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"Just for a bit. I have some matters that need my attention. I'll be back shortly." He hoped.
His heart raced as he made his way back to the main building where Derek's office was. Why did he suddenly feel like a surly teenager being sent to the principal's office? He couldn't imagine that his side job would present a problem for the kinky ranch owner, but maybe the unwanted press would. Or maybe, the story hadn't leaked that far, and Derek wanted to see him for a different reason altogether.
Erika, Derek's pixie of an assistant greeted him with a smile and a nod. "Master Derek is waiting for you. Go on in."
With a deep breath, still trying to process his phone call from Alan, Dalton did so. He hoped the impromptu meeting was Ranch related, but his hopes were dashed when he walked in and saw a stack of his own books piled on his boss's desk.
He sucked a breath between his teeth. So, it had gotten that far already. Shit.
He tried to act nonchalant, but inside he was angry and even dying a little. Time enough to process what had happened before he had to discuss it with his boss would have been nice, but it obviously wasn’t going to happen.
He didn't know what to say, so he was thankful when Derek spoke first.
"Dalton! You sly dog. Imagine my surprise to find out we had a real-life celebrity here at the Ranch. And one of my favorite authors to boot! Woo-eee. I couldn't have picked a better choice for a creative writing teacher!"
"Uh… thank you, sir." Dalton frowned. How did he begin to explain to Derek that he still didn't want people to know he wrote as Arabella Cole, and that he hoped, despite everything, to stay as incognito as possible?
His boss was intuitive. Either that or Dalton had a shitty poker face.
"Professor Rogers? Are you okay?"
"I'm… uh… I'm flattered to be one of your favorite authors, sir, and I'm relieved that you aren't upset, but I'm still coming to terms with what happened and what the fallout will be."
Derek cocked his head and frowned as understanding dawned. "You didn't make the post? It came from your account. That's what the papers are saying, at least. God knows I don't have time for social media."
"It did come from my account, but I didn't make the post. It was my ex-wife and I was only alerted to the situation a few minutes before you called. I'm still reeling."
"Well, hell. Have a seat. Take a minute. Man, I'm sorry. I just assumed all was well and went off half-cocked. My only intention was to get you to sign my personal collection and tell you how pleased I was to have you here. But all that can wait. Let's talk. Sit down and take a load off. I have some free time if you want an ear while you process this."
"Thank you, sir. I appreciate it. And I will be happy to autograph your personal collection." Dalton took a seat. He pulled the pile of books toward him, happy to have something mindless to focus on. Derek offered a pen and he took it, opened the cover of the first book and stared at the pen then the blank page, like he had never seen either one before.
"I've never signed a book before," he admitted, in awe of the realization. Such a simple gesture to personally autograph a book for his boss, but it was exponentially symbolic of how everything was changing.
Shaking off the feeling of impending doom, he pressed pen to paper and scrolled out a quick greeting. He was halfway through scrawling out his first autograph under his pen name when Derek quipped, “Happy to be the one to pop your cherry.”
It was all so ludicrous. Dalton burst into laughter while his boss grinned.
After that first book, he flew through the rest of the stack, surprised to find that his boss had a lot of his older, out of print, first editions. Derek liked the dirty erotica, it seemed.
When he reached the last one, signed it and closed the cover, the finality of the sound seemed to echo in the room.
He looked at Derek, who was looking at him.
"Are you okay?" his boss gently asked.
"Not really," he answered honestly. "It's good this happened now, rather than before, but I never intended for it to happen at all. The ramifications of this…" He shook his head. "I can't even begin to fathom. My agent wants me to do a press tour. Newspapers, magazines, the whole nine yards. He even mentioned Oprah."
"Well, the cat is certainly out of the bag then."
"Yes, it is."
Derek was silent for a moment, rubbing his chin with a thoughtful look on his face. Finally, he asked, "Why did you decide to make such a drastic change in your life, moving from New York to a kink ranch in Montana?"
"Because… I was tired of always looking over my shoulder, waiting for the other shoe to drop. The pay was comparable, and the opportunity to be surrounded by and experience the things I had mostly only written about was difficult to resist."
"And how has your experience been so far?"
Images of Emily flashed in his mind and he couldn't help but grin. "It's been very good," he admitted.
