Succubs on Top

it wasn't like I hadn't ever tied someone up before or had sex in an elevator, but come on. It wasn't the kind of thing I wanted people to consider publicly. I liked to keep my intimate affairs discreet.

I therefore stayed in the office as much as possible, only going out to help when absolutely necessary, and to check if Seth had returned yet. Finally, a couple hours before closing, I saw him back at his table. I sat down opposite him in a rage, not even caring what others would think of us being together.

'Why did you do it? Why did you write me in like that?'

Seth looked up from his laptop, his expression clearly implying whatever writing he was working on still held his attention more than I did. For all I knew, I was at the center of an orgy in some novel now. 'What?'

'The story!' I threw American Mystery onto the table loudly. 'You wrote me in. I'mGenevieve.'

He blinked. 'No you aren't.'

'Oh yeah? How come both our names begin with a G? How come we look alike?'

'You don't look anything like her,' he countered.

'That's not what half the store thinks. They think she's me! They think you've written up a fling we had in an elevator.'

Realization flashed across his face, and to my horror, he actually smiled. 'Really? That's funny.'

'Funny? It's terrible! They all think I'm a bondage freak.'

'Thetis,' he began gently, still damnably serene, 'I—'

'Don't 'Thetis' me. It won't work.'

'I wrote that story, like, six months ago. Long before I met you. The publishing world doesn't move that fast.'

'Well, the others don't know that.' I hovered on the verge of tears.

'I'd never write in anyone so blatantly.'

'Yeah? Well, they don't know that either,' I said, slouching back against my chair miserably, arms crossed.

Seth sighed, his amber brown eyes compassionate as he regarded me. 'Look, do you want me to say something? Tell them that it wasn't you?'

'Lord, that would just convince them even more that it was me. Besides, what are you going to do, call a press conference to clear my name?'

'I'm sorry,' he told me seriously. 'I never thought anything like this would happen.' A hesitation. 'Do…do you still want to go out tomorrow night? I mean…if you don't…'

The old adorable shyness fell over him, and I couldn't stay mad.

'No,' I told him. 'I still want to go, but…I think we should, you know, show up at the concert separately. Most of the staff will be there, you know.'

He opened his mouth to speak but then reconsidered. I suspected he had been about to accuse me of overreacting, but apparently my radiating fury made him think better of it. Seth wasn't exactly the confrontational type. Or, considering the mood I was in, perhaps he just wasn't the stupid type.

'Okay,' he finally said. 'We'll meet there.'

'Georgina?'

Looking up, I saw Paige standing over us, disapproval all over her face. I hadn't even noticed her approach. She wore another of her beautiful power suits, this time in an electric violet that looked stunning with her dark skin.

'Can I speak to you for a few minutes?' she asked, tone grim. 'In private?'

I followed her to her office, letting her close the door behind us. Not surprisingly, a copy of American Mystery sat on her desk.

'So,' she began crisply, 'I've been hearing some rumors—'

'Damn it. It's not me.'

I proceeded to relate to her my own recent discoveries, pointing out Seth's observation concerning how long it took for works to come out in print. When I finished, I think I had mostly convinced her of my innocence, though sordid stories flying around the workplace still obviously distressed her.

Studying nothing in particular, Paige drummed her lacquered red nails against the desk as she thought about what to do. 'This will get cleared up with the staff in time. That, or they'll just get over it. What I don't like is the idea of any outsiders drawing conclusions. You do sound like that character, and anyone else who reads the story could make the same mistake. I don't want rumors starting that half of Seth's reason for working here is that he gets sexual favors on the side, courtesy of our employees.'

'Oh Lord.' I covered my face with my hands, wondering how celebrities dealt with truly large-scale scandals. This small one was bad enough. I wanted to disappear. It tainted the beauty of what Seth and I were trying to build.

'I think the best way to approach this is—'

Her words dropped off as a grimace crossed her face and one hand clutched her stomach.

I started toward her. 'Are you okay?'

She nodded, forcing a strained smile. 'It…it's nothing.'

'The hell it is. You should call your doctor…or at least go home.'

'No, it'll pass. Besides, I've got too much to do. I need to make the new schedule and go over some inventory stats.'

'That's crazy. I can do that stuff.'

She shook her head, arguing again, and I argued right back. At last, Paige yielded, which only verified something must be seriously wrong. Those who went head-to-head with her rarely won.

So, I finished my shift doing her extra jobs and serving as backup. It was exhausting, but I was happy to do it, still worrying about her and her baby. When we closed, I headed straight over to the suburbs, following the directions Bastien had given me.

When I pulled up to his house, I could only sit in my car and stare for a few minutes.

Now, I had a few well-formed ideas about the American Dream. After all, I'd been alive in the days when the term was first coined. I'd seen it arise, seen the mythology that surrounded it, seen the white picket fences and cute, well-kept neighborhoods. I'd even watched Leave it to Beaver. Seth's brother, for example, lived north of the city and had a pretty nice chunk of it carved out.

But this? This was an American Wet Dream.

Bastien's house went on forever, expanding ostentatiously beyond its marble and taupe facade. Even if he'd had a wife and family, I doubted they could have filled it up, and anyway, the kind of people who lived in these places didn't have large families. After all, this was the generation that had, what, 1.75 kids?

The garage had three doors, as advertised, and tasteful shrubs and ornamental trees decorated the lawn. Since it was dark now, I couldn't see the rest of the neighborhood in detail, but I suspected I'd find more of the same. One house, next door, was lit up and busy with people. It was even bigger than Bastien's and probably the location of the party.

'Are you compensating for something?' I asked when the incubus opened his door.

Mitch Hunter flashed me the million-dollar grin. 'My sweet sister, you and I both know that's not true. Love your haircut.'

I'd come as Tabitha Hunter, lean and blond, though I'd conceded to his earlier complaints and given myself shoulder-length hair. He kissed my cheek and ushered me inside for a quick tour.

After a few rooms, it all started blurring together. Cherry hardwood floors. Gorgeously painted walls. Sleek black appliances. Wainscoting. A hot tub out back. Enough guest bedrooms to house a Girl Scout troop. And cute, cleverly placed knick-knacks everywhere.

'Isn't this going a bit far?' I asked, pointing to a framed copy of the Lord's Prayer in the foyer.

'Tabitha, my love, man cannot survive on bread alone. We can, however, survive on delicious appetizers and hamburgers, so let's head over.'

We arrived considerably after the starting time, since I'd been at work, and the party was in full swing. Maybe I shouldn't have been so quick to dismiss these suburbanites after all.

'Mitch!' called a loud voice as we shouldered our way through the people. Most were dressed for the