I step away from the desk, pace across my apartment to the kitchen, then restlessly head to the bay window, staring out on the night sky of New York with the skyscrapers and neon gazing at me. I don’t want to say the wrong thing, and I don’t want to send her racing back to Veiled Harper land, so as I pick up my phone I choose a safe response, but one that acknowledges all her quirks.
You deserve all of that. I want you to have that.
Princess: I want it, too.
And quirks should never be changed. Keep all your quirks, Harper. I like them.
Princess: Same for you, Nick. I like yours, too.
* * *
I’m addicted to my phone. That’s something I’ve always tried to avoid, but I never know if she’s going to send me something that turns me on.
Except pretty much all her messages do, so I’m living in a state of suspended desire.
It’s fantastic and terrible at the same time. It feels amazing and also completely foolish. But this dizzy, heady sensation of wanting? It’s in charge right now, and it leads me on. I’d like to think this newfound infatuation with her texts is good for my show. Because this next episode is coming together like a dream, and after I leave a meeting with the head animator the next day, I make my way to the elevator so I can take off uptown to meet Tyler at Nichols & Nichols.
“Mister Hammer.”
The voice curdles my stomach.
“Hey, Gino.”
The network head strides up to me and straightens the jacket on his pin-striped suit. “Been thinking about The Adventures of Mister Orgasm,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows. “I like to think I have several things in common with the hero.”
I stifle a cringe and just suck it down, so hard I might choke on it. “That so?”
He tugs at his tie. “I’m a bit of a ladies’ man myself.”
“I bet you are, sir.”
“And you know, I did create a show myself back in the day.”
Of course, he has to mention his brief flirtation with the other side. “I heard it was fantastic,” I lie.
He waves his I’m-so-humble wave. “It was a damn fine show. But here’s the thing. It wasn’t quite as racy as yours. Which got me to thinking,” he says, as he furrows his brow. His eyebrows are like two caterpillars riverdancing. “What if The Adventures of Mister Orgasm were more, say, family-friendly? I wonder if we could go broader, make it less naughty, and find an even bigger audience?” he says, giving me whiplash with his Mister Orgasm meets The Brady Bunch ideas. “Think about it.”
He slaps my back and takes off, and I scratch my head as I leave to see my attorney. The Uber I ordered waits by the curb so I slide in, say hello to the driver, and return to my new favorite thing—my text messages. It’s like hitting the jackpot, because there’s a note waiting for me.
Princess: I thought of some other things I like.
Tell. Me. Now.
Princess: Pretty, lacy lingerie.
Dragging my hand over my face, I sink down in the leather seat. Like that will hide this problem. I breathe out hard. Like that will make this steel rod in my pants fucking disappear before I walk into my attorney’s office. There are certain words that flip a switch on a hard-on, and she just used one of them. Lingerie.
What kind? What color? What style?
Princess: White. Black. Purple. With a little bow. On the rear. Picture a lacy panty, with a pretty little ribbon on the butt that can be untied.
I raise my face, and stare out the window. Maybe there’s a store somewhere with a tub full of ice. Maybe I can just go sit in it for a couple of hours to make this lust dissipate. Bows on panties that can be untied? C’mon. No man is strong enough to withstand those words.
Especially not a man who was sent a black satin bow with pink polka dots. A scorching heat wave crashes into me as I mouth holy shit. When Harper sent me the pencils tied with ribbon, it was like she left me a little hint before I even knew what it was. A clue to all her desires, to her secret fantasies. It’s like a woman undressing as she walks down the hallway, glancing back at you, her eyes saying follow this trail.
And I will follow.
Like a black satin bow with pink polka dots?
Princess: Yes. Did you like it?
I’m not sure I’ll ever look at it the same way again.
Princess: Did you enjoy untying it?
Jesus fucking Christ. I tug at my shirt. No way can I make it through this meeting. But there’s no way I can stop.
I did. I love untying little bows. In fact, ‘untied’ is my new favorite word.
Princess: I like dirty words, too. That’s another thing I like.
Have I told you I’m a human thesaurus for dirty words?
Princess: You don’t have to tell me. I figured that out on my own.
Then you know me so well.
Princess: Sometimes I do. Sometimes I don’t. I also like letting go. And I like when a guy is just so consumed with making you feel good that you want to do the same to him.
I pinch the bridge of my nose as the car swings up the avenue. I swear Harper can read my mind. I lick my lips and tighten my grip on the phone.
Do you watch porn?
Princess: Does Tumblr count?
Yes. What do you watch or like to look at?
Princess: That’s hard to describe.
No. It’s not. Try.
Princess: You just want me to tell you what type of gifs or photos I like?
Yes. That would be awesome. In fact, it would make my day. It would make my day fucking amazing.
Her answer will have to wait, because I’ve arrived at the offices of Nichols & Nichols, where a well-coiffed young blonde receptionist rises from behind a sleek desk and greets me by name.