Eli Morgan had three rules about mixing business with pleasure.
One: Never fuck anyone from the office. HR complaints were annoying.
Two: Never fuck anyone whose work you were actively rejecting. Conflict of interest.
Three: If you were going to break rules one and two, make damn sure her husband didn't find out.
Tonight he was following at least one of those rules. The woman kneeling between his legs wasn't from his office and he'd already sent the rejection email two weeks ago. Her husband, however, was currently listed in her phone as "Babe ❤️" and had called six times in the last hour.
She really should answer that.
"Fuck," Eli breathed, head tilting back against the couch. His fingers threaded through her dark hair. Gentle. Almost sweet. "Just like that."
She hummed around him. The vibration went straight up his spine.
Her name was Jessica. Or Jennifer. Something with a J. She'd cornered him at the publishing mixer last month, all doe eyes and a neckline that could cause traffic accidents. Editor for one of the romance imprints. Married for six years. Bored out of her mind.
Eli could work with bored.
She was good at this. Enthusiastic. The kind of woman who treated a blowjob like a personal challenge rather than a chore. Her lips were painted dark red and currently wrapped around him with enough suction to make his vision blur.
His phone buzzed on the coffee table.
Eli ignored it. His hand tightened in her hair. Not pulling. Just grounding. She moaned.
The phone buzzed again.
And again.
"Jesus Christ." His free hand fumbled for the phone. "Who the fuck calls at eleven on a Thursday?"
The screen lit up. Unknown number. He should ignore it.
He didn't.
"Yeah?" His voice came out rougher than intended. Jessica's tongue was doing something absolutely sinful and his brain was starting to short-circuit.
"M-Mr. Morgan?"
Oh for fuck's sake.
The voice on the other end was young. Male. Cracking with emotion. Eli recognized it immediately. Some wannabe author whose manuscript had crossed his desk three weeks ago. Chronicles of the Radiant Hero.
The kind of paint-by-numbers isekai trash that made him wonder if the internet had been a mistake.
"How did you get this number?" Eli's fingers stilled in Jessica's hair. His attention split between the crying man on the phone and the woman currently trying to suck his soul out through his dick.
"I-I found it on the rejection email signature and I just, I needed to, I mean, you can't just—"
Jessica's teeth scraped. Light. Playful. A clear message: pay attention to me.
"Ah!" Eli's hips jerked. "Fuck."
"I'm sorry?" The author's voice went high. "Are you, are you okay?"
"Fine." Eli's hand dropped to Jessica's face. Thumb brushing her stretched lips. Her eyes flicked up to meet his. Dark and pleased with herself. "Bit my tongue. What do you want?"
She took him deeper. Nose nearly touching his stomach. Showing off.
Eli bit back a groan. His hand cupped her jaw.
If only her husband could see this. The devoted wife on her knees in another man's apartment at eleven pm on a weeknight. Lipstick smeared. Mascara starting to run.
Beautiful.
"You, you rejected my novel." The author's voice wavered. "Chronicles of the Radiant Hero. You said it was, and I'm quoting, 'an insult to the genre and possibly to literacy itself.'"
"Sounds like me." Eli's thumb traced Jessica's cheekbone. She leaned into the touch like a cat. "I stand by that assessment."
"But I worked on it for two years! I, I poured everything into it and you just, you just threw it away with a two-paragraph email!"
Jessica pulled back. Lips releasing him with an obscene pop. Spit connecting her mouth to his cock in a thin strand. She grinned up at him. Wicked.
Then she took him deep again. Faster this time. Messy.
"Your protagonist," Eli said, somehow keeping his voice level, "is a spineless beta who spends half the story crying about his moral dilemmas while beautiful women throw themselves at him for no reason. That's not character development. That's wish fulfillment for losers."
"He's supposed to be relatable!"
"To who? Fucking quitters?" Eli's fingers tightened in Jessica's hair. She moaned. "And don't get me started on your harem. Five girls with the combined personality of a cardboard cutout. They exist to worship your sad-sack protagonist and occasionally need rescuing. That's not romance. That's a participation trophy with tits."
Jessica pulled back again. This time her hand wrapped around him. Stroking. Slow. Her other hand braced on his thigh.
"I, I tried to make them deep! They have backstories and—"
"Backstories aren't personality." Eli watched Jessica's hand move. Up and down. Her wedding ring caught the light. "Your elf princess likes flowers and is shy. Your warrior woman is tsundere. Your healer is pure and innocent. Congratulations. You've written the same three archetypes that have existed since the dawn of anime. Except worse because you can't even commit to the R18 rating you slapped on it."
The author made a choking sound. Might have been a sob. "The, the fantasy elements, I thought mixing modern and medieval would be—"
"Lazy?" Eli supplied. "Because that's what it was. You wanted magic but also wanted smartphones because writing actual medieval politics is hard. You wanted swords but also wanted the hero to introduce gunpowder because you couldn't be bothered to make the magic system interesting. Pick a lane."
