The red-headed young woman blushed, and sat down next to Asher. After a moment's hesitation, she slid her behind to close the distance between them until her thigh was pressed against his. "I thought maybe you knew me from work or something," she said.

"Absolutely not. I make it a point to never get involved with people I work with." He raised a hand and called for a waiter.

"Really?" She relaxed and leaned against his arm. "And do you always use cake to pick up girls?"

"I thought maybe you must have already had so many gentlemen buying you drinks tonight."

She giggled. "True."

"So I thought you might like a cake instead."

"I do, yes." She snuggled even closer. "My name's Danielle."

"Asher Darcy."

"Wow." Her green eyes lit up. "The Asher Darcy?"

"You've heard of me, then?"

She nodded. "Wow, you look so much hotter than in the photos on the Forbes website. Oh god," she said, and covered her mouth with her hands. "I can't believe I just said that."

"It's all right." He smiled. "What else do you know about me, Danielle?"

***

"So," Lizzy said, setting down her drink. "What's the big news you wanted to tell us? Mom already filled me in about your new reality show."

"Oh my god, Liz," Lucy said. "You won't believe it, but I may be starring in my first film this year."

"Sweetie, that's great," Mrs. Bennet said, putting down her fork. She and Lucy stood up to hug. "I knew this would be the year you'd finally make it."

"I know, right?" Lucy said. She turned to hug her sister. "Oh, Liz! I'm finally making a movie."

"I am so proud of you," Lizzy said, patting her sister's back. She felt relieved. All throughout dinner, she worried what fresh new hair-brained idea her twin sister may have cooked up as a publicity stunt for her new show. One that may or may not involve her.

They were having dinner at Lucy's new apartment. It was a lot bigger than her last one, and apparently this was so there was enough room for a camera crew.

"Of course, it's all because of my new show," Lucy said as they sat back down. "The buzz around it is just through the roof. Hannah promised me they'd go all out on the publicity and she totally came through for me."

"Hannah is so talented, I swear," Mrs. Bennet said. "I'm so glad she's taking care of you, sweetheart. But tell us more about this movie."

"Well," Lucy said. She paused to take a drink of wine. "It's a feature film, by this tiny indie company. But the director is just so talented, I have a really good feeling about this."

Mrs. Bennet clasped her hands together. "I'd really like to meet him," she said. "Maybe he could have dinner with us next week?"

"Oh no, sorry." Lucy took another drink of wine. "He'll be in New York all week, and he has this fancy costume party to go to on Saturday."

As Lizzy watched her finish off her glass of merlot, she couldn't help worrying about the fact that it was her sister's fifth glass that evening. She cleared her throat. "Does anyone want dessert?" she said, standing up. "I brought cobbler. Let me just get it."

"No, thanks, Liz," Lucy said. "No gluten for me."

"You know," Lizzy called out from the kitchen, "that gluten-free diet is only necessary for people who are allergic to wheat. Or some other really rare disease which I'm pretty sure you don't have."

"Well excuse me for wanting to eat healthier," Lucy said. "I'm in front of cameras all the time, Lizzy. You don't understand the pressure I'm on to look good."

"You always look great, honey," Mrs. Bennet assured her. "That new shade of blonde really brings out your eyes."

"It does, doesn't it?" She smiled and shook her short, silver blonde bob. "What do you think, Liz?"

Lizzy set down two small plates containing slices of the peach cobbler on the table. "It's very pretty," she said. She felt a small pang of jealously as she looked at her sister. They were not identical twins, and it was obvious. Lucy had lovely hazel eyes, while she had to settle for brown, like her hair.

"You should really think about going blonde sometime," Lucy said. "You'll look really sexy, I think."

"I don't think so."

"No, really! It lights up your face. You'll look great on TV."

"Lucy, for the last time, I'm not doing your reality show. I didn't agree to do it the last time, I won't do it now."

Lucy gave a mock frown, her perfect red lips in a pout. "Spoilsport."

***

"So my boss is really old, but he's really nice to me so I adore him," Danielle said. "Everyone told me I was too young for the job and that he'd never hire me, but he totally did."

