"They want me to write sexier, Rachel. I don't think I can," Emily said. "Aaron and Kirk said they won't renew my contract if I don't. I don't think a trip to Tuscany is in the cards for me this year, but it sounds heavenly."

"Aaron and Kirk are right," Rachel replied quietly, "but not to panic, Emily. You are a wonderful writer, and you can do this. I know you can. And you will have a marvelous editor in Michael Devlin. I've worked with him myself, and he knows how to bring out the best in his writers, my dear."

"His name is familiar," Emily said, "but I can't quite place him."

Rachel chuckled. "Okay, I'm going to tell you the story, but you have to promise me that you won't repeat it. Oh, Aaron and Kirk know it, but it's pretty hot stuff."

"Ohh, tell, tell!" Emily replied. "You know I love good gossip."

"Seven years ago Michael Devlin came to Stratford from Random House. He was already becoming well-known as an excellent editor, and Martin Stratford lured him over with the promise of his own imprint eventually. J.P. noticed him almost immediately. She had just become company president. I know you've heard the rumors about her, and they are all true." Rachel laughed. "She's Stratford's resident man-eater. She uses 'em and abuses 'em, and then moves on to her next victim. And because the lovers she chose were below her on the corporate scale, no one who valued his job ever caused a scandal or complained about her.

"Her mouth practically watered at the sight of Michael Devlin. She began to stalk him, but he ignored her and dodged all her attempts at seduction. J.P. was pretty surprised initially. No one had ever avoided her or said no. At first she thought he was playing hard to get. It tickled her because usually her lovers came meekly when chosen. She was intrigued that he appeared to be fighting his fate. This went on for well over a year, and then it all came to a head at the Christmas party six years ago.

"J.P. was wearing her usual winter-white outfit. I remember it well: a thigh-high light wool wrap dress with a deep vee neckline. It was around the time when she got that short cut and dyed her hair red. Flaming Mame, I remember Martin calling her. Well lubricated with a couple of margaritas, she managed to corner Michael Devlin, and I do mean corner." Rachel chuckled. "She started putting her hands all over him, and those hands of hers were everywhere. He tried to politely fend her off, but her inhibitions were long gone, and she was listening to her cunt and not her brain."

"Rachel!" Emily squealed at the use of the word.

"Sorry, dear, but there just isn't any other way to put it. J.P. wouldn't have minded if he stuck it to her right there in front of everyone, she was so hot for him. But of course he didn't. He rook her by her upper arms and set her back from him, holding her there. Then he said in the coldest voice I have ever heard him use, 'I choose my own women, J.P., and I don't choose you.' Releasing her, he turned away, walked over to Martin, and after wishing him a Merry Christmas, left the party."

"My God, how embarrassing for J.R although I never thought I'd feel sorry for the bitch," Emily said. "How did he end up in London?"

"Well, Michael had no sooner departed the party than J.R was buttonholing Martin, and demanding he be fired. She claimed he had come on to her and it was all she could do to fight him off. She couldn't work with someone like that, she told Martin. Martin, of course, had been privy to the whole incident, as had a number of other people. He had no intention of losing Michael Devlin, but he also wanted to have his cake and eat it too. J.R is a very good president for Stratford Publishing. So he transferred Michael Devlin to our London office, which suited Michael fine. He was born and raised in Dublin. You'll love his Anglo-Irish accent."

"Why is he back now?" Emily wanted to know. "J.P. isn't a woman to forget an insult. She holds grudges, Rachel. You know she does."

Rachel paused a long moment, and then she said, "You might as well know, but this is also something that can't be bruited about, Emily. Martin is going to semiretire within the year. He and Anita want to travel. Neither of his daughters is interested in the publishing business. Both are married to doctors. But Martin isn't of a mind to sell. At least not yet. J.P. may be the company president, and Michael Devlin now the editor in chief, but Stratford is going to need a new CEO. J.P. thought she had it all sewn up, but she didn't. Martin is undecided, which is why he called Devlin back from the London office to take my job. Now J.P. is using you to get that CEO position while at the same time trying to get rid of Michael Devlin for good. You're right: She holds grudges, and she hasn't forgotten he publicly refused her. The tension between them is palpable."

