

“Okay. How old is the teenager?”

She frowned. “What teenager?”

He nodded. “Exactly, you talk about this girl and all the things she does. Is she an adult? If so, why is she at the schoolhouse when she works at a restaurant after school? I thought there were three different girls.”

“There’s just the one,” she said, frowning. That was a problem she needed to fix. “Okay, another.”

“The police officer. He saved the older woman.”

She nodded.

“But then he allowed the girl to kill the girls in the gym. He was there in the building. He watched and then arrested her. But he could have prevented it. There was no reason to his actions. I still don’t understand why they teamed up. The story never really explains their connection.”

“He dated her brother and people drove him out of town when he was younger.” She frowned, not understanding how he missed that.

“She had a gay brother? The cop was gay?” He shook his head. “Mistress, your story sounds like an interesting story. But not the way it’s written.”

Anger rose up and choked her. She had been working on those stories for years. Hours when she could have been shopping, or going to a movie, she’d sat before her laptop and poured herself into her manuscript. Sure, she might have made some mistakes, but he had no right—none—to just say it was poorly written.

“Why didn’t you tell me this after you read it?” In her anger, she didn’t want to look at him and turned around. He was supposed to have her back, not stab her in it.

“I was waiting until you brought it up.”

“You were scared to bring it up,” she countered.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Why? You had no problems embarrassing me in front of my friends, my co-workers. Why didn’t you pull me aside and tell me you thought my writing was piss-poor?” She didn’t exactly yell, but she was happy Marguerite and her boys were upstairs.

“I don’t think your writing is piss-poor, I just didn’t understand the story you wrote.”

She glanced over her shoulder, steeling herself against the bleakness in his eyes. “So you don’t think I should use Susan’s editorial connection and submit my story?”

He straightened and met her stare. “No ma’am. I don’t think it’s ready.”

Turning slowly, she faced him. “You should’ve told me how you felt immediately.”

“Yes, I should have.”

A mixture of embarrassment, pain, and disillusionment filled her. “If you had told me your thoughts about my writing, do you think I would have allowed it to be a topic of discussion tonight?” She waited to hear his defense. He was supposed to look out for her and he’d failed.

“No, ma’am. You would have steered the conversation into another area. By not giving you my honest opinion after I read the manuscript, I left that door open, caused you embarrassment. I apologize. It will never happen again.”

Damn right, it won’t happen again
. She’d never allow him to read anything she wrote again. “Did you begin the web pages? Or start designing the blog?”

“Yes, I have.”

“Show me what you’ve done.” Tonight, she’d star in the role of a masochist for wanting to see his ideas of her stories. They headed to his office. After he booted up his computer, he pointed to a screen on the wall. As it flickered to life, she tried to calm her queasy stomach.

“I have three to show you. The first one is the town, based on your descriptions. See the school, the circle, and the other buildings.”

She looked at the town that had only been in her mind and was pleased with his interpretation. It was better than hers. As she watched the other mock-ups he had created for her web page, she came to a decision. She was going to get a professional editor to help her fix her story. Marcus and the rejection slips she’d received couldn’t all be wrong.

“Beginning tonight, we go to level one protocol.” A spasm of pain crossed his face. “You should’ve told me your thoughts no matter how you thought I’d received them. As much as it hurts knowing my writing is flawed, it disturbs me to know you knew and didn’t share this with me. There must be open communication between us at all times.”

He stood silent before her.

“Recite level-one protocol so I know you understand your punishment.”

“Level-one protocol. There is to be no talking, no touching, no sitting or eating meals together. I am denied your company, your presence, and your voice until you deem otherwise. I will serve you as a ghost, silent and unseen.” The pain in his voice lashed at her. Marcus was an extremely affectionate person; to punish him by refusing to allow him to touch her or spend time in her presence was worse than giving him fifty or a hundred blows with her crop.

“You will continue your duties but under level one. Do you understand, Marcus?”

He released a deep breath. “Yes, Mistress.”

Uneasy over the severity of the punishment, she walked quickly toward the door, trying to reach it before she changed her mind. Not receiving his touch would be just as hard for her.

“How long?” The tiny question reached her in the hallway.

“I’ll let you know.” She strode to her room and closed the door. Kicking off her shoes, she struggled to get out of her dress. It took much longer without assistance, but that was to be the way of things for the next few days. After washing her face and preparing for bed, she pulled back the covers and sat down. Next, she grabbed her laptop and read her manuscript. It couldn’t be as bad as Marcus said, could it?

Three hours later, her shoulders were cramped and her eyes burned. In her mind, she knew every detail of the story. But she’d failed to spell out those things on paper. There were huge gaps, information missing. She rubbed her forehead. A massage would be perfect right now.

An hour ago, a silent Marcus had brought her a cup of herbal tea. It was strange not talking to him but she knew this was something she had to remain strong on no matter how much she missed him lying next to her.

The next morning, Marguerite, James, and Reeves walked into the dining room, where Marcus had laid out a serious spread. Vera glanced at him, wondering if he had been able to get any sleep. She’d tossed and turned a significant portion of the night. After her company departed she planned to take a nap.

“Morning,” Vera said to her guests as they filled their plates. Marcus stood against the wall, dressed in a T-shirt and jogging pants, making sure the mini-buffet had everything they needed.

“Morning,” Marguerite said as she passed Marcus, who didn’t speak. Her brow arched as she turned to Vera.

“Level one,” Vera said as she filled her plate.

Marguerite nodded. She pointed to the items she wanted and Reeves placed them on her plate. When she was done, he waited until she sat and positioned the dish in front of her. James sat on her right side while Reeves placed a hot cup of coffee in front of her. He looked around and then poured her a glass of ice water.

“You sleep okay?” Vera asked, trying to ignore Marcus as he placed a glass of water next to her plate. His woodsy scent competed with the yummy aromas wafting from her plate. She bit back the comment she was about to make. The food looked good, but not as good as Marcus.

“Yes, thanks. I slept real good. Last night was a hoot. Seeing Brinks blowing steam out his ass made my day. Ahmed had been waiting for him to cross a line, but he was too much of a punk to do anything last night. Lord knows I wanted to see Marcus kick his ass.” She laughed.

Vera glanced around for Marcus, but he had left the room.