Asher nodded, looking at her intently. It was typical of Paul Schuller to hire an inexperienced twenty-three-year-old as a member of his staff, even if her skills were entirely different from what the job required. He wondered if Schuller had fucked Danielle yet.

"You must have impressed him," he said. "I've only met him a few times, but word is he's quite the perfectionist."

"Like, oh my god, totally." She waved her hands. "He once made his secretary redo meeting notes five times. Poor Katherine. If only I'd done a better job with those notes, she wouldn't have had to fix it. Sometimes," she added, looking thoughtful, "I think maybe he kind of likes me. Mr. Schuller, I mean." She smiled shyly. "But that's crazy, right? He's, like, old."

"You don't like older men?" From the way she had kept touching his hand and pressing her chest against his arm during the last fifteen minutes, Asher was assured that she, at least, liked men.

Danielle frowned. "Yeah, like... my Dad?" She laughed. "Paul — I mean, Mr. Schuller is older than my dad, I think."

"You think I'm old?"

"Oh god no." She moved her hand down his wrist. "You're, like ... the perfect age." She frowned. "Sorry, am I talking too much?"

He moved his fingers slowly to clasp her fingers, and he heard her catch her breath when he started to caress her hand. "I like watching your lips move," he said.

She swallowed. "I, uhm, do you wanna ask me out or something?"

Asher looked at her quietly for a moment. "Actually, I thought I'd take you home."

"My home?" Danielle's cheeks colored, and she cast her eyes down shyly. "Or do you want to take me home to yours?"

________________________________________

I'll be posting Part 4 "Nightcap" in a few days. Follow me for updates!

I’m on my second beer when he sits down beside me at the crowded bar.

At first, I don’t acknowledge him, because I’m way too busy staring at the picture of JewBoy87’s penis on my phone and wondering when my life came to this.

Firstly, who sexts pictures of their genitals at eight p.m. on a Friday night? Someone with no life, who has nothing better to do than come home from work, make dinner for himself, before stripping down and taking photos at various angles of his very erect, very pink penis. Or someone who just has a folder entitled ‘Dick Pix’ on their smartphone just for show-and-tell moments like this...

Emily tasted like honey and milk. Her body yielded to Asher's caresses like butter to a hot knife. He had made her climax twice in the past half hour as he promised. And without taking their clothes off, because that was an important part of the deal.

He smiled upon seeing her blouse open to reveal a fire-red silk and satin bra. That was not his doing. She had unbuttoned her shirt herself while he was busy pleasuring her.

"I'm glad you think so." She was still breathless from the delights he had introduced in her. "Although this wasn't exactly what I had in mind when I called to meet you here."

"Would you like to go over the latest revisions on the contract now, Emily? I think there are one or two more stipulations I have to insist we reconsider."

"I know what they are. I'll have Portman and Stewart take care of it." She had her hand on his wrist as he ran his fingers up and down her navel, urging him on.

She wanted more.

So did he.

"Are you sure about this?" he said, unmoving. "Your father was adamant about letting his brother have that 10 percent stake."

"My uncle has been a useless piece of trash since he dropped out of three colleges thirty years ago, and my father is a fool for thinking he'll get him to ever amount to anything more than a waste of space." She leaned forward and hooked her fingers on his belt buckle. "My fiancé is on his way here for dinner. Would you rather talk about my loser uncle or get inside me?"

***

THE NEXT DAY

"Ash, where the hell are you?"

"Nice to hear from you too, Charlie," said Asher, leaning comfortably in his seat. "I'm out having a drink, if you must know." His gaze strayed across the old Hollywood style restaurant to rest on a tall redhead in a clingy white dress and come-fuck-me heels. She was with two other young women sitting at the bar, talking excitedly. But every so often, she would glance over and meet his gaze. "I thought I'd celebrate my coming back to L.A. with some good scotch and ..."

The redhead tossed her hair and licked her lower lip.

"... some red velvet."

"You hate cake," Charlie said. "And you especially detest red velvet."

"I seem to find myself in the mood for it tonight. The kind with the white cream cheese frosting." He gave the redhead a small smile. "In fact I can practically taste some of that frosting right now. Would you care to join me?"

