“Listen to Miss Feminist Poster Girl over here,” I say, smirking.
“Shut up. We’re going to find this guy--for science.”
“It’s we now?”
“Of course it’s we,” snaps Lacey. “The only thing you know how to do on the computer is type in Microsoft Word. Let me handle the detective work.”
“You mean the stalking,” I correct.
She sighs. “Judge not lest ye be the judge.”
“It’s judge not lest ye be judged,” I say.
Lacey glares up at me. “You know, this would be a lot easier if you agreed not to talk.”
I plop down on the bed, quietly watching as she digs through article after article about Jackson Pierce. I’m indifferent at first, but some of the articles start to catch my eye. It's weird that he would be a target for the paparazzi, even being as good looking as he is, a publishing executive is hardly their usual target. He also has a long history of secretive, strange relationships. There are even rumors that he’s into BDSM, with several sources claiming to have been ex-lovers.
The most interesting is an article about charges of murder that were briefly brought against him and later dropped. That was only a year ago, concerning a woman named Karen Kieland.
“Jesus,” whispers Lacey, as she reads the article. “Think he did it?”
“Probably,” I say. “He probably told her the sex was unoriginal and forgettable and then put two bullets in her head.”
Lacey giggles. “Now you’re thinking about how you’d impress him in the bed if you can’t do it on paper?”
“No,” I snap, face reddening.
We learn a lot of useless facts about him that have been compiled by female admirers. He owns a yacht, which seems a little excessive to me. He owns a few ridiculously big houses throughout the country. He’s not just involved in publishing, either. He’s apparently a self-taught investor and has turned his already impressive fortune into an absurd amount of wealth through his skill in the stock market. He also has a network of female fans on the internet who basically stalk his every move.
“Oh my God,” says Lacey. “I typed in his name and my phone autocorrected publishing to punishing, so I ended up typing Jackson Pierce punishing. Look what came up.”
It’s some kind of online profile, almost like a dating site. Except Jackson is wearing a mask. Most of his face is covered, but it’s definitely him. “Why would he put his name out there on something like this?”
“Looks like he didn’t. Another ex of his leaked this I guess. Apparently he didn’t care though. The profile is still active. It’s like some crazy BDSM site. Look,” she says.
There’s a picture of a woman strapped in a helpless position while three men in full leather masks loom over her, whips and paddles in hand. The image gives me a dark thrill that starts in my chest and trickles down past my belly.
I shift a little uncomfortably. Look at me. Miss Virgin getting turned on by hardcore, kinky sex. Of course I am. My body is so sexually starved I should probably even stay away from Animal Planet.
“This is way beyond creepy, Lacey. I’m not going to keep cyber stalking this guy with you. Yes, someone should throat punch him for how rude he was about my submission, but I mean… Maybe it really was forgettable. I’m just one of thousands and thousands of college kids who want to be writers. You know how few people actually make it as authors? Even thinking I have a chance probably means I’m delusional.”
Lacey grips my cheeks, smooshing them together until I probably look like a fish. “Bri, listen to me. All that writing stuff is important, sure, but right now, we need to focus. Do you see this man?” she asks, jabbing her finger at a picture of him wading into the ocean, broad back so muscular it could be chiseled from granite. “The universe has basically thrown this man in our laps. We have a unique opportunity to reach out to him, to--”
“Lacey, you have a boyfriend, Remember? Forget Jackson. He’s just a guy. Making a fool out of myself to set eyes on some guy I can see perfectly fine right here is not on the top of my priority list. I think I’ll just have a long, painful evening with my laptop, trying to figure out how to make my writing less forgettable if that’s okay with you.”
Lacey sighs dramatically, but I notice a mischievous glint in her eye as she watches me walk to my desk. I don’t like it. Not a bit. I’ve seen the look before, and it means she’s planning something. Probably something equal parts devious, bad idea, and definitely a hearty helping of recklessness.
4
Jackson
I should really be working on the new stack of manuscripts that landed on my desk, but I’m not. Ever since I decided I was going to place a bid on a submissive, it has dominated my thoughts. That, and the sound of the man in the coat’s voice. I still can’t place why it sounds so familiar, but I wish I knew. It might give me some hint as to why he would confront me with a gun, at the least.
I’ve been browsing the new postings, waiting for one that really catches my eye. I’m about to close my laptop and dive into the manuscripts when a notification appears. A direct message.
VirginPrincess88: I have something you want.
I frown at the message. She’s claiming to be a virgin. It’s an easy thing to claim, but it’s risky to lie. It’s not unheard of for a dominant to request the submissive go to a doctor for confirmation, not that even a doctor can be certain. Still, the request for verification alone usually weeds out the pretenders.
Pierce: Would you allow a doctor to verify?
There’s a lengthy delay. I wouldn’t actually subject a woman to that. All that matters is she is willing to be tested. That’s proof enough.
VirginPrincess88: Yes. But I want to meet in person first.
I look at the message for a few moments before closing the browser and running a hand through my hair.
Fuck.
Meeting a submissive in person is part of the thrill. That’s not what has me on edge about this “Virgin Princess”. What has me on edge is that I haven’t ever posted to the boards requesting a submissive. I haven’t even placed a bid in nearly a year. So when I receive direct messages like this, they are always from the strange women who have made a hobby out of stalking me through the internet.
I must really be desperate, because I’m actually considering agreeing to meet this woman. I’m almost certain she’s just another fraud, but if she is really a virgin and a willing submissive, I don’t know if I can risk passing that up.
I open my email and begin the drudgery of getting through the hundred or more emails that are waiting for me every morning. Some are notices about authors we have under contract reaching the bestseller lists, some are from our big name authors trying to throw their weight around to get better contracts or privileges. I’m about halfway through when I open an email from Brianne Hartley.
Mr. Pierce,
You seem to have something long and hard firmly lodged up your ass, so I expect this email will never actually reach you, but I thought I’d send it anyway. I’m one of the college students who submitted a sample to you last month. The purpose of our assignment was to see the kind of feedback we would get from a real publishing company and reflect on it.