Shades of Scarlet

~ Alina's POV ~ I've been tied up, tied down, cuffed, s*****d, flogged, paddled... I've submitted myself in more ways than I can count, but this -- the waiting -- this is nerve wracking. I'm sitting in the reception area of Dark Moon Publishing. My heart is racing as I try to compose myself. I smooth my hands down my grey pencil skirt and breathe deeply. The plush, over the top interior style of the waiting area is far from calming; it's all rich, vibrant reds and lavish, decadent fabrics. Actually, that velour sofa across the room is almost exactly the same as the one I was bent over last night. Mr. Jameson might be at the top of his game in estate planning, and his skills with rope and knots are exceptional, but the hotels he books for our appointments are often far from refined. I giggle inwardly at the memory. That's better Alina, relax. You've got this. If she hates it, it's no big deal. There are plenty of other fine purveyors of smut to approach, I tell myself. "Miss Scott?" The pretty blonde receptionist pulls me back into the real world. I look up and smile. She's like a real-life Secretary Barbie; perfect sleek blonde hair, standard issue black knee length skirt and fitted blazer, made her own with a candyfloss pink sheer blouse underneath and matching glossy lips. "Ms. Lavine will see you now," she smiles brightly. I return the smile and follow her towards the large double doors, giving her another quick smile as she ushers me inside. "Miss Scott!" Angela Lavine gets up from behind her oversized desk with an outstretched hand and fiery red lips arranged in what looks to be a very genuine smile. She's immaculately dressed in a tailored black trouser suit, a leopard print blouse, and killer red heels that match her lips. Her dark hair is piled artfully into a chic up-do and her black cat eye framed glasses are perched on top. She's every inch the stereotypical e*****a commissioning editor, and she wears it very well. "Ms. Lavine," I smile back, shaking her well-manicured hand -- crimson polish, obviously. "Call me Angela, please. Sit, can I get you something to drink? Tea, coffee, water?" she asks, gesturing to the chair in front of her desk. "Coffee would be great, thank you so much," I reply, perching on the leather seat, trying to keep my breathing even and my increasingly faked confidence in tact. She buzzes through to her PA to order our drinks as she sits herself back down opposite me. "So," she continues, removing her glasses from her head and perching them on her nose to read, 'Shades of Scarlet'. She's holding my book proposal in her hand. It's just the synopsis and the first three chapters, but I suddenly feel very protective of it. Secretary Barbie politely interrupts with a tray of coffee, cream and sugar, attractively served in mis-matched kitschy, vintage looking crockery. "Thank you, Britney, that will be all," Angela dismisses her with a smile and pours us each a cup from the glass coffee pot. "Anyway, Miss Scott," she starts again. "Call me Alina, please," I say politely. '"Alina," She smiles warmly, "Let me cut to the chase, I love your book," Eeek! I try to stop myself from grinning like a manic Cheshire cat, hoping that I'm achieving the look of dignified delight rather than inane joy. "Thank you!" I reply, "That's quite an honor coming from someone so well read as yourself!" Oh, you're a terrible suck up Alina Scott! -- She reads trashy smut for a living, not literary classics! I scold myself inwardly. Quickly, I grab the coffee and start gulping it down. An attempt to look more cool and nonchalant.  "It's true," Angela continues, "Your story is fresh, it's contemporary, and your main character, Scarlet, she's just wonderful -- strong, sassy, sensual -- everything you want in a perfect leading lady!" I smile and sip my coffee to avoid any further gushing. Of course, as far as Ms. Lavine knows, Scarlet is an entirely fictional character, but it's hard not be flattered by her unintended personal compliments. "I won't waste time beating around the bush, Alina. I'd like to recommend your manuscript for our summer publishing short list," She smiles broadly and I feel myself match it as she goes on. "But, I'll need another three chapters by this time next week before I can put it in front of the directors for consideration, is that possible?" "Absolutely!' I reply, a little too enthusiastically. "That shouldn't be a problem at all!" "Perfect! I'll have Britney check my diary and call you with an appointment," She scribbles a note in the leather-bound notebook on her desk before continuing. "Oh, before I let you go, may I ask something, Miss Scott -- Alina -- off the record," she adds, lowering her voice and re-perching her glasses in her hair. I nod my head cautiously. "Your Miss Scarlet and her... encounters. They seem so real, so well observed, almost autobiographical..." Oh s**t. Is she asking if I actually am a call girl...? "Well, thank you! Ms. Lavina -- I mean Angela," I interrupt, looking to shut down this line of questioning as quickly as possible. "Compared to her, my life is probably not so exciting though," I lie smoothly, pretending to be flattered by the pseudo-compliment I was so freely enjoying just moments ago. "Scarlet and her encounters are all down to an overactive imagination -- and growing up with an older brother who had a fondness for adult magazines!' I add with a smile. "Ah!" she replies, I think looking almost relieved. "Well, a great writer draws inspiration wherever she finds it, and it seems you have done just that," Oh, you have no idea Ms. Lavine. No idea at all. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * With that, I leave the Dark Moon offices shortly after, bursting with pride and excitement. I'm a step closer to being published and I want to tell the world! I can't actually do that, of course, because nobody in my real world knows that I'm writing a book about a high-class call girl who works for an agency whose clients have very niche tastes and the various submissive services she delivers. Much less that I actually am that call girl. So instead, I treat myself to a cupcake from the bakery on the corner and head home to get ready for work. Oh, yes. My real job starts now. * * * - - - - - To be continued - - - - -