"The company is mine," J.P. said. "I've worked for it, and I'm not letting you come back from London and take it out from under me. Do you understand, Mick?"
"Don't get your knickers in a twist, J.P.," Michael Devlin told her. "I don't want the company. I'm an editor. A damned good editor. And that's what I want to keep doing. There will always be a job for me. Even in this corporate climate, J.P."
"I don't wear knickers," J. P. Woods said.
Michael Devlin laughed. "Why am I not surprised?"
"You really don't want Stratford?" She sounded almost anxious.
He sighed. "No, I don't. But don't tell Martin. Let him play out his little game with us, and believe that he really did make the choice all by himself. If you can't work with me I can go back to London and Random House. They never get tired of offering."
"It would be easier if you stayed," she admitted. "I know I'm not the most beloved person in this business. Besides, I can't afford to lose the editor who got Miss Prim and Proper to write sexy. How did you do it?"
"Trade secret, J.P., but maybe I will tell you one day." He couldn't laugh. He couldn't give himself away. Not now. And he couldn't hurt Emily or put her in a difficult position. "Look, I'm good at what I do. There's really nothing more to it than that. I've always been good with writers. It's an empathy thing. Look how I got Lady Palmer to get her manuscripts in on time when no one else had been able to do that."
"How did you do it?" J.P. wanted to know.
"Savannah's brain is usually cluttered with her stories. I showed her how to organize her time better. No magic. No smoke and mirrors. Every editor she had had before me was in awe of her. They let her get away with murder. I didn't. And as soon as we understood each other, it all fell into place," he explained. "Writers are human, J.P. But they need a little more cosseting in most cases than normal people."
"Do you cosset Emilie Shann?" J.P. asked slyly.
"As a matter of fact, she cossets me. She's a terrific cook. I'm going to miss my weekends just because of her cooking," he said. "I've had to work out harder at the gym after our working weekends." He chuckled. Information for J.P. to chew on, but safe information. It retained Emily's nonthreatening image in J.P.'s mind.
"Of course she would cook," J.P. said acidly. "Does she do trifle?"
"Trifle to die for, and her creme brulee is incredible," he answered.
"Jesus, don't say another word!" J.P. exclaimed. "I'm going to throw up." She looked at her watch. "Crap! I've got a distributor coming in shortly." She turned sharply, and was quickly gone from the conference room with, out another word to him.
Well, that was interesting, Devlin thought, and he headed for his office.
"Savannah Banning is on the line from England," his secretary said. "She's in high dudgeon, Mick. She insisted on holding until you came out of your meeting."
"How long?"
"Close to five minutes now," the secretary said.
"I don't want to be disturbed," he told her, and shut the door of his office behind him, then picked up the phone. "Savannah! How are you? I understand we have a spot of difficulty. How can I help you?"
"You can help me by getting your Irish arse back to old Blighty, damn it!" Savannah exploded. "That woman is an idiot, Mick! She doesn't understand me at all!"
"I'm not coming back to England, Savannah," he said quietly.
There was a long silence on the other end of the line, and then Savannah said, "How is Emily?"
"Fine," he answered her. "We're talking about you, Savannah. Prunella just takes a bit of getting used to, sweetie. She's never worked with an American before."
"She wants a detailed outline. She says sales needs it," Savannah wailed.
"I'll call her and explain you don't waste your time with outlines," he said quietly.
"She wants to see pieces of the manuscript," Savannah told him.
"I'll tell her you deliver a completed manuscript, and not bits," Mick responded. "What else?"
"She isn't you!" And Savannah Banning began to cry.
Michael Devlin laughed softly. "I miss you too, sweetie. And I miss old Reg, and the kids, and those great family weekends down in Suffolk. But I suspect I'm back in the Colonies to stay. We're both going to have to get used to it."
"Then Martin is going to put you in charge," Savannah said.
"I hope not," Michael Devlin replied. "I like what I do, and J.P. is really more suited to run a publishing house than I am."
"You could learn," Savannah sniveled.
"I could, but I don't want to," he told her. "I just want to edit my books. I'll make it all right between you and old Pruny, Savannah. Okay?"
"Okay," she agreed. "Now, tell me about you and Emily."
"There's nothing to tell," he lied.
"Bullshit!" Savannah said.
"Lady Palmer!" Michael Devlin exclaimed. "I'm shocked. Shocked."
"I hope you've become lovers, Mick. She such a sweetie, and she needs a good man," Savannah told him.
"Savannah, do not disparage my reputation. I pride myself on being a bad boy, and you know it," he told her. "Remember all my fun miniscandals in London over the past few years. By the by, do the girls miss me?"
"Mick, you are such a silly man sometimes," Savannah remarked. "Was she a virgin? I somehow thought she might be."
"Savannah," he warned. "Remember we're on a company phone. Now if there is nothing else, I'm going to ring off. I'll call Pruny tomorrow. She'll be gone from the office by now with the time change. Say hi to Reg and the children for me. Ta." He put the telephone down while at the same time reaching for his cell and punching in the number one.
"Hello?" Emily's voice came through clear and sweet.
"I miss you," he said.
"It's only been a day, Devlin," she answered him.
"A day and a half," he corrected her. "I drove back late Sunday afternoon. Just another week, and we've got an entire month to ourselves."
"Devlin, I have to work if this book is going to be in on time," she reminded him.
"I want to be inside of you," he murmured. "I sent you that little toy for times like this. When we aren't together, I want to play phone games with you."
"Devlin!" she pleaded.
"Get it," he said. "I need you!"
"Hold on. I hid it so Essie wouldn't find it," she half whispered.
"I thought you didn't let her in your office," he said.
"I don't, but you never know. Okay, I've got it." Emily was already feeling a twinge of excitement. The sound of his voice on the phone could make her wet.
"Take it out of the box, angel face. Realistic, isn't it?" he teased.
"Looks just like you, Devlin," she teased back.
"What are you wearing?" he asked her.
"Never got out of my sleep shirt this morning," she told him.
"Hold it in your right hand," he instructed her. "Start licking it. And use your left hand to play with yourself. I want you nice and wet, angel face," he told her as he unzipped his slacks and released his penis, which was already partly swollen with just the sound of her voice. He imagined her leaning back in her big leather chair, the sleep shirt hiked to her waist, the softness of her smooth, rounded hips against the black leather.
"Ohh, Devlin, this is so good," Emily whispered into the telephone. "Ummm. Ummm. Ummmmm." She began to suck vigorously on the dildo in her hand. It had been made to duplicate Michael Devlin's long, thick cock in full flagrante. It was made of a natural colored rubber, and spitted on a twisted rod of polished ashwood.
"Are you playing with your clit?" he wanted to know. The sucking noises were driving him wild. He could almost feel her mouth on his penis.
"Are you playing with your dick?" she countered.
"I am so hard you could break it off." He groaned.
"I'm so wet that Mr. Naughty is going to slip right in and go all the way," she replied. "I've got it ready, Devlin. Do you want me to shove it in? Do you?" Her voice was breathy with her excitement.