Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty

Chloe

My head hits the pillow as my breath leaves in a huff. I called Sam only fifteen minutes ago and I’ve already come twice. I’ve never had phone sex, let alone FaceTime sex, but nothing was awkward with Sam, and watching him wrap his fingers around his thick cock as I touched my clit was so fucking hot.

“I’m tired now,” I pant.

“Me too,” he says with a sigh. “And it’s past my bedtime.”

“Right.” I turn on my side, pussy still spasming from coming so hard. My vibrator is under the covers with me, and it was the first time I’ve ever let someone watch me use a toy on myself—even if it was via FaceTime. “You’re two hours ahead of me. I should get some sleep too since I have a meeting in the morning.”

“Should I call and make sure you’re up?” he teases.

“I might actually need the reminder,” I say with a laugh.

“I’ll text you when I’m up, and I’ll call at eight your time if I can.”

“Mmmhhh,” I groan as I get comfy under my covers. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too, Chloe. And…and I love you. I want to make sure you know that. I really fucking love you.”

“I love you too.” I’m smiling as I talk, still a bit unable to believe we’re exchanging those three words after all the years I spent in secret lust and then love with Sam Harris. “Talk to you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Let me know how the meeting goes. Love you,” he says again.

“Love you too.”

We end the call and I plug in my phone and turn off the light with a smile on my face.

*

“Holy shit.” Eyes wide, I reach for my mimosa. It’s only ten in the morning, but we’re celebrating with drinks at brunch. My agent, Vanessa, raises her own glass and gently clinks it against mine.

“You can say that again.” She takes a drink and sets her glass down. “Or I will: holy fucking shit.”

If I wasn’t in the state of shock I’m in, I’d be dragging right now from lack of sleep. But the deal I was just presented with was way more than I expected…in more ways than one.

“What’s your take?” Vanessa asks, looking at me with a smile on her face. “It’s a lot to think about.”

“It is. I’m going to need the day to think it all over before I can answer that.”

“Take your time. The ball is in our court and now is the time to get exactly what you want out of this.”

I nod, thinking back to everything that was presented to me. What the producer told Vanessa over dinner several weeks ago was legit, but he left out some major details, some good and some…well, I’m not sure yet.

They offered me a ton of money upfront to sign onto the series, and I’d have a lot of control over the writing for season one and two of the show, which sounds awesome. Epic fantasy is one of my favorite genres to read and watch, but I haven’t written anything set in a complicated, magical-yet-historical setting yet. The world has already been built for me, and I’d get to come in and change the rules of magic, making it work exactly how I’d like it to.

And since the first book the series is based on ends on a cliffhanger, I’ll head up the writing for season two, and can even do a cameo role and appear as a side character of my choosing. I’ll have a team of writers to work with me, ones who know how to turn novels into screenplays, and the network even offered to provide me with an assistant if I need one.

Sounds great, right? Why would I even question something like this? They’re going to pay me a shit ton of money and I get to do something I never thought I’d get to do…I should be signing the papers now.

But there is a catch, of course. Two, in my case, which makes this harder.

Production is set to start in just a few months, and once we get to writing, I’ll be busy writing and meeting with the network—here in LA, which will make traveling to Chicago really hard. I shouldn’t base a life-changing career decision off a brand-new boyfriend, I know, but I’m not dating just anyone.

It’s Sam.

The only man I’ve ever loved. The only one I ever will love. So yes, not being able to go to Chicago and spend time with him influences my decision, along with catch number two. If the show gets renewed for a third season, I won’t be the main writer on it, basically because I’m too expensive and they’re giving me a very generous offer for seasons one and two. I’ll have to sign a nondisclosure agreement, and not tell anyone that the writers have taken over, and I’m not actually writing the show anymore, yet my name will still be credited as the main writer.

I don’t know how to feel about that. Having my name on something I didn’t actually write. I know many super popular authors use ghost writers, but it’s also more or less common knowledge that they do. What if the showrunners write garbage episodes? Make the characters do something stupid or sexist or say something terrible and I’m blamed for it? That alone makes me hesitate.

The producer promised I’d build up a good working relationship with their writers, and they’d continue the series as if I was still there.

“Right,” I tell Vanessa. “I shouldn’t even think about a new project until I’m done with my book.”

“I agree. You already have a good thing going with Shadowfall. How is that book coming, by the way? Did going back to Silver Ridge help?”

