Evil Editor stirred. Too many times he'd opened his eyes after a major binge, and it hadn't been pretty. Still, he wasn't doing any good as a stump, so he flicked his eyes open, staring at some sort of ceiling.
Darkness, nothing but pure--
"Shit." He'd never drank himself blind before.
"Hi there," said a deep voice.
"Enjoying the sofa and fire?"
"Fire?" Evil looked to his left, focusing his eyeballs on an orange glow. "Oh, that. Where the hell am I?"
"Dear, sweet Evil." A musky scent floated his way before the woman sat next to him. "I'm Jennie, Jennie DeMoron."
Evil blinked three times.
"I've been sending you stuff for six months now, but not even a rejection letter," Jennie said, standing up, going to the right side of the fireplace.
She turned. "You don't remember me at all, do you?"
Evil sucked in a breath. If he said no, would she stuff him into the fire? But he was more afraid to say yes, afraid she'd strip him naked and have her way with him. Then Evil's member moved. "Sure I do."
Jennie sat down again, hiding something behind her back. "You do?"
Evil licked his lips. "You send me your full every two weeks."
"Snail mail's a bitch, huh?" Jennie wriggled closer.
So she was the one who sent the fat package he always chucked out. He tried not to think about her musky perfume, her pouty lips, her chin stubble...
"What the hell?" Evil jumped up.
"What's wrong?" Jennie asked, standing.
He winced as something metal clattered to the floor. "You're..."
Jennie smiled. "Yeah. I'm a man, baby."
Evil sweated bullets until his prick moved again. Then he shrugged. "What the hell." At least Jennie wasn't bugging him about her fucking manuscript.