He could picture his best friend rolling her eyes. "No thank you," Charlie said. "I have an early breakfast meeting tomorrow. How did the meeting go yesterday?"

"Perfectly. You're speaking to the new majority owner of Ritter Media Holdings." He pulled out a hundred-dollar bill with his free hand and held it loosely in his fingers as he signaled a waitress.

"You got your 90%?" She laughed. "But of course you did. Old man Ritter really has lost his touch."

"Oh I don't know about that. Emily Ritter handled the negotiations. Quite a shrewd businesswoman, I must say. Her reputation is quite well deserved. Hang on."

Asher clasped the waitress's hand so the money was between their palms, and pulled her down to whisper in her ear. "Is it here?" he said.

"Yes, Mr. Darcy," she said. "Would you like us to send it over to your friend now?"

"That would be perfect, thank you, Vera."

She pocketed the cash with a smile, and left.

Charlie sighed. "You slept with her, didn't you?"

"I can say with all honesty, my dear Charlie, that neither of us got any sleep."

"Congratulations, I guess. Will she be your date to my party next Saturday? You haven't informed my assistant whether you're bringing a plus one, but she's learned from experience that it's just more convenient to assume you will."

"Very sensible. It's good to know Darlene's Princeton education is being put into good use. No, it seems Ms. Ritter is entirely engaged to a very boring middle-aged gentleman from Texas with the most appalling table manners."

He smiled as he watched the redhead and her friends gasp in surprise when Vera set down the beautifully designed cake in front of her on the bar top. Vera spoke to the redhead briefly, and gestured towards him. The redhead smiled at him — palms on her chest, her face flush with excitement. He nodded at her, and raised his drink.

"Well, whoever your plus one is," Charlie said, "be sure to inform her of the dress code. I'll not have another costume party ruined by one of your last-minute dates who show up with whatever they were wearing when you picked them up."

"I promise she will be in full costume, even if I have to dress her myself. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm just about to have some birthday cake. Lunch tomorrow?"

"Of course. I missed you, Asher."

"And I missed you, my love. Goodnight."

He put the phone in his pocket just as the young woman came over. "Hi," he said. His gaze moved from her long slim legs up to her exquisitely formed breasts to her face.

"Have we met?" she said. "How did you know it was my birthday?"

"I didn't."

"Oh?" She looked confused. "So why..."

"Will you sit with me?"

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

To be continued. 

My Uncle was checking me out.

It felt weird. Actually, no. It felt weird that it didn't feel weird. It felt nice. If he weren't married to my Aunt, and he was just some random guy at a party checking me out, I'd be totally into it.

I was totally into it now.

I wondered how long he'd been staring at my legs. If he was still looking now. If he had been checking out any other part of me while I was busy thinking up things to say.

What happened next I attribute mostly to a sudden flash of naughtiness, and also because I had been thinking of doing something really bad to Rita and for some reason, this opportunity fell on my lap, so to speak.

I dropped my fork.

When I bent over to pick it up (slowly), I was fully aware of the hem of my short skirt rising up to just below my butt.

Oliver caught his breath.

Inwardly, I smirked. I had him.

I straightened up, looked him in the eye and and said, "Oops."

He swallowed. Hard.

I gave my fork to a passing catering staff, who gave me a fresh one. It was time to finish my lovely cake.

Slowly, I forked bits of mousse into my mouth, taking great care to lick the tines of my fork each time. I ran my tongue over my lips much, much more than I needed to.

In the corner of my eye, I could see Oliver just standing there, motionless. Watching me.

I could hear his heavy breathing.

Great. Now what?

At that moment, Aunt Rita finally looked up from chatting with her group of fawning minions to notice her husband was standing on a corner next to her niece. "Oliver, darling," she called out. "Come say hi to my friends."

I glanced at him, and gave him a little smile. He nodded at me before going over to sit with Aunt Rita.

Mom came over with a glass of soda for me. "Are you having fun, dear?" she asked.

"Mom, this is Aunt Rita's best party yet," I said. "I'm so glad we came."

"That's great, sweetie. Did you say hi to your Uncle Oliver?"

"Oh yes, Mom. We had a lovely chat."

