At His Command

AT HIS COMMAND - Chapter One

Oh, hell. My stomach plummets to the floor. My smiling face is on the laptop screen. Next to the book I wrote at the tender age of twenty-one. The only book, and it was a bestseller three years ago.

I'd assumed everyone in the publishing industry had forgotten about me and the book, since I haven't written a word since. And because my old publisher not only took the rights to my blockbuster erotic romance, but declared bankruptcy. It has tied my royalties up in court for years.

After paying all the bills, nothing was left. Which is why I need a job. Any job. Working from home in yoga pants and t-shirts as a fiction writer — even a best-selling one — isn't the experience most employers are looking for. I'd hoped Blackmoir publishing might take a chance, and I'd cobbled together a plausible-looking resume.

"Is that not you, Miss Amato?"

I stare dumbly at the photo of myself. I recall the day it was taken. The publisher hired a freelance photographer, and we'd met at the Brooklyn Bridge. I'd worn my favorite red dress, and as the photographer snapped the photos, I felt like I owned all of New York.

Mom loved those photos, too. She was so excited when she saw one in Publisher's Weekly a month later, accompanied by my name at the top of the bestseller list.

But as much as my books sold, my descent was equally quick. When I didn't put out another book, readers forgot about me. When my publisher went bankrupt, interest faded. My agent got out of the business, frustrated by the entire industry.

Now Mom's in an assisted living facility, I'm penniless, and the mojo that red dress brought is somewhere in the back of my closet. And I'm applying for a job as an entry-level secretary and sweating in a gorgeous CEO's office.

Brilliant.

"That is me, yes." I try to keep my voice even.

Mr. Black steeples his hands. Cocks his gorgeous head. Those flashing blue eyes bore into me. I squirm in my seat, wishing I hadn't worn tights on this early spring day. Sweat blooms on the backs of my knees.

I fight the urge to claw my skin off.

"Admittedly, I wasn't familiar with your work. My human resources manager was, however, and flagged your application, thinking I'd want to talk with you for the position. And then I read your novel and did some research." He pauses, for dramatic effect. "You intrigued me."

"Intrigued?" I squint.

"I believe your talents will be better spent elsewhere."

My hands ball into fists. "Is that for you to decide, though? I applied to be a secretary, and that's what I want."

A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. "I'm the CEO, so yes, it is for me to decide who I want to employ."

"Good point," I concede.

"Miss Amato, what if I were to hire you for a different position, something a little more, ah, cerebral? And pay you more."

His words make me sit up taller. A spark of hope flickers in my brain. "I would very much like that."

Now a true grin creeps across his face. "Excellent. I'd like to tell you what I have in mind."

It's difficult not to appear too eager. Perhaps he intends to put me in an editing job. Or appoint me to research non-fiction books. Yes, I could handle either of those. Maybe they have an in-house library, where I could assist and apprentice in some capacity. My eyes widen and my heart rate kicks into high gear.

He leans back in his chair, his body language expansively sensual. "I've been thinking about hiring a writer for this project for some time. It would be for a novel, a concept I've been toying with for years."