DELETED SCENE

(I wrote this scene for Thinly Veiled, then realized it didn’t move the plot forward. I was already running long on the book’s word count, plus I had a more significant scene to use in its stead. This is unedited and includes some stuff that did make it into Veiled.)

“Drew in NYC”

The Fatkini Chronicles

Forty-five minutes later, Drew boarded a small charter jet bound for New York. He’d share the flight with two other passengers, but he could ignore them. As the small jet lifted off the runway, he put in his earbuds and pulled his laptop from his messenger bag. Time to look over the book contract Richard sent him and get some outlining done. They were meeting for dinner tonight, and Drew hadn’t looked at the three-book deal or the series it was for in months. Fuck if he could recall what he was supposed to write or earn for writing it.

He’d told Emerson and Jules that he planned to slow down after the wedding, and in theory, he liked the idea, but he had no clue how to put it into practice. He wasn’t wired that way. Or maybe he was, but Danny Saugus had rewired his brain to believe that the worst would happen if he let it happen. And the worst for Drew these days was losing Zelda for any reason. She loved his writing. She loved recording for him. She loved her own career. Therefore, he had to keep writing to help her grow her career and keep her happy.

A part of Drew knew this was flawed logic, but he didn’t know how to rework that logic either. So, he hadn’t tried. Yet.

But everyone expected him to slow down. Even Zel.

So. Yeah. Drew was pretty sure this was gonna be his newest challenge and he needed to talk it through with his therapist. He frowned, realizing he should’ve set up an in-person session with Guthry Henderson while he was in New York. Why hadn’t he?

The frown deepened. The last thing he wanted or needed was to sabotage himself. Not now. Not ever again.

He swore off doing that when he ended things with Livi.

“Focus,” he muttered to himself, opened the contract, and pulled up a playlist. Contracts always called for funk, and Parliament set just the right mood.

By the time they landed in New Jersey, he had everything straight. The contracted series was a sci-fi psychological thriller called Coal Black, and he’d gone over all his notes and synopses, fleshed out the outlines for all three books, and created complete character profiles for the main characters. He’d also made notes of what he wanted to change in the contract.

A car waited for him at Teterboro and took him into Manhattan. Rather than stay at the now-empty apartment, he’d booked a room at the Bowery Hotel. He liked the dark, old-world luxury of its lobby with its velvet, leather, and wood, and the off-beat vibe of its eclectic upscale room décor. It felt like the kind of place where Hemingway and Fitzgerald would hold court and get shitfaced. It was what Drew imagined old New York felt like.

He received a warm welcome and his room key, headed up, and found his room. He approved of its white walls, velvet, wood, and leather furnishings, and the expansive view of Lower Manhattan’s skyline. He peeked into the bathroom and grinned at the deep marble soaking tub. It, too, offered that amazing view and he decided a nice hot bath after dinner was one hundred percent on the schedule.

Drew snapped a photo of the room, then he yanked the white cotton bedspread down to the foot of the bed and let it pool on the floor. He hung his suits in the closet and unpacked his toiletries in the bathroom. Flopping onto the bed, he texted the pic to Zelda.

Landed and all checked into the Bowery. Remind me to bring you here. The place is spectacular.

The message went from DELIVERED to READ and Zelda replied.

Oooh, swanky digs. Bet u feel right at home.

Bet I’d feel more at home if my woman was on this bed w/ me.

LOL! Dunno, looks too posh for your gf.

Nahhh. My WIFE will fit right in.

That earned him a string of heart emojis.

Srsly, I need to bring u to NYC to show u off.

I will let u do that.

Sweet!

The alarm on Drew’s phone chimed. He needed to get the road dust off and head over to the restaurant Richard had chosen. With a sigh, he texted a promise to call Zelda later, then he took a quick shower and donned one of the suits. He'd prefer to wear something a bit lighter, but Drew didn't know the restaurant they were eating at and had to assume it would have a jacket and tie policy. Considering Richard’s expensive tastes, it was a logical conclusion. Drew stashed his computer in the bedroom safe then headed out for the restaurant on Orchard St.

DESCRIBE SUMMER STROLL IN LOWER MANHATTAN – SIGHTS, SOUNDS, SMELLS

Drew skipped the line and sauntered into French Bull. The place served French-Thai cuisine, and the waiting crowd snaking down Orchard Street said it was the restaurant among Manhattan’s cognoscenti this month. It was the kind of place Livi would insist she needed to be seen eating at. He snuck a surreptitious glance around, praying to all the gods that his ex-girlfriend was not in fact seated at one of the tables. He found neither sight nor sound of her and relaxed.