I spent the next few minutes trying to figure out what my game plan was.

Seducing my Uncle Oliver wasn't something I'd actually thought about. Sure, I had fantasized him a few time. Okay, I'd fantasized about him a lot. But I'd never really thought I'd do anything close to what I'd just done a while back. And now I was dying to know if there was any way in hell I'd actually pull off what was basically the most terrible thing a niece could do to her aunt.

An aunt who hated her. A really vile human being who humiliated her and her mother any chance she got.

I made my decision.

I went over to my Mom, who was talking to a young couple on the other side of the room. As I walked over, I swear I could feel Oliver's eyes on me. So I glanced his way. He was sitting next to Aunt Rita, not paying any attention to the conversation around him.

Our eyes met.

I held his gaze for a while. I had to make sure he knew what I was knew. What I was thinking.

Then I looked away, a secret smile playing on my lips.

"Mom, do you mind if I stay in the den for a bit?" I asked. "Jenny was home sick today, I promised her I'd go over today's Physics lecture with her over Skype."

"Of course, dear. Did you leave your backpack in the den?"

I nodded. "We're not leaving anytime soon, are we?"

"Maybe in a couple of hours," she said. "Around ten, maybe?"

"I'll be back in an hour."

I made sure I walked past Oliver again on my way to the hall. I glanced at him briefly and found him looking at me again.

When I got to the door that went out into the hallway, I paused and glanced back at him again. Our eyes met, and I held his gaze for several seconds before I turned and left.

I hadn't spent that much time in my Aunt Rita's house, for obvious reasons. It was a large house, with around ten bedrooms. I didn't know my way around so well, but I did remember that there was a library on the second floor. Whenever I couldn't stand being around my Aunt, I'd go there to hide. I liked books, so I was never bored there. It was my sanctuary.

I was going there now.

As I was halfway up the grand staircase, I looked down to see if Oliver had gotten the hint.

He was at the base of the stairs looking up at me.

I could feel, rather than see Oliver following me the rest of the way to the library. He kept his distance, keeping a good ten feet between us. It was a long walk to the library, as it was at the very end of the hallway.

I was half afraid he could hear my heartbeat hammering through my chest. At first I thought I was simply nervous, then I realized that wasn't why my pulse was racing.

I was excited.

I'd never been more excited in my whole life.

I should have been afraid. Or scared. But I wasn't, not one bit. I knew I wanted to do this. I desperately wanted to do this.

When I opened the library door, I felt like I was opening a Christmas present. I went inside and shut the door.

A minute after, Oliver came.

I was sitting on top of a desk that was facing the door, watching him as he came inside.

He didn't say a word as he closed the door.

I heard a lock click.

"What are you doing here, Kaylie?" he asked.

"I got bored," I said.

He didn't make a move towards me.

"What about you?" I asked him.

"I came to see what you were up to. Do you mind that I followed you?"

"Well, it's you're house," I said. "You can do whatever you want." I put as much meaning as I could in those last words.

You can do whatever you want.

Oliver began to fiddle with his cufflinks. "I suppose you're right," he said, not looking at me. "You know, Kaylie, that desk isn't for sitting."

"I'm sorry. Will you help me down, Uncle Oliver?"

He looked up from his cufflinks in time to see me spread my legs apart, and rest my hands on the table, between my thighs.

He walked toward me slowly. As I expected, he seemed nervous, but the way he was breathing heavily told me he was excited too.

As I was.

Oliver laid his hands gently on my thighs, pushing up my skirt a little.

"Do you always show such little respect for furniture, Kaylie?" he asked, his voice thick. His hands started moving slowly up and down my thighs.

God his hands felt so good. They were big and strong, and I could feel their strength and power as he stroked my thighs. "Sometimes," I said, trying to keep my voice from trembling the unbearable need I was feeling. "Is it so wrong?"

Oliver moved his mouth close to my ear. "Yes," he whispered. "So wrong. Very wrong." His hands had moved higher up my thighs. I could feel his thumbs slip under my panties with every upward stroke.

I lifted my hands to give him more room to touch me. I put my arms behind me, my hands resting on the desk for support.