Jessica's phone buzzed on the floor. The screen lit up with a photo of a smiling man in a golf shirt. "Babe ❤️" calling again.
She glanced at it. Frowned.
"I need to take this," she whispered. Her hand still moving on him. "One second."
She stood. Eli got a full view of her in the dim apartment light. Blouse unbuttoned halfway down. Skirt hiked up around her hips. Hair messed up from his hands. Lips swollen and shiny.
She grabbed her phone and walked toward his bathroom. The door clicked shut.
Eli was suddenly very aware he was sitting on his couch with his pants around his ankles, dick out, arguing with a crying author on the phone at eleven pm on a Thursday.
His life had gotten weird.
"Mr. Morgan." The author's voice cracked. Full breakdown imminent. "I, my mom, she's, she's kinda homeless and I thought if I could just sell the novel I could help her and I really, I really tried my best and—"
"Womp womp." Eli tucked himself back into his pants. The mood was thoroughly killed. "Now are you done?"
Silence on the other end. The kind of silence that meant he'd crossed a line.
Eli didn't particularly care.
"You know what?" The author's voice changed. Anger replacing tears. "Fine. You're right. My MC is a useless beta cuck. He's pathetic and weak and everything you said. But you know what else? L-like you could do better!"
Eli laughed. Actually laughed. "Kid, I reject ten manuscripts like yours a week. I absolutely could do better. In my sleep."
"Then prove it!" The author's voice went shrill. "Write it yourself! Take my world, my system, my setup, and show me how it's done! Since you're such a fucking expert!"
"I'm an editor, not a writer." Eli stood up and stretched. "I critique. I don't create. That's the whole job description."
"Because you can't! You sit there in your fancy office tearing down people's dreams but you couldn't write a real story if your life depended on it!"
The bathroom door opened. Jessica emerged. Makeup fixed. Blouse buttoned. Hair smoothed. Wedding ring prominently displayed on her left hand.
"I have to go," she said. No eye contact. "I'll probably be back after he goes to sleep."
"Sure." Eli watched her gather her purse. He'll just call someone else over when she leaves. "You know the code."
She left without another word. The apartment door clicked shut behind her.
Eli was alone with an angry author on the phone and a rapidly deflating ego.
"You still there? Can't even respond? Because you know I'm right. You're just a parasite. You feed off real artists but you couldn't make something worth reading if you tried."
"Kid." Eli walked to his window. Eleventh floor. City lights sprawled below. "I've been in this industry for eight years. I know what works and what doesn't. Your novel doesn't work. Accept it and move on."
"Then write one that does." The challenge hung in the air. "Prove you're not just some hack who gets off on crushing people. Write a story worth reading. Use my world if you're so confident it's not the setting that's the problem. Show me how a REAL protagonist acts. How REAL women respond. How a REAL R18 harem fantasy should work."
Eli should hang up. Block the number. Forget this conversation ever happened.
He should.
"And if I did?" The words came out before he could stop them. "What then? You admit your novel was shit?"
"If you can actually write something better?" The author laughed. Bitter. "Then I'll never write again. I'll admit I was a hack. But you won't. Because you can't. You're all talk."
Eli's reflection stared back at him from the window. Thirty-two years old. Successful career. Nice apartment. String of married women willing to fuck him in secret.
Empty.
"Fine." The word slipped out. "I'll do it. I'll write your stupid novel. The way it should have been written."
"Bullshit."
"I'm serious." Eli's hand pressed against the glass. Cold. "Give me your shitty world. Your beta protagonist. Your cardboard heroines. I'll turn it into something actually worth reading. Something that understands what R18 actually means. A protagonist with a spine. Women with personality. A story that doesn't apologize for being what it is."
The author went quiet.
"You're serious," he said finally. Soft. Almost wondering.
"Dead serious." Eli smiled at his reflection. "I'll give you a story worth reading. Or I'll die trying."
The line went dead.
Eli lowered the phone. Stared at the dark screen.
"What the fuck did I just agree to?" he muttered.
His reflection didn't answer.
The city lights blurred. Doubled. Tripled.
Eli blinked. His vision swam.
The floor tilted. His phone slipped from his fingers. Clattered on the hardwood.
"What the—"
The world went white.
Then black.
Then nothing.
===
Eli woke up to the smell of roses and sulfur.
And the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen smiling down at him like she'd just won the lottery.
[Well well well~ Hello, Master. Welcome to your new life. I hope you're ready to write that story now~]
Her voice purred inside his skull. Yellow eyes gleamed in the darkness.
Eli's last thought before passing out again was remarkably succinct:
Oh. Fuck.