“It was very inspiring.” I’m smiling again, mind going to Sam. “It’s nice to be somewhere quiet.”

“If it helped, go back,” she says with a laugh. “I’m going to go over the contract from the network with a fine-toothed comb and have another agent sit in on it with me. There are things right away I’m changing before we can even consider moving forward. It’ll take me a week or so to get a new contract drawn up, so don’t let this stress you out,” she says, giving me a pointed look. “I know you.”

“You do.” The waiter brings us our food, and my mouth waters when I look at my spinach-and-kale-loaded omelet with a side of vegan bacon. This place doesn’t serve meat, and anything made with eggs is dependent on the free-range rescue chickens that live out back. “The NDA thing is what gets me the most.”

“I figured it would. Let me talk to Michael from the agency and I’ll see what we can do.”

“Thanks.” I dig into my omelet, glancing at my phone every now and then as Vanessa and I talk and eat. Sam is at work and is going to call when he gets a break. I left for my meeting at seven-thirty, which was nine-thirty for Sam, and he was already at work. He never has a set lunch time, but we’ll talk at some point today.

After brunch, I head to the barn to see Spartan. The vet was out this morning and left a message with Olivia, telling me he’s ready to be eased back into training.

“Hey, buddy,” I tell him, smiling when I lean on the pasture gate. The grass is browning and dry and dust clouds around his hooves as he walks to me. “You’d love the grass in Michigan.” I climb over the gate, grabbing his blue lead rope to clip onto his halter. “I’d have to slowly wean you onto it, so you don’t colic or founder, though.” He picks up his pace when he sees me hold out my hand, knowing I have a treat.

“We can officially start training again. Your days of being pasture eye-candy are over.” I run my hand over his smooth fur and clip the lead rope to his halter. He blows mint-scented hot breath in my face as he sniffs me and then lowers his head so he can rub it against my back. I brace myself, laughing as he almost pushes me over as he scratches his head against me.

I always wanted a horse when I was a kid, but we couldn’t afford one. I didn’t get it back then just how expensive horses can be, and how fast the vet bills can rack up, as they have been with Spartan getting injured.

I take him to the outdoor wash rack since he’s way overdue for a bath. It’s relaxing, standing here in the warm sun with my horse. The stress of the real world melts away, and I’m feeling like a new person by the time we’re done and I bring Spartan around front to graze on his lead, knowing he’ll just go roll in the dirt if I put him in the pasture.

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I grin ear to ear when I see Sam FaceTiming me.

“Hey, babe,” I answer, turning so he can see Spartan in the background. “You look hot in your scrubs.”

“Want me to wear some the next time I see you?” he asks with a cheeky grin, making warmth flood my veins.

“I am overdue for a checkup.”

“Then I will perform a very thorough examination soon, I hope. Did your meeting go well?”

“Yes, but it gave me a lot to think about.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“I haven’t decided if it’s good or bad yet,” I say with a sigh, shaking my head as I talk. “It’ll be life-changing, that’s for sure.”

Tension flashes over Sam’s face for a split second. He blinks and his usual charm takes back over. “Well, give yourself some time to think about it. You don’t have to make a decision any time soon, right?”

“Right. And that’s what my agent said. We’re not going to rush into anything, and there are still some things we need to see in writing before we even consider moving forward. Which means I’m free now to come back to Chicago. If you want to see me, that is.”

“I want to do more than see you. I miss your tight, wet pussy. Fuck, I’m getting hard just thinking about fucking you.”

He’s at work, presumably somewhere alone, yet hearing him talk dirty like that sends a rush through me. My lips curve into a smile and a shiver makes its way down my spine.

“I dreamed about you last night.”

Sam’s brows go up. “What was I doing in your dream?”

“You were hunting demons with me. Like in my book. And then you bent me over and fucked me in the woods.”

“Fuck,” he groans. “I want you now.”

“I want you too. I, uh, I can get a flight tomorrow.”

The bright light shining on the screen of my phone makes it a little hard to see Sam’s handsome face, but I swear he looked a little panicked for a second there.

“I know you’re busy with your book,” he starts, and my heart sinks. Is this his way of backing out? “But selfishly, I want you here. I’ll be at work most of the week, so you’ll have the apartment to yourself to get writing done.”

And now the smile is back on my face and I’m feeling bad for instantly doubting Sam. I can’t enter a new relationship with doubt in my mind—or my heart.

If I don’t trust him, this isn’t going to work.