Free The Dom of My Dreams: A BDSM Novel by M. F. Sinclair Page A

on it—and typed in his e-mail addy on my Bookends account.    My message was discreet, in case third parties, namely Alfred, read this stuff.
               
            Dear Mr. Seton,
I hope this e-mail finds you well.   I’d like to thank you for our meeting yesterday.   It was very…enlightening.   It was also nice to see you this morning at the coffee shop.   The young man you saw me with was Mr. Mitchell Briars, one of Bookends’ many talented authors.   Perhaps you’d like to be introduced to him some time?   I’m certain that he’ll be able to give you a more unbiased opinion about us.   Anyway, I look forward to hearing from you soon.   And I hope to be able to get my hands on your manuscript in the not-so-distant future.   Do not hesitate to contact me if you have any questions.   You can call, e-mail or text me any time.   Take care.
     
—Marjorie Fordham
     
    I took a couple of deep breaths before clicking on “Send.”   There.   Mission accomplished.   All I had to do now was wait for his reply.   I tackled the pile of unfinished work sitting on my desk to keep myself busy for the time being.  
    There was a slight knock on my door before Magda, one of Bookends’ most talented editors, sauntered in, a coffee mug in one hand and a file folder in the other.   “Got a minute?” she asked.
    I smiled and motioned her to come in.  
    “I’m supposed to be checking these out,” she said, indicating the folder in her hand.   “But I’ve had it up to here with reading depressing crap from suicidal poets.   So, could you work with them instead?”   She dumped the file folder on my desk before I could respond.   Then she glanced around my office before sitting on the chair across from me.   “I thought our meal ticket would be here.”
    I laughed and looked up from my computer screen.   “No.   I met him yesterday for drinks though.”
    “And?” she asked, shifting in her chair.   “How’s he like?   You know he’s got our future in his hands, something Alfred doesn’t get tired of reminding us.”
    I shrugged in what I hoped was a nonchalant manner.   “He’s…interesting.”
    She raised an eyebrow.   “Interesting?”
    “Yeah, he’s…he’s a very forthright person.   He went straight to the point.   No bullshit.   He wants me to court him while he writes his new book.”
    “And how long will that take?”
    I shrugged again.   “Who knows?   I don’t know if he’s ever worked under a deadline.   I assume he has.   But now that he’s a free man, all bets are off.   We’ll just have to wait until he sees fit.”
    Magda nodded while she blew into her coffee mug and took a tentative sip.
    “So, how’s home life?” I asked, changing the subject.   I was trying very hard not to think about Seton, and talking about him was counterproductive.
    Magda grimaced and waved a hand at me as if she were swatting an annoying mosquito.   “My mother’s coming over this weekend.”
    “Again?”
    She shook her head in annoyance, her short, blonde, Shirley Temple-like curls bouncing about her head.   “It’s amazing, isn’t it?   And here I thought I had finally gotten rid of her, that she’d leave me alone now that I’m married, but nooooooo!   That was only the beginning.”
      I nodded sympathetically as we headed to the kitchenette to see if Rosie had brought in the morning muffins and bagels.  
    Magda Jones was my good friend at Bookends AtoZ after Jeremy and, in some ways, Alfred Williams.   She was a lovable heavyset woman with crinkly gray eyes and adorable dimples on her round cheeks.   She was thirty-seven years old, recently married to an equally heavyset man named Tom.   She was a hoot, especially when Jeremy was around.   She used to have a crush on Jer.   She loved his dark and handsome looks that reminded us all of Will from Will and Grace .   She eventually got over her crush after she realized that Jeremy