A Father's Bliss (A Holinight Novella)

3. Renee

I’m not sure if I’m that nervous and my mind is playing tricks on me, but it seems as if Marcus’s office has gotten darker.

Pulse thrumming lower than what’s appropriate, I lift a hand and gently knock on the glass door separating us. He stands, moving around his desk and opening the door with a soft smile. “Renee. Thank you for stopping by so late.”

One of my shoulders lifts in a lazy shrug as I step inside. “Not five quite yet. You got me forrrrr…” I glance at the clock hanging on his wall in an attempt not to look at his ass as he walks back behind his desk. “Six minutes.”

He releases a low chuckle that slices through the air and straight into my core. “Then I’ll make it quick.”

“Oh, you don’t have to,” I rush out a little too fast. “Take your time.”

Something I can’t decipher passes over his dark eyes but he quickly shakes it away and opens a palm toward the chair across from his desk. “Have a seat.”

Though it’s a suggestion, the commanding undertone gives me the best type of shiver. I sink into one of the deep leather chairs and cross my feet at the ankle.

Four years, and not much has changed about Marcus’s appearance. His suits are always pressed and tailored to fit his build, though he never wears the jacket and always insists on keeping the sleeves flipped at his forearms—something I notice because the damn veins that run along the length and into his hands have always been my weakness. Perfectly cut and styled hair that has been recently kissed with silver along his temples. Stubble that never seems to grow or disappear, and a singular dimple that still brings me to my knees every time it emerges.

Never would I have thought I’d be so attracted to a person fifteen years my senior but fuck, this man is gorgeous. Not only that, but he’s intelligent, well spoken, riveting, and puts up with my dry sarcasm like he enjoys it.

He’s the whole package. The whole perfect, forbidden, package.

“I’m sure your father has already given you an indication as to why I wanted to speak with you.”

It’s not a question but I answer it all the same. “Yes. After that little show he put on I knew it had to do with me.”

“Yes, well. You know your father has a flair for the theatrics.” Marcus leans forward, his elbows resting on the desk so he can thread his fingers together. “You do very well in your current position, and I only proposed it as I thought it would be beneficial for you to experience another side of publishing.”

I nod, excitement blooming in my chest. “I wholeheartedly agree, and he did too after he saw through his own pettiness.”

“He is rather fluent in that as well.”

“Oh for sure.” I huff, sitting up a little straighter. I don’t miss the way a nerve in his jaw ticks when I do, but also, I could be imagining it. “So my father explained it’s a temporary position until Jennie comes back from maternity leave.”

He nods. “Correct. She”ll be gone between eight to twelve weeks, after which I’ve told her she may return remotely if she’d like.”

“That’s kind of you.” Not only would my father have a heart attack if he didn’t have access to his assistant, the execs here aren’t fond of work-from-home. Which is stupid considering all the data that backs up increased productivity, but whatever.

His mouth tugs at the corner. “It just makes more sense. Much too early to come back when adjusting to a new life. I know I would have appreciated the extra time.”

I drag my teeth over my bottom lip. Harrison told me that Marcus was only eighteen at his birth, and the mother—an athlete who was about to get a full ride scholarship—dumped him on his doorstep to take care of. Being as Marcus’s family has money, it was easier for them to take in the child, but it was very unfortunate that his mother wanted nothing to do with him.

I’m pretty sure that’s why I tolerated a lot of his behavior. I understood what it was like to grow up without a mother, and although I didn”t do a fraction of the shit he did, I knew her absence affected him deeply. And he manipulated the hell out of Marcus because of it.

Out of all the things he did, learning he was doing that to Marcus was when I’d had enough.

“Do you have any questions?” His silken voice draws my attention to his mouth for the briefest second.

My cheeks bloom with warmth as I force my eyes on his. “No. I think just understanding what it is you’re looking for in the manuscripts would be beneficial.”

He nods slowly, untwining his fingers and allowing his thumb to trace along his bottom lip. Though the action in itself is hot, he swallows and something about the thick bob of his throat throws me whole into the flames.

“Very good question. I’ll have to give you a list of things so you’re aware, but I mostly represent thrillers and mysteries, though I do dabble in a few others.”

“Any fantasy?”

“Occasionally.”

“Romance?”

His eyes flicker and that damn smirk appears. “As a subplot.”

“I see. Okay.”

Marcus’s head tilts the slightest, his curious face insanely hot. “I take it you’re a romance reader.”

I huff out a small laugh. “Considering I spend the bulk of my time finding up and coming indie authors, the majority are primarily romance. Do you have something against the genre?”

Internally, I brace myself to hear the first negative thing ever from his ridiculously nice lips. His son was low key misogynistic, so I guess it wouldn’t surprise me if he got it from Daddy Debois, but I’ll still be disappointed to hear it.

“Not at all. It’s much different than it was fifteen years ago.”

“Consider my interest peaked.” I shift in the chair, finding myself leaning closer.

His lips drawn down in the corner. “The open door, on page sexual scenes have gotten better. More imaginative. More…realistic.”

My mouth clamps shut. There was a million different things he could have said, things I assumed he was going to say, but that was most certainly not fucking one of them.

Marcus goes on. “The inclusivity is beautiful as well. Ten years ago, I feel as though I could have taken any carbon copy Abercrombie and Fitch models and put them on a cover and it would have represented couples in nearly every book. Now, that’s not the case.”

Against my will, my eyes drift over his large frame before I decide he’s more of a Calvin Kline type model. He’s broad and solid, likely not having abs stacked on top of each other, but strong nonetheless. In fact, for some fantastical reason, I have a deep, gut feeling he could throw a bag of concrete over his shoulders without breaking a sweat.

