Recovery Read Online Free Page B

behind me. After a few frustrating seconds, I gave up resisting and let my body sink deeper into the leather seat.
    “Does Simon usually allow his guests to be brutalized in such a manner?” I asked a little out of breath.
    The man let go of me and began to retreat from the rear of the car. Once safely back on the sidewalk, he looked back at me as he straightened out his jacket.
    “Simon does not care about the method, Ms. Beauvoir,” he said, adjusting his black tie, “only the result.”
    “Care to tell me your name so I know who to kill later?”
    He raised his eyebrows at me, seemingly amused by my comment. He glanced about the sidewalk and then placed his hand on the car door.
    “All in good time.” Then he quickly slammed the car door closed.
    “This just gets better and better,” I said aloud to the empty backseat. “Murder, revenge, and now a sadistic asshole with an identity crisis.” I shook my head. “God, I hate New York.”
    Chapter 3
     
    “Aren’t you ready yet?” Dora questioned as she stood waiting at my hotel room door. “It’s six o’clock. We need to get moving.”
    I was standing in the doorway wearing my warmest black cocktail dress, hurrying to apply the last touches to my makeup while Dora looked nervously at her watch.
    I ran back into the bathroom and left Dora standing at the door. “Two more minutes,” I called out over my shoulder.
    “You have one,” she barked back at me.
    As I looked in the mirror and tried to apply more powder under my red and swollen eyes, I thought back to all the things Simon had said to me. My stomach twisted with the memory of his words. How was I going to get through this evening? Suddenly the publicity tour for my book paled in comparison to the revelations I had received earlier that afternoon. I wanted to run away and hide from the world tonight, not go out and mingle in it. But I was here for a reason, I reminded myself. I was here for David, and it was for him I had to bury my feelings and pretend that my life had not just fallen apart.
    “Nicci!” Dora’s voice at my bathroom door brought me out of my stupor. “Come on!”
    Dora all but dragged me from my hotel room and down the hall to the elevators. I was still putting on my black heels, my coat, and trying to put my long auburn hair back in a silver barrette as she pulled me down the corridor.
    “Now remember,” she began at the elevator, “tonight Mr. Hamper wants you to meet several of the literary critics who will be at the party. This party is a golden opportunity for you to showcase your talent.”
    I struggled pulling back my hair. “Are we showcasing my talent or my ass, Dora? Because how on earth can any of these critics possibly discern if I have any talent by looking at me?”
    Dora frantically pushed the button for the elevator several times. “Listen, kiddo, in any business sex sells.” She looked me over from head to toe. “And in your case, sex is going to sell a lot of books.”
    The elevator doors opened before us. She stepped in and I dutifully followed.
    I adjusted my coat around my body. “Gee, Dora. All this time I was under the illusion I was a writer, not a prostitute.”
    Dora raised her dark eyebrows at me, amused. “Is there a difference?”
    The elevator doors closed behind us.
    “Look, Nicci,” Dora frowned, “most businesses are run by men. The same is true today as it was in ancient Rome: a pretty smile and a good figure can help a woman go far.”
    “And her brains?” I asked.
    “Save it for MENSA, kiddo. Powerful men don’t want a smart woman, and they definitely don’t want a woman to act smarter than them. They’ve already got wives to do that.”
    “I’m disappointed, Dora,” I said as the elevator made its descent to the lobby. “I would have thought you to be a feminist.”
    She turned to me and smiled. “I am. I just like to play the game.”
    I frowned. “You lost me.”
    “I play like a woman when need be, but when I get