"Will you punish me, Uncle Olie?" I asked, breathing heavily. I wanted to beg him to touch me ... more. I wanted his fingers deeper inside my panties.

"Stop it. Stop making me ... do this."

For a brief moment, I almost pitied the poor man. Very few men could refuse the young, nubile flesh I was offering up to him.

But I was so horny, I couldn't have stopped even if I wanted to.

______________

Please vote for this story if you like it! I'll post the next part very soon. Thank you. - Iliada T.

"I've advised Betty against putting Kaylie in Bronson High years ago. Other than the obvious problem of that school being simply too expensive for them to afford, that uniform is not very flattering on Kaylie."

That was my Aunt Rita talking, of course. Despite the fact - or maybe because - I was standing a few feet away from where she was sitting on the sofa holding court in front of her party guests, she was once again rudely voicing her opinions of me and my family.

Her friends all turned to me, not even bothering to do it discretely, so they could look me over and nod in agreement. I hated my Aunt's friends almost as much as my Aunt herself. While she was an evil, judgmental bitch, her friends were all kiss-ass sycophants who did nothing but flatter my Aunt so there could keep getting invited to her lavish parties. Of which there were a lot.

Embarrassed and angry, I turned my eyes down and stared at my cake. If I didn't already feel like such a dork in my school uniform surrounded by all these well-dressed older women, I felt even more miserable now. I wasn't really fat, was I? No one but my Aunt Rita even implied that I was. And who the hell looked bad in this outfit? It was the standard uniform for most private schools - short plaid skirt, white collared shirt and blazer. It was, in fact, an outfit that showed up a lot in adult films.

Or so I heard.

Thankfully, my mom was too far away to hear. You'd think that being the older sister of eight years , my Mom would refuse to take shit from Rita. (I sure as hell wouldn't. I didn't take shit from anybody.) But no. My Mom was the kind of person who'd always see only the best in people even when they were being blatantly rude to her. And while my Aunt Rita was never a really nice person to begin with, she got even nastier when she married Uncle Oliver, who was this millionaire heir to a real estate empire in California. Suddenly, Rita started acting like she was better than everyone, including my Mom. Even though my Mom practically raised her when my grandparents passed away when Mom was 20. My parents even took out a second mortgage just so they could send my aunt to a decent college.

"I'm sure she means well," Mom said when I complained about how Rita was being mean to me. "She doesn't have children of her own, it's only natural she'd be concerned about you."

I rolled my eyes at that. If "being concerned" meant constantly telling me how fat I was and how I was never as smart as she or my Mom was, then I didn't need her concern, thank you very much.

Of course I couldn't say as much to Mom. She really loved that bitch of a sister of hers. She made me promise never to talk back to Rita or act rudely towards her, no matter what. I loved my Mom, and I knew it mattered a lot to her that I acted respectfully towards her sister.

So that was why I could only bite my tongue and smile in situations like this.

The cake was really good, though. It was some kind of fancy chocolate mousse, which I liked. If I had to suffer through Rita's parties, I could at least be assured the food would be fantastic. I took another forkful, closed my eyes, and sighed contentedly. My diet was ruined. But this was damn good cake. I could never be really skinny like the cheerleaders at school; I had so little self control. I suppose this is why Rita would always have something to say about my looks and my weight.

"Looks like you're enjoying yourself," someone beside me said.

I turned to see a tall, strikingly gorgeous, dark-haired man in his mid-thirties.

"Oh... Hi, Uncle Oliver," I said. I hesitated, not sure whether I should give him a hug.

He stood beside me, both of us now with our backs to the wall, facing the the roomful of party guests. Me holding my cake, he holding a glass of wine. I figured he wasn't really expecting a hug then.

My uncle wasn't a hugging kind of guy after all. He was nice, I guess, but he wasn't warm or affectionate like my parents. And he was kind of a snob, like most rich people I knew. He and Aunt Rita were kind of a good fit that way. Even if he didn't really deserve to be married to such a horrible person, Aunt Rita was less awful when he was around. I was actually glad she was such a two-faced bitch, because that meant that I got a reprieve so long as I was around her husband.

