And now, as I walked down Avenue of the Americas, trying to fit in once again with this crazy, chaotic city, I wished I were back home in my condo, staring at the blank pages of my notebook.
Although I’d been inspired for that brief twenty-four hours, I’d found that my creative streak had been short-lived. I hadn’t written anything else in more than a week. I tried not to think about why that was, or whether or not Presley Abrams had something to do with it, but the only thing I could seem to do was think about her. Often.
I thought about what it would be like to kiss her, to taste her, to make her buck against me. I imagined her smooth, warm skin in my palms, her nipples against my lips, her…
Yeah, that was the shit I was thinking about.
Only it didn’t help and was certainly not translating on paper. It was, however, giving my hand quite the workout. I felt like a teenager again, jacking off several times a day just to keep myself sane, only it never seemed to help. And though I could’ve easily called up some unsuspecting woman from my past, invited her over for some horizontal fun, I had no desire to do that. Perhaps a first for me.
I walked through the revolving door of the building across the street and three blocks down from my hotel, made it through the marbled entry toward the security check-in, where a young woman sat staring back at me as though I might possibly be a serial killer.
“I’m here to see Liz McCowan,” I told her, offering her The Smirk. You know, the lopsided grin I’d perfected over time, the one that had women’s eyes going soft as they shot back one of those seductive, come-hither grins.
This woman… I don’t think she knew what come-hither was. But I was pretty sure she had a gun, so I wasn’t going to push my luck.
“Need to see some ID,” she said sternly.
The Smirk was lost on her. Obviously.
Tugging my wallet out of my back pocket, I produced my driver’s license and handed it over. She looked at the picture, then up to my face, then back to the picture.
Surely she recognized me, right?
Well, probably not. It had been nearly a year since I’d been in the limelight, and in this industry, if you weren’t hot right now, then you were easily forgotten, written off like the poor victim in a Lisa Jackson novel.
She grabbed the phone and dialed a number. “Mr. Wild is here to see you.”
Once the receiver was cradled, the woman met my eyes, handed back my license, and told me I could go up.
“Thanks,” I said, trying to keep my tone warm, despite the chilly reception I’d just received.
I made my way to the bank of elevators, stabbed the button, and waited.
When I stepped off the elevator on the sixth floor, I didn’t have time to get my bearings before I was practically assaulted—it seemed personal space had a whole new meaning in this city—by the sassy woman who currently held the reins of my career.
“Jacob Wild,” Liz said, throwing her arms around me.
I hesitantly patted Liz’s back and smiled, despite myself. When she released me, I tucked my hands into my pockets and looked down at her.
She swatted my cheek as though I were a long-lost nephew. “This scruffy thing… I like it. We’re getting you an interview while you’re here.”
Unfortunately, I knew she didn’t mean the write-up kind, but before I could argue, she was already walking away.
“Come on. Let’s chat. Then I’ll buy you lunch.”
I weaved my way through the halls, following Liz to her office after she announced my presence to the few people who were diligently working nearby. I smiled, waved, then followed her again.
“How was the flight?” she asked, dropping into her chair behind her desk and studying me momentarily.
I took a seat in the available chair across from her and tried to appear casual. “Uneventful.”
“How’s the book?”
I tilted my head and peered over at her, offering a look that told her the book wasn’t any different than the last time she’d asked me that. Three chapters in and I was once again stalled out.
“Okay, so what do we do to fix this?”
Liz knew as well as I did that fixing this wasn’t as simple as her telling me to lock myself in a room and get it done. For years, I’d had