The maître d’ wore all black and assessed him with a trained eye. “Welcome to French Bull, sir. Do you have a reservation?” Drew had a flash of memory. There was a time when such a man in such a place made him feel all sorts of out-of-place.

Now? He smiled. No more worries. “I’m meeting a friend. Richard Alsten.”

“Ah, yes. Mr. Alsten just arrived. May I show you to his table?”

“Please.”

Richard sat at a reserved table by the windows, and Drew’s gaze went to the view of the city’s skyline as he followed the maître d’. French Bull’s rooftop location offered a panorama of white and amber lights against the darkness of the buildings. Manhattan’s nighttime skyline never ceased to impress him.

Richard looked up, and his face broke into a wide smile as he stood. “Drew, damn good to see you!”

"Likewise, Rich." Drew returned his agent’s hug.

Aside from Jules and Emerson, Richard Alsten was one of the only other people alive who’d believed in him when he started writing romance. The fourth person, a woman named Sue Goldman, was responsible for Drew meeting Zelda, and her death a few years ago had kicked a hole in Drew’s heart. He’d worked with Rich since he was a twenty-two-year-old snot-nosed newbie author without the sense to know that a hetero, White dude from a fucked up home in Buttfuck, Idaho, who’d dropped out of tenth grade and never looked back had exactly zero business thinking he could have a career as a romance author.

In fact, Richard had assumed Drew was a woman using a man’s name because he was writing fantasy, so the first time they spoke on the phone had been enlightening, also hilarious.

The restaurant’s seats were red velvet, its tabletops polished wood, and Drew traced his fingers over the cool surface and settled into the cushy seat. The murmur of conversation and occasional peals of laughter competed with the clang of pots and pans from the open kitchen. The scent of grilled steak and something aromatic made his stomach rumble. Oh, yes, he was very ready for an overpriced meal.

Their waiter came by the table and took Drew’s drink order — dirty coffee. Richard already had a wineglass.

"How's life treating you?" Richard asked, then added as an aside, “The king prawns with lemon butter will change your life, but the som tam is overrated.”

"Duly noted. And life is treating me like a king, my friend.” Drew scanned the menu, suppressing a frown when he noticed the “no substitutions” policy. He might have brought Zelda to this restaurant if not for that, but that was a non-starter with his fiancée. Zelda ate carefully and that required a kitchen with flexibility for her food restrictions. Funny that Livi had no such constraints yet she was the far greater pain in the ass when it came to dining out or doing anything, for that matter. Being back in New York reminded Drew, yet again, how much he didn't miss his ex-girlfriend.

They perused the menu and ordered their food when the waiter set down a demitasse of espresso and a chilled glass of whole milk before Drew.

As he poured the espresso over his spoon into the ice-cold milk, Drew said, “The wedding’s in two weeks. Wish you and Shira could be there."

Richard's smile turned rueful. "Believe me, we’d much rather be at your nuptials than her cousin’s son’s bar mitzvah, but what’re you gonna do?”

Drew laughed. “The bar mitzvah, of course. Family doesn’t forgive, but Zel and I already have.”

“That woman is amazing." He sighed. “I would love to be there for you and to meet her other husband.”

"Yeah, she is, and Aithan is an awesome guy.” Drew shrugged. “Just means I have to bring them with me next time I’m here.”

“Please do.” Richard smiled and raised his glass. “To family.”

Drew clinked his glass. “And friends.” They sipped, and when he lowered his glass, he paused. "Family is part of the reason I wanted to talk to you today. I appreciate the contract for the Coal Black series, but I need to make some changes to the delivery dates. I want to slow down my publication schedule. I've been banging out a book a month for I don’t know how many years. It’s time for me to slow my roll and enjoy life with Zelda."

Richard nodded, his expression serious. "I get it. But have you considered how your fan base will react? Your readers have come to expect your rapid releases. They might not appreciate a sudden change of pace."

Drew leaned forward, wrapping his hands around the warming glass of dirty coffee. "I hear you, but my work will suffer if I keep going this hard. Worse, my relationship with Zel will, too. She’s more than aware of my schedule, but ever since her doctors gave her a clean bill of health, I’ve been locked in my office, working.”

“Has it created friction?”

“No, but I can’t expect that to remain the case. And I don’t want it to. I miss spending time with her, Rich. I never felt that way about Livi, but Zelda definitely isn’t Olivia Isaak. I used to be happiest when I was with my characters. Now, I’m happiest when I’m with Zel. I'd rather produce fewer books but maintain a high standard and have a happy life with my wife than keep churning out novels. If that disappoints some of the readers, so be it. But I should be allowed to enjoy life at my own pace. I don’t want to be a machine anymore."