It wasn't too unpleasant being around Uncle Oliver either. I mean , he was pretty old (about 35), but he was nevertheless ... well, hot. He had the most amazing cheekbones and really gorgeous hazel eyes. Plus I've seen him by their swimming pool a bunch of times, and the guy was in really great shape. Like, ripped abs and everything.

We weren't close. I think he just barely tolerated me and my parents because we were his wife's family. Even now, I was struggling with something to say to him to end the silence between us that was getting increasingly awkward.

"So, Uncle Olie. What are you getting me for my birthday?"

"Birthday?"

"Yeah, you know. Birthday. The day you were born. Everyone gets one once a year. There's cake. Usually."

"Oh. Of course. It's your birthday soon?"

"Last Wednesday, actually." I grinned. "I was hoping you'd have a present for your favorite niece."

"You're my only niece."

"Exactly."

I was kidding, of course. I didn't really expect Oliver to give me a present. He'd never once given me a present my whole life.

"Well, I suppose I could set you up with something. What are you now - fifteen? Sixteen?"

I laughed. Of course he had no idea how old I was. "I'm eighteen, Uncle Olie."

He turned to look at me for a few moments, his expression unreadable. "Oh. Of course. Well, happy birthday."

"Thank you."

He turned back to look at the crowd, and took a sip of his wine.

I took that opportunity to observe his profile. Damn, Uncle Olie was hot. I may have in fact had one or two fantasies about him since I turned fifteen. Except in my lust-filled imagination, Oliver wasn't terribly snooty. And he smiled a lot more. Also, he bought me a car. A Tesla.

Okay, so that may have also been a fantasy about owning a really nice car.

I turned back to watch the crowd as per my role of the official wallflower of my Aunt's party. However, I couldn't help but be aware of the man standing next to me. Not just in the sense that I knew he was there. I was conscious of his legs right next to mine. And his torso, with those amazing abs underneath that dark suit. His hand holding his wine glass, his mouth drinking from that glass.

What was Oliver even doing there? Was he as bored as I was?

Without moving my head, I turned my eyes to glance at him. And found him staring downwards. Looking at my legs.

I looked away quickly before he noticed.

_____________

Thanks for reading! Please vote for this chapter if you liked it! - Iliada T.

Kaylie is sooooo sick of her Aunt Rita's constant barrage of thinly-veiled insults. The older woman never misses a chance to put down her niece or her mother, and this time Kaylie wasn't going to take any more of it.

She was going to get her revenge. And she was going to get it the only way how - through her Aunt Rita's hot, younger husband.

______________

This story is gonna get really hot and steamy, so I advise anyone younger than 16 to skip it. To everyone else - enjoy!

______________

Kaylie's Revenge is part of the three-story collection in Emilia's Revenge and Other Erotic Stories. Please find the link on my profile. Available on iTunes/iBooks, Smashwords, and Barnes & Noble. 

______________

EXCERPT:

"Your tongue felt so good ...," I whispered. "But you wanted to give me more."

Oliver sucked harder. I could feel his tongue flicking my nipple hungrily, desperately. What started as a hesitant tasting of my body turned into a ravenous feasting on my flesh.

Weak with desire, I was helpless to do anything but bite my lip to keep from moaning out loud as his mouth ravished every inch of my breast. I wanted to beg him to take me at that very moment. To thrust his manhood inside me, to fill me up with every inch of his sex until this aching need I felt was gone.

He pulled his hands from under my skirt to grab my waist and pull me closer to him. Then he tugged on my blouse, ripping my last two buttons, and pulled down the straps of my bra. He pushed me down to lie on the desk, and positioned himself between my parted legs. I didn't struggle, but he put his hands on my shoulder blades, pinning me down.

He looked down on me, his heavy breathing the only sound in the room. I realized I had been holding my own breath.

"How much more, Kaylie?" he said.

"Everything," I said. "You wanted to give me every ... inch of you."

"You'll regret this," he said.

"Maybe." I sat up slowly, and reached down to grab his belt. As I unbuckled it, I looked up at him. "Will you make me regret this, Uncle Olie? I want to regret this a lot."

It is a truth universally acknowledged that when you're having a bad day at work, something will come up to make everything worse.

