Chapter 42
Caroline
Over the next few days, Lucien continued pestering me about his biography.
I ignored half of his advances, and gave generic excuses for the other half.
His texts made me smile, though. Deep down, it was nice to feel desired.
I had spent so much of the past ten years focusing on my career that it was refreshing to allow myself to be seen as a woman.
But I didn’t want things to go any further with Lucien.
Maybe I would work on his biography, but I couldn’t sleep with him again.
Not while I was sleeping with Harrison and Rafael.
Even if they said they weren’t jealous, and hated the double standard that women dealt with, I wasn’t sure how they would react to learning I had slept with Harrison’s business partner.
That Saturday, I met with Eddie for lunch. “Sorry again for canceling our original lunch,” I said after hugging him.
He barked a laugh. “We’re friends, Caroline. I’ll always cut you some slack. Especially for a celebrity wedding. You know Janice is dying with jealousy?”
“She texted me,” I said. “It’s the first time I’ve seen her write in all-caps. Speaking of jealousy…”
I caught Eddie up on Lucien’s requests to write his biography, and all the other offers that my agent was receiving.
“Is that what you want to do?” he asked. “Switch careers and write biographies for a living?”
“Absolutely not,” I said. “I’m a journalist at heart, and will always be one.
But it’s actually nice to step back and work on biographies.
I feel like I’m stretching muscles I haven’t used since college.
I can do both, Eddie. Return to my job at The Journal and work on biographies on the side.
But if you don’t want me dividing my time, then I understand. ”
Eddie scratched his bald spot, a nervous habit he did when he was on the fence about something. I knew him well, so I waited for him to collect his thoughts while I picked at my salad.
“You’ve worked at The Journal a long time,” he finally said. “You’ve built up a lot of good will. Would you consider a longer sabbatical?”
“How long?” I asked.
“However long it needs to be,” he replied. “Finish Blackstone’s biography, then work on Moreau’s. Or one of the other offers you’ve received. We can touch base after a year. By then, you’ll have a better idea of what direction you want to pursue. I’ll hold your old position open until then.”
“I don’t know how that will go over with the other senior editors,” I muttered.
“Fuck them,” he said, which made me flinch. Eddie rarely cursed. “I’ll go to bat for you. I can call in a few favors if need be. This is what’s best for your career, so I support it. Why are you tearing up?”
I stood up, went around the table, and hugged Eddie. “I’m just relieved. I was afraid this lunch would go differently.”
“Don’t get me wrong. I’d rather have you back at work, especially since we’re sliding into a new recession and I don’t like the tone Jonathan has been taking in his articles,” Eddie said. “But I care about you, and not just what you can offer The Journal.”
“You’re a good friend,” I said, sitting back down.
“You have no idea,” he muttered. “Janice told me to demand an invitation to the next celebrity wedding Blackstone drags you to. She asked me to threaten you at knife-point!”
“If she asks, I’ll pretend you did,” I assured him.
We spent the rest of lunch catching up on our personal lives.
I considered telling him that I had slept with Harrison, but I was worried about what he would think.
Or rather, I knew exactly what he would think and didn’t want to hear it.
He would tell me that I was breaking the first rule of journalism: don’t get too close to your subject.
But I was way past that point.
The rest of the week was great. I was loving my new routine, writing during the day and then meeting with Harrison—and sometimes Rafael—at night.
There was a problem, though. One which reared its head when I did my finances at the end of the month.
I had received a large advance for Harrison’s biography, but it was rapidly dwindling now that I wasn’t earning a regular paycheck at The Journal.
I had about two more months before it was depleted.
That wasn’t the end of the world. I could cut back on a few expenses, tighten my metaphorical belt, and coast for a while if need be. But I didn’t want to dip into my savings.
I could fix that by agreeing to work on Lucien’s biography, negotiating an immediate advance on royalties, even if I wasn’t going to begin work on his book until months later. That wasn’t a solution I was ready to agree to, though.
Rafael was waiting at Harrison’s place that night.
The moment I walked through the door, their hands and lips were all over my body.