Richard sipped his wine and nodded. "Alright, how about a compromise? What if you aim for a new title every two months? That’ll give you some breathing room while not entirely disrupting your fans' expectations."

Drew considered that. It meant six books a year, rather than his twelve-plus releases. "What about Coal Black?”

“I can buy you another six months on that contract. It’s not like the trad publishers can keep up with Millie Blue’s breakneck indie pace anyway.”

Drew nodded. “Okay. Let me know if they balk."

Richard smirked. “They won’t. They fought hard to get this series. They won’t want to lose it because of a scheduling change that, realistically, only affects you and me.”

After they ate and talked about Drew’s honeymoon and Richard’s new house, Drew grabbed the bill over his agent’s protests. “Man, I need the write-off more than you do. And you paid for plenty of my lunches back when I was a struggling newb.”

Richard laughed. “You struggled for about four months.” Drew opened his mouth to protest, but Rich pointed a finger at him. “Don’t deny it. I’m your agent. I know exactly how much your first advance was, Drew Katterman.”

Drew laughed, too. “True, true. But I’m still paying this bill.”

After they left the restaurant, Drew walked back to his hotel and Richard headed home with a promise to keep him updated on the contract negotiations.

It was a good dinner and Drew felt wound up. His biological clock said it was early and New York City didn’t sleep much more than him, so when he reached his hotel room, he dropped onto the bed and called Zelda on his video app.

“Hi, babe, what’re you wearing right now?”

She smiled, her hair looking tousled, her expression relaxed. “You’re Nirvana concert tee.”

“Fucking lucky shirt. It gets to caress your beautiful tatas. I’m jealous.”

Zelda laughed, and Drew’s cock twitched in response. Damn, her laugh did things to him. Filthy, filthy things.

She said, “You can’t be jealous of a shirt.”

Aithan’s deep voice sounded from somewhere nearby.

“What’s Mr. Fitness saying?”

“That you should be jealous of him.” She smirked. “He was just wearing me on his cock.”

“Goddamn it. I’m missing the fun. Where’d you two fuck?”

“Um, let’s just say the dining table needs to be cleaned.”

“Nooo. Not fair. You can’t have food sex without me.”

She laughed. “No food was involved.”

“What? Oh, that’s unacceptable. That heathen. Where are his manners?” Drew shook his head. “If you’re at the table, there must be eating involved. Clearly, I need to show the young ’un proper dining etiquette.”

Aithan appeared on the screen, his face beside Zelda’s. “When the cat’s away, the mice will play however and wherever they want, old man.” He captured her jaw with strong fingers, tilted her head, and covered her mouth with his. It was a ferocious kiss, the kind that said Aithan was in the mood to dominate, and Zelda’s answering moan said she was more than happy to submit. Shit, watching the two of them was hot as fuck.

“Stop it. This cruelty is unbecoming,” Drew muttered.

Zelda broke off the kiss. “Oh, he’s right.”

“Say goodbye, Zelda,” Aithan commanded.

Yup, definitely dominating. She’d melt for Aithan when he used that tone. She turned back to the phone. “I’m sorry, Playboy, but … I have to.” She bit her lower lip and it was the sexiest fucking thing Drew had seen all day.

“I know. You can’t refuse him when he sounds like that.”

“I really can’t.”

Drew smiled. “Go. My hand is down my pants just imagining what he’s gonna do to you.”

“Oh, that’s hot,” she murmured.

“You’re hot. And, Aith?” Drew called.

“What?”

“Fuck her against the wall.” Aithan’s answering chuckle was downright dirty. Drew smirked at it, then said, “I love you, Brick.”

“I love you, too. I can’t wait to get my mouth on you.”

“You say the sweetest things.”

Aithan put his hand on her neck. “Hang up now, Zelda Claudette.”

She bit her lip again. “Bye, Playboy.” And the call ended.

Drew chuckled. Zelda was in very capable hands tonight. He dropped his phone on the bedside table and decided a long hot bath and a slow self-serve hand job was the next order of business. He couldn’t be home to fuck his fiancée, so the next best thing was closing his eyes and imagining her luscious body while Aithan did all the naughty things to her.

Drew thought of the way Zelda’s voice changed pitch as she neared orgasm. The way her body relaxed as her mind released tension when he ate her out. How her legs hooked the backs of his thighs and she pulled him deeper. He could taste her on his tongue, smell the vanilla and cinnamon scent of her skin and hair, hear her moans and sighs.

Jesus Fucking Christ, he missed her already and he hadn't even been gone a day.