"What pictures are you exactly talking about?"
"I told you—your cock … for starters. I'll upload them to Facebook."
"You're an idiot. Go ahead. I really don't give a fuck."
Of course I'm bluffing. I don't actually want pictures of my cock going viral and getting passed around all over the world, but I'm having serious doubts that Grady even has his hands on any pictures to begin with.
"That's where you're wrong; you'll care because not only will I release pictures of your cock, but I'll release them as teasers for your next book … and I've taken photos of both you and Abby … and you should know, deeply personal ones … does Python ring a bell?"
"You fucking bastard," I snap. Who the fuck does he think he is, intruding on my personal space like that. And now he isn't just threatening me; he's threatening Abby too. I can't let that happen.
"It doesn't have to be this way," he shrugs. "It's simple. Come work for me. Write for Bad Boy Publishing. Together, we'll create an empire."
"Not in a million fucking years."
"I’m urging you to think carefully about what you're saying. Work for me, and I'll destroy the photos; Abby will be spared the humiliation of that kind of exposure. But toss my offer, and I'll upload every picture I have across Facebook faster than Abby will know what to do with it."
Fuck. Why is this happening right now?
“The question you need to ask yourself is, would you like to see pictures of your girlfriend splashed across the internet for the world to jerk off to?” Grady asks me.
When I opened my door today, I never could've guessed I'd be faced with a dilemma that'd knock the wind out of me.
Only one thing to do in this situation to set things right.
What is it?
You’re not going to like the answer, darlin’.
No, I’m not going to tell you.
Not now.
Time for you to switch fucking POV.
21
Abby
It’s seven pm, and there's still no sign of Aidan.
I try to call him for the fifth time now, but the phone just rings endlessly without him picking up. I’m starting to get worried, and all this pacing around the apartment isn’t helping matters.
We agreed yesterday that he’d come over to my place today, so that we could start writing our new novel, a follow up to Big Dick. That’s right, the wonder team has teamed up again.
I had a busy afternoon and Aidan was doing his thing but I’m home now and ready to work.
Besides, it’s not like Aidan and me to not communicate for this long.
We already have an outline ready to go, and now it’s all a matter of putting the words down. Except Aidan was supposed to be here two hours ago, but it seems like he vanished from the face of the Earth. I tried to reach CJ, but she isn’t picking up her cellphone either.
I walk over to the kitchen counter, and place the cork back on the bottle of red wine I had opened for today. I picked it out especially for Aidan—one of his favorites. You know, this was supposed to be a special occasion; we're going to start a new project ... and I decided to tell him I’m pregnant. That’s why I tidied up the whole apartment, cooked diner, and even bought expensive La Perla, a matching lace thong and bra that hug the curves of my body as if they were my second skin.
But it seems like Aidan won’t be showing up at all.
I place the bottle back on the shelf with a sigh—well it’s not like I could have had wine anyways—and grab the tray of now cold lasagna. I tuck it inside the oven, ready for reheating whenever (if) he gets here, and then make my way back to the living room.
I try to reach him one more time, but all I get is that annoying ringing sound. Why isn’t he picking up? Maybe I should call Cheryl; she’s always in touch with CJ, so she’ll probably know if something’s up.