"Great point," says Izzy. "We're just about running out of time, I think we can take one more question."
I look up, just in time to see Adrian - who's appeared out of nowhere - sweet-talking the next woman in line into handing him the microphone.
Oh, for fuck's sake.
"I'm curious about the billionaire phenomenon," he says, locking eyes with me. "I see a lot of readers saying they're tired of billionaires and they just want to read about regular guys, to the point where they'll avoid anything that has "billionaire" in the title or description. Have we reached the point where it's more of a harm than a help?"
Izzy glances at me, like she's wondering if I planted him. I shake my head a little.
"Well," she says, "not to call on you again, Natalie, but you are the billionaire romance expert here. What do you think?"
I shrug. "Plenty of books have billionaires, they just don't put it out there. I guess you could argue in some cases it's better to be subtle about it now, but the tropes still apply. They're powerful, but they're isolated. A bit weird, at best. 'Eccentric' is just weird with money, as we all know."
The audience titters.
"We just found a new word for it. Today, Mr. Darcy would be a billionaire. All those dukes and lairds and roguish princes from the old Harlequins - same deal. They snap their fingers, you come."
Adrian smirks.
"But I think the readership is still there," I go on, ignoring him - even as a deep blush spreads across my chest. "You can't please everybody all of the time, but the billionaire readers aren't going anywhere."
He's still smiling at me.
Izzy announces the end of the panel, and we all get a round of applause. I can see Adrian making his way up to me, and before I can stand up, he lays a hand on my shoulder. It would look friendly to anyone else, maybe bordering on intimate, but I can feel the power and control that it signifies.
"A bit weird, am I?" he murmurs.
"You better believe it," I tell him, without looking up. "I think I want to go to that serials workshop, for the last session. Unless you had other plans."
"Go ahead," he says. "I'm heading back to the room for a bit. Have to make a few phone calls."
I'm irritated, but I don't show it. I no longer feel out of my element, and the sour taste in the back of my mouth from implicitly lying to all of these people has started to fade. After all, he hired me to do it. It's not like I stole someone's identity.
I wonder who he needs to call, that's so important. Kara has been noticeably absent from our big events. I'm glad for it, so I haven't questioned why, but he always has a sour expression on his face when he's just been talking to her. I wonder if she's heard about my panties. I was worried when I first walked into the room, but so far, nobody's mentioned anything, or even given me a sly look. Maybe the cover models did something really crazy after I left, and eclipsed the whole thing.
Normally I'd be upset to miss it, but I can't say I regret my decision to let Adrian drag me back to his room.
No, not by a long shot.
***
The serial workshop turns into a terminal bore, so I sneak out the back and return to my own room. Adrian said he needed to make a phone call, after all, so I figured I'll let him have his privacy. Anyway, I'm not sure exactly how much he wants me hanging around when we're not either fucking or sleeping. Kicking my shoes off, I throw the curtains open to let some light in. I wonder if Adrian's discovered his balcony. A quick peek out the glass tells me yes, he has.
One hand has his phone glued to his ear, and the other is resting on the railing as he looks out over the city. I watch him for a minute before I start to feel creepy again, and return to flop down on my bed.
He could easily walk over and see me. I'm not sure if he's realized yet that he can. A wicked idea starts to grow in the back of my mind, and the more I try to suppress it, the more it grows. I sit up on the bed and peer out again. He's still there, more or less where I left him. But maybe he's a bit closer - or is that just my imagination?
Smiling to myself, I drag a chair over from the corner and situate it right in front of my doors. If he turns around, he'll see me lounging there. I pop a few of the buttons on my blouse and let my legs splay open, a little more than is proper for this skirt.
Just when I'm starting to think he's never going to notice, he turns his head just slightly.
I see it - that moment where he's startled, then taken aback, then realizes I'm clearly playing an angle. He turns around slowly, a smile playing at his lips.
I wave a little, and I can see him chuckle.
The glass is too thick for me to hear his voice, and he seems to be mostly listening to the conversation, anyway. Maybe it's some kind of conference call. Ugh. Horribly boring, wouldn't wish them on my worst enemy.
I can make it a little more interesting.
He's the only one who can see me, all the way up here. I'm pretending to play with my collar, letting my hand trail down my shirt, casually finding a button and slipping it through the hole. His eyes narrow slightly, and he takes a step closer.
With my shirt now gaping open, I get up and saunter over to the mini bar. Fetching a tiny bottle of scotch and a glass, I shovel some ice in and pour. I'm not looking at him now, but I hope I still have his attention.
I do.
Returning to my chair, I stir the drink with my finger and raise it to my mouth, slowly sucking off the liquor. It burns bitter on my tongue, but I close my eyes in pleasure.
Adrian's still pressing the phone to his ear, but his other hand is a clenched fist. I don't have him completely hooked. Not yet.
I set down my drink, and unbutton my shirt the rest of the way. Letting it slip from my shoulders, I glance at him from under my lashes. He's shaking his head, and he shows me the flat of his palm. He's still not letting himself smile all the way, but I know it's more of a promise than a threat.
I'm cupping my breasts, one in each hand, letting my nipples stiffen and come to life. It doesn't take long, looking at him. Watching him slowly unravel. I can see him starting to get hard, and that's all the encouragement I need - even if he's not acknowledging it.
I unhook my bra and toss it aside.
Through the glass, I see his Adam's apple bob up and down. His eyes close slightly, and he takes a step forward.
I stand up, walking towards him. His hand reaches for the glass, as if it could meet with mine, and I mirror him, so that our fingertips almost appear to touch.
Our eyes meet, and I quickly realize I'm in over my head. We're sharing something more than a striptease. My heart's thumping like crazy and I can't put my finger on what, exactly, is happening - I just know it's not what I signed up for.