Rewritten (The Bound Series Book 7)
Rewritten
A Bound Book
Bronwyn Green
Rewritten
Copyright © 2017, Bronwyn Green
Edited by Jessica Bimberg and Kris Norris
Cover Art by Kris Norris
Published by Bronwyn Green
Released September 2017
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the author, Bronwyn Green.
Table of Contents
The Bound Series by Bronwyn Green & Jessica Jarman
Blurb
Dedication
Author Note
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Epilogue
Excerpt from Bound: Executive Positions
Excerpt from Bound: Safeword Protected
Excerpt from Bound: In Bounds
About the Author
Also by Bronwyn Green
What’s hotter than sexy accents, BDSM, and a bit of rope?
Not much.
Enjoy the Bound Series
London Bound by Jessica Jarman
Drawn That Way by Bronwyn Green
The Professor’s Student by Bronwyn Green
Nothing Serious by Jessica Jarman
Out of Sync by Bronwyn Green
In Bounds by Bronwyn Green
Safeword Protected by Jessica Jarman
Rewritten by Bronwyn Green
COMING SOON
Executive Positions by Bronwyn Green
Ask Me Anything by Jessica Jarman
Rewritten
Betrayed and completely exposed, she’d sworn off kink. Hell, she’d sworn off men. But she hadn’t counted on him...
One of the hottest voices in Sci-Fi, Angus Domhnull is renowned not just for his sweeping sagas, but for his stupidly gorgeous looks—and the fact that he’s taken almost five years to finish his latest novel. Now, assistant editor, Eliza Burrows, is stuck minding him, and his brooding nature is pushing every sexually submissive button she has. But even if Angus wasn’t her publisher’s star author, he’d be off-limits—after a painful betrayal, Eliza doesn’t play anymore, and she’s not about to start again with him.
Unable to deliver his long-awaited manuscript, Angus is saddled with a keeper—and her creative input—that he never asked for. Despite the resentment and animosity brewing between them, he finds himself drawn to Eliza. As he learns more about the intriguing woman behind the prickly facade, he falls for her, hard and deep.
When the attraction between them ignites, Eliza lets Angus bring her to one place she swore she’d never go again—her knees. He wants more than just her submission, but her past and the secrets she’s hidden could destroy everything...
.
Author Note
Dear Reader,
Please be aware that this story contains some violence and discussion of suicide and assault (not committed by the hero) in case those are topics that may be triggering for you.
Thanks so much for giving Angus and Eliza a chance. I hope you love them as much as I do.
~Bron
Dedication
This one is especially for Jess, Kris, and Jen—This past year has been...trying, to say the least. For a while there, I questioned whether or not I’d ever finish another book again—let alone this one. Thank you for being your amazing, supportive selves. I love you all so damn much. #bestoffriendsandbestofwomen
Huge thanks also go to Amanda, Anne, Charlotte, Elena, Jeanne, Jen, Jonesie, Kirsti, Landra, Nik, Petra, Sophie, Terri, and Torrance. I freaking adore all of you! And thank you, especially to Jen, for the “Vomit Notes.”
And very special thanks go to Jared, without whom I wouldn’t have reverse polarity particle thingies and other science-y stuff.
And finally, to Matt, who can always manage to make me laugh no matter how stressful things get. I love you more than I have words to express.
Chapter One
“I don’t need a minder.”
Eliza Burrows stared at the top of the man’s dark head as she waited for him to look up and acknowledge her presence. He continued to tap away at this laptop keys as if she’d already left the room. When it seemed no further response would be forthcoming, she cleared her throat. “I’m not here as a babysitter, Mr. Domhnull.”
“Didn’t ask for you. Don’t want you,” he muttered, never looking up.
“Your publisher—”
“My publisher is a bunch of scabby bawbag sucking skivers.”
Her lips twitched, but she managed not to smile. Barely. It was nearly impossible not to be charmed by his heavy Scottish accent, not to mention amused by his word choice though. Not that he would have noticed as intent on ignoring her as he was.
“Well, that bunch of dirty testicle sucking idiots—or is it layabouts? Anyway, they hired me to do a job.”
He looked up at that, the intensity in his nearly black eyes almost stealing her breath. Or maybe it was just that he was so much more beautiful than she’d been prepared for. Sure, she’d seen his picture—who at Terra Ink Publishing hadn’t? But photographs had not done this man justice. Thick slashes of black brows sat above eyes so dark brown, it was almost impossible to discern the pupil from the iris. Long lashes framed those bright, dark eyes. Eyes that were currently assessing her. But she refused to let him see any weakness.
