Pseudonymously

John Smith knows two things for sure: 1. He definitely has a crush on his secretive editor who publishes his erotic novels and 2. Clara Oswald, the woman who keeps refusing his science fiction stories, is a stupid cow. Clara Oswald is certain of two things: 1. She would do about anything for a night with the Doctor and 2. that John Smith, who keeps begging her to publish his sci-fi novels, is a rude arse.

But what happens when they find out who the other is?

Chapter 1

John Smith opened his laptop and took a large sip from his morning coffee, feeling that little jab of excitement in his belly as he noticed the one new e-mail that wasn't a reminder for something he had recently looked up on Ebay or some offer to buy performance enhancing pills. No, this e-mail was a good one. It came from his publisher. John took another sip and leaned back to read it.

Good morning, Doctor,

I hope you slept well and had some more wonderful dreams because the last one you've written down was simply amazing. I must admit, I had to lock my office door to read it because I didn't want to be interrupted. And also because my face probably turned the darkest shade of red that is humanly possible and my colleagues would have asked questions. So, congratulations, after three novels you can still make me blush ;-) Consider the short story approved. Definitely approved. Now I'm eagerly waiting for the next one. This book is going to be a hit, I can feel it!

I don't know why you're so interested in what my cat is doing, but I've attached a picture of him because I know you won't give up. He's settling in very well and has taken to sleeping in the flower pot recently. Now I feel bad for watering the plant and I'll probably need a new one soon. Or better yet a plastic one that doesn't require watering. But seriously, why are you so fascinated by my cat? I actually think it's pretty sad that a 30 year old woman spends her time reading erotic stories and talking to her cat. And now you know my biggest secret, so I think it would only be fair if you told me yours.

Yours sincerely,

The Impossible Girl.

P.S. Hurry up with the next story ;-)

John smiled to himself as he read those lines, feeling a stab of pride because he had managed to make the Impossible Girl blush. She had been reading, editing and publishing his erotic fiction ever since he had figured out that he could try to make a living of them. It was working. The erotic stories published under his pseudonym The Doctor were doing a lot better than his real books, which still hadn't found a publisher, and John was beginning to think that maybe they never would.

He went to open the attached file and the smile instantly returned to his face at the sight of the little, ginger cat winding around his owner's feet and biting into her toe. Even though it was a cute photo, John had to admit that he had hoped for a little more. The Impossible Girl was an alias, just like the Doctor, and when they had started to exchange e-mails about his stories, he had known nothing else about the woman behind it. It was the publishing company's rule, ensuring that authors who did not want to share their true identity felt safe sharing their stories by giving them an anonymous editor. The Impossible Girl wouldn't find out who the Doctor was and he would never find out who she was. But the thing was. . . John wanted to find out.

In the beginning their e-mails had been strictly professional, just a normal exchange between an author and his contact at the publishing company, but over the last two years their relationship had evolved. It had started out with smalltalk, nothing big, nothing fancy, but John had noticed her sense of humour even then and he had liked it from the start. The Impossible Girl was intelligent, witty, funny and wasn't afraid to speak her mind and he had started to look forward to her messages on a level that could not be called a mere excitement about his work. Then, one day, she had admitted that it was the two year anniversary of her boyfriend's death. John, having lost his wife years ago, had felt the need to comfort her and ever since their e-mails had started to become a lot more personal. That had been almost a year ago now and still he didn't know her real name, but he knew one thing for certain: He really wanted to find out. John had a crush on her and he didn't even know what she looked like.

He took his time typing a nice, equally witty reply while he finished his morning coffee and sent it. When he was done, John exhaled sharply. Now it was time for his meeting with the person who seemed to be the Impossible Girl's complete opposite: Clara Oswald. John shuddered at the thought of crawling up to that awful woman, who kept refusing his science fiction novel no matter how often he re-wrote it. Maybe today she would like it. Maybe today he would have a bit of luck.

Good morning, Impossible Girl,

now, my dreams are usually a secret I can't share with anyone, but I think I can make an exception in your case ;-) I remember dreaming about a mysterious woman who kept her name and face hidden from me. I chased her forever. I wasn't sure whether she genuinely didn't want anything to do with me or if she was just playing with me. But when I had finally reached her and was about to look at her face, I woke up. This dream is still driving me mad.

What about you? Did you have nice dreams or did your cat keep you up all night? It's definitely a cute one and he seems to like your feet at lot. Do you still have all of your toes?

As for the stories, I'm doing my best. I suspect I will finish the next one in two or three days and you will be the very first person to know when that happens. I hope you will like it because I included something just for you ;-)

The Doctor.

"Just tell me if you want me to leave," Amy's voice tore Clara from her thoughts about the recent e-mail and she looked up at her friend and client, only now noticing that she was still smiling because of the Doctor's words.

"Sorry," she uttered instantly, trying to hide just how exited she was about the message, "I just wanted to check this e-mail."

The smile on Amy's face was sheepish and Clara just instantly knew what was going to follow. "It's that Doctor, isn't it? When will you finally ask him out?!"

"I can't," Clara sighed. She wanted to. She really did. "I'm not even allowed to know his name."

"You're my publisher and my friend. Are you telling me that's forbidden as well?" her friend raised her eyebrows.

"Of course not, but this is different. He's using a pseudonym, so I have to do the same. It's to protect the clients who don't want to be recognized. And I'm pretty sure he'd turn down an offer to go out and then it would get really awkward," she argued because it was the truth. Even if the Doctor wanted to get to know her in person, which she doubted, they would be breaking the rules.

"You still know you want to," Amy said matter-of-factly.

Again Clara sighed. Yes. Yes, she did. At first she had only valued the Doctor as a very talented author and she had been so glad to have been assigned to him. But then their conversations had started to turn more and more personal and Clara was fairly certain that they were already breaking the rules by just doing that. She couldn't even say how exactly it had started, but on the second anniversary of Danny's death Clara had felt so sad and lonely that she had confided in the Doctor. The flirting, however, had been a rather recent development and Clara had to admit that she was enjoying it more than just a little.

Almost three years without a man in her life had already made her get a cat and now she seemed to be falling for a man she had never even seen before. But it wasn't his looks Clara was interested in. If the Doctor was just half as good in bed as his erotic novels made it seem, he definitely knew how to please a woman. And it had been almost three years.

Suddenly a note popped up on her computer screen and Clara was instantly reminded of the one appointment she had tried her hardest to ignore up until the last minute. John Smith. That annoying man just wouldn't give up and Clara was beginning to run out polite ways to turn him and his stupid novels down.

"I'm sorry, Amy," Clara said, "I'm afraid I'm really gonna have to ask you to leave. I've got another appointment."

She rolled her eyes at the pure thought of it. When would John Smith finally leave her in peace? Of course Clara knew the answer to that question. The day she decided to publish his novels, but she certainly wouldn't have her name written under a pile of crap like that.

"You don't seem excited about this one," Amy noted.

"No," she growled, "This one is the worst."