Bobby Transformed

“Okay, well that says a lot right there. I guess I got my wires crossed and thought you might want more. Now my agent is telling me to walk on fucking eggshells not to piss you off, so you don’t crush my book or something. So, here’s the deal. If you wanna control me, Mr. Rickard, then you need to give that shit up ’cause I’m not someone to control or manipulate. I’m my own man and all I owe you—or really, all I owe your company—is what we have contracted.” I was beginning to feel my juices flowing. “I offer you respect, and when I fuck up, I apologize like a respectable person. But you aren’t better than me, and if you plan on crushing my writing ‘cause I don’t bow down and kiss your fucking feet, then you can shove all of it.”

I turned to leave and didn’t even notice he’d gotten up out of his seat. When I turned around, just about to blow my final gasket, he took my face gently in his hands and said, “Yes.”

I couldn’t for the life of me understand what he was saying yes to.

“Yes, what?”

He smiled, the crooked way people do when they’re being a little ornery, and said, “You asked me if I’m interested in you for more than just the books you write, and the answer is yes. It might be stupid, could be inappropriate, but the answer is still yes.”

I stared at him for a long moment and still on an adrenaline high, reached up and pulled him down to me, crushing my mouth into his. He returned my kiss with equal passion, the two of us tangled into each other, when Irene cleared her throat.

I pulled back so fast and so far, that I bumped into the wall of books that stood next to the doorway.

Irene was obviously trying not to smile, and she kept her head bowed. When I looked at Liam, his face was glowing red, but his eyes were on me like an animal about to attack prey.

I pulled in a breath as Irene said, “Your lunch appointment is here,” and darted out the door.

“Fuck.” I said in a whisper, afraid the person he was meeting next would hear me. I was just about to leave when an older woman walked into the room. She was tall and thin, the perfect mix of New York sophistication. Her hair was coiffed beautifully and the aroma that came in with her was intense and expensive.

She looked over at Liam, then at me, and cocked her eyebrow in the same way Liam usually did.

Fuck, it’s his mother. Of course, it’s his mother.

“Well, Mr. Rickard,” I quickly recovered. “I think that pretty much covers my questions.”

Even saying that made me blush, and when the woman noticed she laughed out loud. I had visions of Christine Baranski on the Good Fight right before she filleted someone.

“I’ll leave you to your next appointment,” I said, ready to run like a scared child from the room.

“Oh, no you’re not,” she said, stopping me dead in my tracks. “I see I’ve come at an inopportune time, which, of course, is a mother’s greatest achievement. Mister…”

She waited for me to give her my name.

“Devereaux,” I said, ready to wilt and die.

Her eyes got big and she looked over at her son, who was clearly equally mortified. Which, truthfully, gave me more satisfaction than it should have.

“You are Mr. Bobby Devereaux, star writer of our latest books?” she asked. “That’s lovely,” she purred, and looked back at Liam. “I’m sure your father will be very pleased. Mr. Devereaux, it would be a huge honor if you’d join us for lunch. Wouldn’t it, darling?”