Lizzy Bennet shut her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. At this rate she was going to need another aspirin soon. "Mom, this really isn't a good time," she said. She stood behind the desk in her tiny office, unable to sit still. Not after the news she had just gotten over email an hour earlier.

"It's never a good time for you, Lizzy," said her mother's voice over the speakerphone. "It's almost like you never have a minute to spare for your poor mother."

"I'm sorry. There's an emergency at work and—"

"Listen, Lizzy, sweetie. Lucy has been offered her own reality show. Can you believe it? They think it may even be a bigger hit than Tyrell's show even at its peak. We're signing the contract on Friday."

"That's ... great, Mother." Lizzy sighed. So her twin sister was getting her own reality show. It was not at all surprising. After being featured prominently in her ex-boyfriend and rapper Tyrell Ramsey's reality show that had run for three seasons and was a massive ratings juggernaut, apparently Lucy had gained enough popularity to headline her own show. Lizzy wasn't sure why there seemed to be an endless public craving for Hollywood celebrities partying and behaving badly, but while there was an audience for it, there would always be people like her sister who was willing to give them what they want. "Please tell her congratulations and I'll give her a call as soon as I can."

She wished she could be happier about the news, really. But it was difficult. Because of Tyrell's show, Lucy had been transformed from unknown struggling actress to famous screen ditz to tabloid fodder. While she revelled in the attention, unfortunately, that meant Lizzy got more than a fair share of the fame, too. It was something she was never comfortable with. She worked in a magazine and considered herself a serious journalist. She reported the news, she didn't want to be part of it.

"Oh, but there's more, Lizzy, dear. The producer Hannah Covey — you remember her, don't you? — wants to focus a bit on our Lucy's family life. They're especially interested in you as her twin—"

"Absolutely not, Mother," Lizzy said, cutting her off. "We'd settled this. I didn't agree to participate in Tyrell's show, and I won't be part of this one. Not even for two seconds of screen time. I'm a magazine editor, for god's sake." For now, at least, she reminded herself. "I've been very supportive of Lucy's career but—"

"That's exactly why Hannah wants you on the show, honey. You and Lucy are so different. She lives such a glamorous lifestyle while you ... well, you seem serious and so different from anyone in Lucy's circles."

Lizzy bent over, palms flat on her desk. "That's because I am different from Lucy's friends, Mother. Just because my twin decides she wants to make a spectacle of herself on TV, it doesn't mean I have to."

"I feel you're quite judgmental, Lizzy. Just because your sister isn't as boring as your friends, it doesn't mean she isn't as good as any of them. And she always has time for me."

That's because you're the only one enabling her, Lizzy wanted to say. "You know I do my best."

"Honestly, I don't remember raising you to be this selfish. You could learn something from your sister. Why only yesterday, she told me she thought of volunteering a weekend at the soup kitchen downtown."

"They'll be filming the whole thing, I take it?"

"Well, yes. They said they'd be very happy to have the charity center featured on the show. Honey, it won't hurt to give exposure to the conditions of the homeless. Why must you be so cynical?"

Maybe because the only time her sister thought of others was in terms of whether or not they could be of use to her? Lizzy loved her sister but she also knew her well enough to be cynical of any "charitable" activities the latter tries to undertake.

"I'm sorry, Mother," she said, looking at her watch. "I'm sure that will do a lot of good uplifting the plight of the homeless." Or exposing more of her sister's shallowness to the world. "I'm sorry if it seemed like I'm not being supportive. But I have to go now. We have an editorial meeting in two minutes."

"It's a Saturday night, sweetie. You should be out meeting a nice man. Do you want to die an overworked old maid?"

There was a knock on the open door. Lizzy's best friend Sharlene Lucas leaned against the door frame, her iPad clutched to her chest with one hand. She made a fist, stuck out her thumb and ran it across her throat.

Lizzy grimaced. "Not if you have anything to do with it, I'm sure, Mother. Goodnight." She pressed a button to disconnect the call. "Is Jade back?" she said.

"Yup. Let's go."