They practically carried me to the bedroom, stripping off my clothes and devoting the next hour to giving me several toe-curling orgasms. The way they alternated places, one of them going down on me while the other used their fingers on my clit and nipples, turned me into a melted puddle of a woman.
Then it was their turn.
Rafael held me down on the bed while Harrison fucked my mouth.
The billionaire gripped my head in both of his hands and drove his cock steadily, practically gagging me with how far down my throat he pushed.
Then, just as I felt the salty drop of his pre-come on my tongue, he pulled out and they switched places.
Rafael tightened his fist in my hair and face-fucked me just as eagerly, using me in a way that made me feel sexier than I ever had in my life.
And after taking turns like this, bringing themselves right to the edge again and again, they took up a position on either side of me and came all over my chest, covering my tits with rope after rope of their seed, their agonizing cries echoing through the penthouse.
We took a shower together afterward, the two of them using a washcloth to clean me off.
Later, while we sat on the couch watching TV, Rafael said, “You okay?”
“Of course,” I replied. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Harrison, sitting on the other side of me, was the one to answer: “You’ve seemed a little distant tonight. Is it because of the new nature of our relationship?”
“No!” I replied, touching them gently to show I meant it. “It’s definitely not that. Everything about this is amazing.”
“But something is on your mind,” Rafael said. It wasn’t a question.
I normally didn’t discuss my finances with anyone. Not even my closest friends. I had been taught, at a young age, that it was one of those taboo topics you shouldn’t talk about. Which, of course, was ironic since I wrote about nothing but finances at The Wall Street Journal.
But I felt an overwhelming urge to share something with the two of them, if for no other reason than to reassure them that the thing on my mind had nothing to do with them. And it was nice that I felt like I could tell them.
“You know I’ve taken a sabbatical at work,” I explained. “I’m just juggling some financial stuff since I’m not getting a regular paycheck. And no, that’s not an invitation to swoop in and throw a bunch of money at me. I’m just venting to you guys because I feel like I can.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Harrison said.
Rafael was frowning in thought. “The timing of this is actually kind of funny.”
Harrison looked across me at Rafael. “What are you referring to?”
“Alice’s pregnancy.”
The billionaire’s eyes widened a tiny bit. “I didn’t consider that. Hmm.”
“Who’s Alice?” I asked. “And what does her pregnancy have to do with my finances?”
“It could work,” Harrison said to Rafael.
“You’re downplaying it,” Rafael replied. “She’s perfect for it. This solves two problems at the same time.”
“Can you two stop talking about me, and talk to me?” I said, slightly annoyed.
Harrison muted the TV. “Alice, the publicist at Blackstone and Moreau, just told me that she’s pregnant. She’s at four months. She was going to wait until seven months before beginning her maternity leave, to give us time to find a replacement…”
“You give your employees that much maternity leave?” I asked.
“We offer them as much as they want. Paternity leave, too.”
“That’s awfully nice of you.”
“I have selfish reasons,” Harrison explained. “Keeping my employees happy, especially my data analysts, makes them loyal. It gives me an edge over my competition, who is always trying to poach the best people from my firm.”
“She would happily begin her maternity leave sooner,” Rafael said. “If…”
“Indeed,” Harrison said, looking at me. “If.”
“Are you… are you offering me a job at your company?” I asked.
“It’s basically a part-time position,” Harrison continued. “A full-time salary, of course, but Alice only does about ten hours of work per week.”
“We just posted the position last week, and already have three dozen applicants,” Rafael said. “It would save me a lot of time if I didn’t have to run background checks on all of them.”
“No pressure,” Harrison said. “If you think this is a conflict of interest, then you can remain my biographer only.”
But I was already nodding internally. This would only be a short-term position until Alice returned to work. And it would give me a much-needed stream of income while still allowing me to focus on his biography. It ticked several of my own boxes, to say nothing of the trouble it would save Rafael.
“It would be nice having someone I trust doing all of our PR,” Harrison added.
“I don’t want my name to become public,” I said.
“That’s my only stipulation. If it came out that I was working for Blackstone and Moreau while on sabbatical, it would hurt my credibility.
Especially when I go back to my job at The Journal and have to write about all the horrible things your firm is doing to the financial market. ”