Instead, she smiled serenely and went on, “And that job is making sure you attend your panels on time and sober—”
He threw up his hands. “Show up guttered one time, and—”
“And,” she continued, “that you finish your book.”
He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, pinning her with that inky gaze. “So, explain to me again how you’re not a minder?”
She refused to look away.
Angus Domhnull was basically the George R. R. Martin of the science fiction world. Well, the super-hot, sci-fi version of George R. R. Martin, anyway. Angus had been working on the final book in his blockbuster series, Dark Nebula Rising, for almost five years. He’d already blown deadline after deadline, and his fans were getting pissed. But not as pissed as his editor and the powers that be at Terra Ink.
So here she was—glorified babysitter—at least, for the duration of this tour. �
��Technically, my current job title is assistant editor, but I’ll be acting as your author assistant,” she said stiffly.
“Soooooooooo...” He drew out the word as he shoved his hand through his unruly curls.
“So, fine. I’m your minder.” She straightened her spine. “I’ll do my best to stay out of your hair while you’re working, and to make sure you’re where you’re supposed to be when you’re supposed to be there.”
He stared at her for a moment more then, obviously dismissing her, lowered his head and began typing again.
Stifling a sigh, she opened the file folder she’d been holding and laid several sheets of paper and one of her business cards on his desk. He continued working, pointedly ignoring her.
“That’s a copy of your schedule. There will be a car waiting at seven-thirty. If you need anything, my cell number is on the back of the business card.”
Turning on her heel, she walked toward the door of their adjoining rooms.
“Ms....”
She looked back at him as he picked up the business card, clearly searching for her name.
“Burrows?”
“Yes?”
“Close the door on your way out.” He laid the card down and glanced up. “Actually, scratch that. I need to be able to pace while I’m thinking—so, leave the door open between the two rooms.”
She blinked at him. “You want me to leave the door open?”
He sat back in his chair and studied her. “Do you have some sort of difficulty with cognitive processing?”
Her mouth dropped open.
“Trouble hearing, then?”
She forced herself to maintain eye contact. “I’m not hard of hearing,” she bit out. “And I’m not stupid.”
“Glad to hear it. On both counts, really.” He glanced down at his screen again. “So, be a good lass, and leave the door open.”
She stared at him, incredulous. “I will not.”
“Excuse me?”
“If you need to pace, you might try the treadmill in the gym, but you’re not going to just wander through my room.”
“Your room? I don’t think so, lass. I always get adjoining rooms so I can spread out.”
Eliza stared at him and took several deep, calming breaths. Well, they were deep anyway. “I’m going to assume that you didn’t read the email Barbara sent.”
“Which one?” Angus dragged his fingers through his hair again, his irritation clearly bubbling to the surface. “There were at least thirty-seven.”
That probably wasn’t an exaggeration. Barbara was an excellent editor, but it usually took her multiple emails to say everything that needed saying.
“The one that mentioned that there were no other rooms available. The hotel is completely booked because of the con, and they were going to need to give me the adjoining room. That email.”
He laced his fingers together behind his head as he stared at her, looking as though he was biting back everything he wanted to say. Yeah, well, he wasn’t the only one.
She fought the urge to let her eyes wander over his arms. Over the way his t-shirt pulled snuggly around his biceps, or the way the muscles corded in his forearms. Forearms she’d have the overwhelming urge to bite if he wasn’t such a jerk.
She pulled her gaze away from his arms. “Unless you need anything before then, I’ll meet you here at seven-twenty, tomorrow morning.”
He continued to stare at her. Though, at this point, it could really be considered more of a glare.
“Goodnight, Mr. Domhnull.”
“Ms. Burrows.” He nodded once, like an angry widower concluding an interview with a hapless young governess in some gothic novel.
She tried to ignore both the way he rolled the Rs in her name and the displeasure in his tone as he dismissed her. He could go ahead and be as pissed off as he wanted. If he hadn’t been such a dick about it, she might have felt bad for him. She knew how difficult it was for some writers to focus when they weren’t comfortable in their surroundings. Instead, she took great pleasure in shutting and locking the door to her room.
Annoying brooding man. He needed to go find a moor to stand on. It didn’t take much imagination to picture him in the middle of a desolate landscape, greatcoat open and billowing in the wind. She rolled her eyes at herself.
He’s a bad-tempered Scotsman. Just because he’s hot and has an accent doesn’t mean he’s your Mr. Darcy. Besides, if he’s out being moody on the moors, he’s more of a Heathcliff. And no one needs that asshole.