I could be that bag of concrete….

“Is there anything that makes you weary about accepting the position?”

The question catches me off guard, likely because I keep getting distracted, but luckily, I already have the answer. It’s one I’ve asked my old man about plenty of times when I learned the details of his job. “Not being able to finish a manuscript. Not knowing the ending.”

I’ve been told that after we read the first chapter we should request the next five, ten, and then its entirety. Because first chapters have usually been picked through and edited to oblivion, it’s sometimes hard to tell if the rest of the story will continue to hold the same quality. Keep the same appeal. Usually by chapter ten, we know, and for me, even if the story isn’t for us, I’ll still want to finish it.

Unfortunately, this job doesn’t allow enough time to read every single script we get, and thousands of stories pass through, unfinished.

It feels like such a disservice to both myself and the author, and it freaking plagues me with not reading the ending. Guess that’s just another reason I love my position so much. Instead of reading them, I look for potential and pass the stories on.

“I can most certainly understand that, especially with the mysteries and thrillers. With time, you’ll get used to it, and hopefully one day, we see it on shelves and can read it at our leisure. As pleasure.”

I swallow when the word pleasure rolls off his tongue. It sounds obnoxiously good. “True.”

He rocks back in his chair.“Other than that?”

“Nope. Sounds great.” Shaking my head, I stand and hold out my right hand. “I’m really excited for the opportunity, and I appreciate you giving it to me.”

He accepts my hand in his and shakes. It’s firm but friendly, and I’d be lying if I said a gaggle of goosebump didn’t lift my skin.

When he releases me, I turn to walk toward the door, internally proud I made it through this meeting without making a fool of myself, but his next words stop me.

“Do you have plans this evening?” His voice is so damn smooth and husky.

“No, but I’m sure you do.”

He shakes his head, rising to meet me at the door and reaches for the knob. The close proximity causes his earthly scent to invade my airway and the scatter of goosebumps floods my covered arms. But in the next second, I realize how sad it makes me that Harrison isn’t doing anything with his father. Not that it’s a surprise, but still. I feel the strong desire to make sure he does something.

“No dinner plans?”

“I mean, I’m going to grab takeout from one of my favorite restaurants.” His breath is minty and I wonder vaguely if it’s from a mint or gum.

“Alone?”

This grants me a crack of a smile. “Yes. Is that a problem?”

“No. I mean, kind of. It’s Father’s Day.”

He releases a huff from his nose. “My son is an adult. There’s no need for him to take me out to eat.”

“Then let me.” The words come out before I can stop them, and a wave of nerves makes the fine hairs on my neck stand. I’m not a shy person, and have never had a problem with asking anyone out, but this is different. Not only is he a coworker, but several other forbidden things, and also someone I still have a slight crush on.

I shake my head, quick to try and smooth things out. “All business, of course. We could even discuss the projects you’re looking for in more detail.”

His eyes rove over my face momentarily, leaving me suspended while holding my breath until finally he answers. “I’d love to have dinner with you. Professionally or otherwise.”

The air I still haven’t sucked in thins and becomes at least ten degrees hotter. But when Marcus’s face remains serious and unchanged, I start to wonder if I imagined that last part. “Alright. I can run home and change?—”

Marcus’s eyebrows furrow. “What you have on is fine. Perfect, even.”

My gaze flickers down to my white silk cami, cream cardigan, and floral skirt. It’s dinner appropriate alright, but the lace underwear set beneath, not so much. I was feeling sexy this morning, and now, it’s too thin, too exposing. And even if he has no intentions of seeing it, I know what I have on and something about that makes this dinner more…intimate.

I open my mouth to insist but stop short when I remember yet another dilemma. The toys.

Troy and I had ventured off during our extended coffee break earlier today and visited a new sex shop not too far from work. I couldn’t resist the jeweled butt plug or the purple rose. Oh, shit, and the mermaid metallic tentacle dildo. They are all in my purse, which can definitely be seen if it opens even a little. I should probably drop those off.

“Perhaps another time.” Marcus, likely sensing my apprehension, begins to open the door. I’m quick to pivot, coming so close, a large inhale would have my chest brushing against his.

The air stalls in my lungs as I look up at him—at least six inches up even with my heels—and endure the full power of his dark gaze. We stand like this for no more than a second before his eyes drop, falling to my lips and then back to me before I have time to ensure it even happened.

“No.” My voice is breathy. “We’re going.”

The whisper of a smirk appears and in this moment I’d let this man do nasty things to me, circumstances be damned. “Very well. I’ll gather my things and meet you in…”

He trails off, and when his eyes drift to the clock on the wall, I take my first breath.

“One minute.”

I try to laugh, but it gets caught in my throat. It’s then I realize how fucking dry it is.

What the hell is wrong with me? It has to be because he’s so close. He’s short circuiting my wittiness. Which, I think should be a red flag, but I’ll figure that out later. Hindsight and all.

“Great. I’ll meet you there.”

For another breath we stand, just a few inches apart until finally he backs away, allowing me space to exit. Yet, like a complete dumb ass, I stay, heels cemented in place, my eyes locked on him as he takes another broad step. It isn”t until I blink—yes, until I fucking blink—that I come through and realize how much of an idiot, weirdo, or both I must appear to him, and he’s likely second guessing offering me the position.

Before I can screw it up anymore, I wave a hand and mutter as I exit. “See you in a second.”

The last thing I hear before his door closes behind me, is a low chuckle and a “That you will.”