***

"Perhaps it would be best if you let me drive, sir?" William Fitzpatrick said. The Scotsman was trying not too sound too alarmed at the way the convertible he was riding in was careering dangerously through the long winding roads that lead up the hill.

"Relax, old man," said Asher Darcy. He looked almost completely calm as he navigated another turn on the road. "We're barely going over eighty, and there's hardly another car in sight."

"Right. Good! That would be excellent if the speed limit in this county was, in fact 80 miles per hour."

"It would, yes." His flight to L.A. had been delayed, giving him barely an hour to get to Joseph Ritter's home in time for their meeting. He couldn't resist taking this opportunity to see how far he could push the abilities of the Ferrari Spider, his new favorite sports car. A car that was built to run should be allowed to run, the way a bird should fly. It was the nature of things and it should be respected. "I've done this many times, Fitz. I promise I won't get us killed."

"I shall hold you to that promise, sir." Fitzwilliam sounded less panicked now.

"Good."

"Mr. Darcy?"

"Yeah, Fitz?"

"You know I'm most grateful for this opportunity to move to the States to work with you. The compensation package is quite good."

"Don't forget the dental plan."

"Right, yes. That too. However, I've been your chauffeur for almost a week now and I was wondering ..."

"Are you quitting on me, Fitz?"

"Oh no sir. I would just like to inquire, respectfully ..."

"Yes?"

"When I might actually, well, drive you."

***

"Asher Darcy. He's chairman of the board of the Darcy Capital Group, and he's branching out to media now."

Groans filled the room, and not a few pens were thrown down on the table.

"Are you serious?" Garret Wilson said. The bearded, middle-aged marketing manager looked almost livid. "This is what we've been reduced to -- some billionaire's hobby for God's sake?"

"I'm sure Mr. Darcy takes this magazine considerably more seriously than his golf game, " Jade said. She did not have the look of someone who had to deliver bad news. The tall, thirty-two year-old editor-in-chief of The Fold was her usual pleasant self, and was in fact sounding quite pleased. As though the acquisition of the magazine by a billionaire playboy with questionable motives was not quite that big a deal.

It was, however, a big deal to Lizzy. A massive deal. "The New York Tribune folded two months after Terry Holding bought it," she pointed out. "Surely we have a better chance of making it without this Darcy taking over."

"Darcy is not completely without qualifications, Lizzy. He does have a bachelor degree in journalism, and a two-year stint at the New York Times under his belt."

"It was an internship, Jade," said Wilson.

"Which he probably paid to get," added Lizzy.

Jade sighed. "You've been quiet this whole time, Sandra," she said. "Thoughts?"

Sandra Las Marias linked her fingers. "Does it really matter what I think?" she said. "I take it this is a done deal?"

"I'm afraid so. Old man Ritter is eager to have Darcy take us off his hands, I think. Honestly,with the way he's been running things, I'm not convinced we're not better off with a new publisher."

"Even if that new publisher is Asher Darcy?" Wilson said.

"The man's no fool," Jade said. "He may have inherited his billions from his late father's estate, but his family's hedge fund company has been doing better since he took over as chairman of the board. The fact that he had a more experienced manager take over as CEO speaks to his leadership abilities."

"Looks like he already won you over, Jade," said Sharlene. "The man is quite charming, I hear." She had her elbow on the table, her chin resting on her palm. "I saw him at a benefit once. So dreamy."

"We haven't met," Jade said. "Emily handled the negotiations."

"Emily Ritter?" Wilson said. "I suppose old man Ritter has lost his touch since he retired."

"Rumour has it that it's Alzheimer's," Sharlene said.

"I'm sure Emily got the best deal she could out of Darcy," Lizzy said. "She's not called the Ice Queen for nothing."

***

"Oh Asher, that was just..." gasped Emily Ritter. She arched her spine slightly, head thrown back.

She lay on the bed with her arms splayed on her sides and her knees bent. The red silk shirt under her white suit jacket was unbuttoned down to her navel. Her skirt was hiked up to her waist.

Asher was crouched between her parted legs, arms hooked under her knees. He moved his hand from her left knee down her thigh, his lips following the trail of his fingers on her perfect alabaster skin. "Worth the ten-mile drive up here I should say," he murmured.