And really, Darcy was a classist snob, anyway. No one needed him, either. Eliza kicked off her heels and padded, barefoot, into the bathroom. The cold ceramic tile felt good against her aching feet. She’d put in almost a full day of work before flying halfway across the country to Phoenix to make it to this sci-fi convention and her babysitting gig. She sighed. At least, she could dress down for the con tomorrow. She’d likely need the running shoes to keep up with Domhnull who’d probably spend the day trying to dodge her.
She adjusted the alarm time on her phone and plugged it in to charge, then quickly changed into yoga pants and a t-shirt before powering on her computer. While she waited for it to boot, she opened her planner and checked off the tasks she’d finished then wrote tomorrow’s list. With the time difference, she had a few extra hours to work. And tonight, work was finishing her re-read of Event Horizon, book four of Dark Nebula Rising. She wanted it fresh in her mind on the off chance that they’d discuss the direction of book five.
She’d loved the series the first time through. They’d been one of the few things that had helped pull her through an especially dark period of her life. When she couldn’t go online, couldn’t answer texts, couldn’t even answer her door, she’d at least had Mirran, Zarah, and Wye to keep her company—to give her something to care about. There had been especially bad days when they’d felt like her only friends in the world.
Even if Angus Domhnull was a self-centered, aggrandizing dick, he’d still given her a safe place to hide when she’d needed it most. She couldn’t imagine ever telling him any of that—even if he wasn’t an ass—but that didn’t mean she wasn’t grateful to him.
It also didn’t mean that she was going to let him slide when it came to doing his part on this con tour. She snorted. Looked like she was stuck in the governess role after all.
Chapter Two
Angus Domhnull paced the length of his room stopping short to glare at the closed door that led into the adjoining room. He’d been holed up in the hotel for almost a week, happily pacing from one room to the other. Now his flow was locked up just as tight as that damn door.
His editor had insisted that having an author assistant attending these events with him would be beneficial. And he’d strongly disagreed with her, thinking that had been the end of the matter. He hadn’t realized he hadn’t had a choice.
As it turned out, there were quite a few things at Terra Ink he’d had very little choice in. He glanced toward the locked door. And it seemed like that list was growing daily.
Flopping into his chair, he leaned back and stared at the ceiling. It hadn’t always been this way... At least, he didn’t think it had. He’d been over the moon when he’d signed the contract for the trilogy thirteen years ago. Then somewhere along the line, three books had become four, and four had inexplicably become five.
He’d wanted to end the series after the last one. In fact, he had ended it and wrapped everything up. But then Barbara and the editorial director had offered him a metric fuckton of money to extend the series. He hadn’t wanted to. He’d known how the story was supposed to end. But he’d been cocky, figuring he’d created an entire universe, he shouldn’t have any trouble coming up with a new ending for the book—especially for that amount of money.
Now, here he was, stuck in exactly the same spot he’d been for the last five years. Well, not exactly. He’d written hundreds of thousands of words. And deleted nearly every one of them. Oh, and now, he had a minder to go along wit
h his epic failure.
The thought that they couldn’t trust him to finish on his own, without someone standing over him, rankled. Except he hadn’t finished, had he? He sighed and closed his eyes. How the fuck was this supposed to work, anyway? Was he supposed to show her his tally at the end of the day? Hand it in as if she were his teacher and he was the naughty student who had to stay after school for failure to turn in assignments?
Her prim, almost demure demeanor did make him think teacher—or maybe librarian. The close-fitting skirt, white blouse and hair twisted up in some sort of complicated style definitely added to that image. Plus, she’d seemed really tightly wound. Though that could have been because she wasn’t any happier about having to babysit than he was about being babysat. He couldn’t help but wonder who’d she’d pissed off to get stuck on this shit detail.
Grabbing her business card off the pile of papers she’d left on his desk, he checked the spelling of her name then went to Terra’s website. Let’s see if we can figure out what got you assigned to this particular circle of hell.
She was listed as an assistant editor beneath his editor, Barbara Carter. There was a headshot of Barb, but no pictures at all of Eliza. Maybe assistant editors didn’t rate photos at Terra. He clicked over to check out some of the other editorial teams. That didn’t seem to be the case since other assistant editors had photographs on the site—not only that, there were also links to the other editors and assistants’ social media accounts. He went back to Barb and Eliza’s page. Barb had links. But there were none for Eliza.
He moved to Google and entered her name. Surprisingly, there were very few Eliza Burrows on Facebook. There were quite a few more Elizabeth Burrows, but either way, none of them were his minder. He checked Twitter, Snapchat and Instagram, but there was nothing there, either. Hell, he even checked Pinterest and Tumblr and came up short there, too. What person in their age bracket didn’t have any social media accounts? Christ, even he used Twitter and Instagram.