The shock hits me first, like a bucket of cold water.

Then my heart drops through my stomach. Then, I start remembering the emails. Oh God, oh shit. He must be toying with me. There's no way he wouldn't recognize me. Not with everything I told her.

Him. Told him. Oh God.

I'm pretty sure I'm going to vomit or have a panic attack again, or both, but I feel like that's not going to make my situation any better. And that's when I look at the ashtray, and then at his head. This fucker. He's wormed his way into every part of my life somehow, ruining everything. It's improbable. It's nearly impossible that he'd somehow be involved with the one series of books that's been able to make me smile in the last decade of my life. Make me smile. Make me come.

Oh Jesus God, I have masturbated to words that this man wrote. I'm going to need something heavier than an ashtray.

"You look pale," Mr Hale muses, opening another desk drawer. "Bourbon ?"

It's fucking eleven o'clock in the morning, but I nod. I watch him, with the one part of my brain that doesn't feel like it's on fire. And he doesn't seem like he's fucking with me. He really, truly doesn't. Mr Hale relishes fucking with me, so unless this is some kind of long con, he genuinely doesn't realize that I've read the books. Could he really be that dense ? Or… someone else answers his emails. But who else knows ? Who else could he possibly trust with this information ?

"I don't get it," I say, finally. "You're a romance novelist ?"

He shrugs, setting the glass of bourbon in front of me. "I had an idea one day. I told a few authors I know, they all laughed it off. So naturally… I took that as a challenge." There's that predator smile again. Oddly, I feel more comfortable with it back in my life. "New York Times bestseller. Suck it."

I take a long swallow of bourbon, and relish the burn going down.

"So…obviously, you can't show up as Laura, looking like… that."

One hundred and ten percent male, is the part that I don't say - I just leave it implied. Which honestly, isn't all that much better.

"Obviously," he agrees. "But I've got you."

"But… why do the conventions at all ?" I clear my throat. I'm trying, desperately, too project a normal level of curiosity until I can work my way around to asking who handles his correspondence.

"My publicist insists I've reached a tipping point," he says, looking bored with it. "And honestly, I wouldn't care that much, but it means a lot to her. She's invested a lot of time and energy in me, and the more successful I get, the more successful she can be."

That's… not the Derek Hale I know. Frowning at him, I swirl my glass.

"This seems like an awful lot of hassle just to throw your publicist a bone."

He lets out a little snort of laughter.

"Just to head this one off at the pass - no. I'm not fucking her. And no, I don't want to, Well - I mean, I wouldn't say no. But it's not urgent. It's notmandatory."

His eyes glint, and I briefly wonder what measures he would tale if he considered it mandatory to fuck someone. I'm not sure I want to know. Except that I definitely do. I'm picturing her already, the kind of girl that Mr Hale would want to fuck, but not urgently. Long blonde hair flowing down in waves, probably. Very willowy. Very put-together.

"It just seems like the thing to do," he says. "Cultivating some goodwill in the world. God knows I've done enough strictly for me."

I take another sip.

"You're being very candid, Mr Hale ?"

He leans forward a bit.

"Please," he says. "We're going to be spending a lot of time together, Genim. Call me Derek."

I can feel my lips drawing into a thin line. "Doesn't it bother you, having to act like a woman all the time when you post on Facebook, or answer emails from your fans ? Mr Hale ?"

It's a pointed question, but I don't care anymore. I have to know. And no, I am not going to start fucking calling him Derek as long he calls meGenim. He frowns a little.

"No, I don't even look at that shit." He's making a dismissive gesture. "My publicist handles all the fan interaction."

I exhale, slowly. So it's possible - likely, even - that he has no idea. Never even saw those emails, has no idea that I've read his books. His books. Shit. I am so not equipped to deal with this. He's added one more thing to the pile of books, I realize - a printed manuscript, not bound, just held together with loose rings.

"That's the book you'll be promoting," he says. "I've just finished it. Please excuse any typos, my editors haven't had a chance to attack it yet."

"Of course," I say, faintly.

I can't let on that I'm basically plotting his murder, because I can't give him the ammunition. He can't know how devastated I am. It feels like I've lost a friend. Deep down, I know how ridiculous this is. How ridiculous all of it is. I'm so lonely and pathetic that I let myself get unnaturally attached to a fictional characters, and then I transferred that attachment onto the person O thought had written them. But it was a lie. All of it was a lie.

"Really - Genim - are you feeling all right ?" Mr Hale is staring at me. "You actually do look like one of the undead."