"I don't understand, Rachel," Emily said, shifting nervously in Aaron's big leather chair. "What have I got to do with it?"

"Look," she said, "no one I know really likes J.P., including me. But she's damned good at what she does, and what she does is run Stratford. Martin has been easing himself out for the last two years, and the responsibility has fallen on J.P.'s shoulders. She wants the title of CEO of Stratford, and all that goes with it. The truth is that she deserves it, Emily. But Martin wants the company to remain strong, and that means he needs a first-rate editor in chief, so he's brought in Michael Devlin from London to take my place. J.P. and Devlin are going to have to learn to get along for the good of the company. And I've heard Martin himself hint that the position of CEO is up for grabs. He will play his little games, and J.P, for all her swagger, is just insecure."

Rachel sighed deeply. "J.P. has never been a fan of your books, but you know that. The company makes a tidy little profit off of you, but it's a sure bet that with your name and track record they can make an even bigger profit if you write sexier. But J.P. doesn't think you can do it. She thinks you're a prude and won't be able to make the transition from sweet to sensual. She also believes she can fill the hole you leave in Stratford's bottom line with half a dozen newbies who do write sexy. And one of them might well turn out to be very successful. You know publishing's a crapshoot.

"So she told Martin that it was up to Michael Devlin to edit you, as you were an editor in chief's writer, and to give you to just a senior editor would be a demotion for you. Martin agreed. He likes you, but you know that too. And he has great faith in Devlin. He knows how ruthless J.P. can be, but he's the type of man who wouldn't believe she'd ruin your career and endanger his company just to get back at a man who refused her lustful overtures years ago. You're a pawn on the chessboard, Emily. If Devlin can get you to write sexier novels, he wins. Right now, that is a threat to J.P. After all, the editor with the big-name writer has a certain amount of power. He could leave and take you with him. But if he can't get you to write that sexier novel, you both lose. Your career could tank, at least temporarily, and you know it's tough to get going again in this business. Devlin's reputation would certainly suffer, and since Martin will appoint J.P. to succeed him, she will make life so difficult for him that he'll leave. He's a proud guy. So both of you have to succeed."

"No pressure, huh?" Emily said dryly.

Rachel laughed. "You can do this, my dear," she repeated. "You are such a talented author, Emily. I know it's going to be difficult, but you will find your way. And Devlin will be there to help you. What have you titled the new book?"

"The Defiant Duchess," Emily said. "It's set in the Terror during the French Revolution. It's a Scarlet Pimpernel-in reverse-story."

"Clever," Rachel said. "And rife with possibilities for a couple of hot love scenes," she noted. "Well, I've got to go, my dear. I have an appointment with a garden designer, and she seems to actually be on time. Call me if you need me. But, Emily, you can depend on Michael Devlin. Trust me."

"I always have," Emily responded. "But a male editor… I just don't know."

"Don't judge him until you've met him and worked a bit with him," Rachel said. "We'll talk. Bye."

The phone line clicked off, and Emily set the handset back in its cradle. She sat for several long moments in Aaron's chair, and then with a sigh stood up as her longtime agent stepped back into the room.

"Finished? How is Rachel?" he asked.

"Talking with a garden designer as we speak," Emily said. "She's going to stay up in Connecticut and sell the apartment here in town. She says she's well fixed. I hope she wasn't just saying that to soothe me."

"She wasn't. And not only that, she already has half a dozen manuscripts to edit freelance for a couple of publishers. When word got out yesterday, she said her phone started ringing off the hook. Are you ready? Our reservation is for one p.m."

"Let me use your loo to freshen up," Emily said. "I wasn't expecting lunch with a new editor. You might have warned me, and I would have dressed better."

"You look fine," he told her, chuckling at the dark look she threw him as she disappeared from his office.

In the ladies' room Emily peered into the mirror at herself. Well, it could have been worse, she thought. Her short, fluffy strawberry-blond hair was having a good day in the dry spring weather. But oh, how she longed for the pale blue suit she had just bought to add to her author clothes. Still, the cream-colored silk slacks and the pale pink silk shirt she was wearing weren't bad. The whole look was rich-bitch, old-money, screw-you casual, she thought. She washed her hands, fluffed her hair, and renewed her lipstick.