"I'm fine," I snap. "I just… I just need…" What's a good excuse ? "I get stage fright. You know. Social anxiety. Panic attacks." Yeah, that's it. It's even a little bit true. "I don't know if I can find the right person to do this, what kind of woman do you need ? I don't know if I can do this."

Normally I'd never show weakness with a shark in the water, but this is infinitely preferable to the truth.

"Oh, you'll fine." Mr Hale waves a dismissive hand. "If you can't find a woman, you'll have to do it yourself. I'll coach you. You've just got to.."

"So help me, if you say the word 'bootstraps', 'wig' or 'corset', I will tell everyone in the entire world that you write middle-aged-lady jackoff material," I snarl. "NDA be damned."

His eyebrows go up, a fraction of an inch. "That's a very colorful description," he says. "I trust you'll find they're a little more than jackoff material. Although, speaking from experience…"

He's smiling.

"Ugh." I grab the stack of books before he can continue that train of thought. "Please. Fucking spare me. If any of these pages are sticky, by the way, I'm burning all of them."

The idea that Mr Hale and I have masturbated to the same thing, ever, is legitimately horrifying. Neither more or less horrifying than the fact that it was something he wrote. Just a different kind of horrifying.

"Sorry," he says, not looking sorry at all. "But no, I promise you, those are brand new, frsh copies. Just for you." He winks. He fucking winks at me.

"Jesus." I look down at the pile in my arms. "You know, I always suspected you were the kind of guy to jerk off to your own reflection, but this is a step too far."

And with that parting barb, I go to my doom.

llllllllllllllllll

"Say that again."

"I know, but Lyds, you're the only one who can do that."

This is a nightmare. I can't believe that I accept, I embarass myself for his ass and I don't feel even sorry. I know Lydia for a very long time, when I discovered Laura's - I mean, Derek's - books, she quickly found them and read them for a week long. I trust her, she'll keep Mr Hale's secret. She knows the plot, she'll be a perfect Laura Wilso, I tell her. She had to, there is no one else and I will not put on a wig and high heels for my boss. have my limits and I'm a fucking man, damn it. Kinky crossdressing in bed, maybe. But definitely not in front of a hundred of strangers.

"Please, I beg you."

"It's your stupid boss who should beg me." She snaps with a mock anger, but she's considering it.

"I can't believe this fucking coincidence. Why the creator of all my fantaisies has to be this incubus ?" I lean back into my couch.

After the holy discovery of my boss being my favourite author, Lydia came by. She was alerted by my miserable voice, I was desperate and really close to drown myself in my hot tub. She helps me cook the dinner and I explained her the all deal as we ate. Told her everything makes realize how much fucked up this thing is. But it's too late, I said yes, I took the new manuscript and end my day at my desk, trying desperatly to look neutral about the books. Mr Hale didn't shows up and I came home early, which is pretty rare.

"This is not a coincidence, Stiles. It was your destiny," she winks, it amuses her, of course. "Oh, boy, you are gonna to owe me this one for ALL you life."

"What ?" I say hopefully.

"I'll do it, not for your boss but for you and because I'll see what it feels to be famous. I'll need to go shopping, with his creditcard, of course. Laura is a elegant and strong woman…"

And for hours, she keeps babble about how she sees Laura, like a actress she created a whole life for her character. Oh God I love her. I can't help smiling tenderly at her as I listen.

"Thank you, Lyds, you're amazing ! You save me. You have no idea." I hug her. She gives me back my smile.

Relief flashes my body and I can't wait to tell Derek the good news. The thought is unwelcome. Mr Hale is going to be very please, of course, but I'm scared of myself as I feel that I might enjoy this a little too much.

This man is going to be the death of me.

lllllllllllllllll

I'm sitting in my living room with the fucking manuscript in my hand.

A day ago, no, hours ago, I would have been overjoyed to be holding the next installment of His Boss. Thrilled beyond belief. But that was before I knew the truth. Gnawing on my fingernails, I wonder if Mr Hale's publicist had ever mentioned me, even in passing. I

f she'd guessed that I might actually work for him. It was a hell of a coincidence. Unless. Heart twisting in my chest, I pull up Laura Wilson's author page. I don't want to look, but I have to.

I have to know.

I scroll down to the first book in the series, eyes searching for the publication date. Instantly, my throat goes dry. Hands shaking, I go to open up the resume document that I keep updated in my backups. I always have my dates of employment in there, one hundred percent accurate.

After a few years of working for a madman, you'd be surprised how easy it is to forget little details like days and months and years. I'm praying that I've misremembered, that I haven't really been with Mr Hale for as long as I think I have. Because if my memory is correct, then…

Two months.

Two months after I started working for him, he published His Boss.