I sleptslept withwith my Literary Agent

Yes you read that correctly.

And yes he’s still my literary agent.

We’re married.

I’m nine weeks pregnant with our first child.

This is how it started:

My boyfriend – a rugby coach – cheats on me with the nurse that cared for him after his elbow injury. I’m devastated. Bed-bound for weeks because the aching in my chest won’t subside. Five years we were together. We met when I was twenty and now I’m twenty-five, single, living back at my parents and directionless in life. It’s shit. Something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.

It’s week three post breakup when I finally decide to wash my face. My friend is taking me out. We’re going on a coffee date, something lowkey because numbing my emotions to alcohol isn’t a rabbit hole I wanna go down.

We’re in the central of Edinburgh flicking through books at an independent bookstore.

“Have you ever thought about writing? I did it when I split up with my ex.”

“I want to take my mind off George. Not think about him.”

“Yeah, exactly,” she goes. “Creative writing. You need an escape. A world you can turn to when you want a break from reality. Too many people these days turn to drinking when they’re depressed, lonely and want to fill the void. Hiding away in a world you’ve created for yourself for a few hours is a much healthier alternative.”

I’ve always enjoyed reading but since the breakup, I’ve been unable to because heartache tends to hijack the mind. Distract you from everything.

I bury myself under my duvet that night with my laptop and attempt to type out a few words thinking I’d get nowhere with it…

Instead I find release.

A layer of weight in my heart suddenly lifts.

What do you mean George cheated on me with his nurse?

I’m too busy developing characters for a book I already have a general premise for.

Every night I come home from work and write. Some nights it’s gruelling, the last thing I wanna be doing because I’m exhausted, but fifty words trumps zero. It’s still progress.

And that’s the story of how I fell in love with writing.

Now for Vance.

When I tell you I queried.

I queried.

Day and night.

2AM when I couldn’t sleep.

In the fifteen minutes I got on my work break.

Every free minute of me not querying was an opportunity wasted.

I hit month three in my querying journey and got a major set back because perhaps there was just not a market for my book. I was close to shelving, going to sleep every night starting to feel like it was all for nothing, when I got a PING! on Query Tracker from a Vance Carthright in New York, USA.

VANCE: Hi Elizabeth, I have read through all ten pages of your manuscript and think this story has real potential. I would like to read the full story and if it meets my expectations, arrange a video call with you.

My faith was restored.

I sent the full manuscript over immediately.

Spent the next three days fidgeting like I had ants in my pants, anticipating his response.

Which was… like a miracle.

I straightened my hair for the first time in months, brushed out my lashes and entered the video call trying to dampen my smile because if I kept on the way I was going, I was setting myself up for developing premature wrinkles.

The smile fell from my face as soon as Vance joined the call. He was otherworldly. Looked more like he should be on the front cover of the latest Vogue issue, not behind a computer screen all day hiding his face. Long, black lashes. Olive green eyes. When in thought, he swiped the pen across his bottom lip and looked down with scrunched eyes. My funny remarks were met with a smile each time. Hearing his characters’ names on those full, round lips could’ve had me orgasming right there.

“I’d like you to come to New York, travel expenses paid for. When are you free?” He clicked his pen, angled it to the paper on his desk and waited for my response.

I gave him my first availability.

Next week.

“Perfect. You book the flights and I’ll reimburse. See you next week.”

I sprung up from my chair and did laps around my room. On the third, I paused to stabilise myself against the wall as the tears fell from my eyes. What the fuck? Signed by an agency and going to visit them in New York City on Monday?

I packed that night even though the trip wasn’t for another four days, got to the airport hours before my departure time and spent the entire flight biting my lip trying to contain my excitement because I’d never been to America before.

The agency hired me a driver.

I was staying in Hotel Edison.

They must’ve had some money behind them because it wasn’t a thing for agencies to fly debut authors out to meet them. Flying clients internationally and putting them up in central hotels must’ve cost them a fortune.

But it wasn’t the agency paying.

It was the agent.

From his own, personal funds.

“What do you mean you paid to have me here?”

Vance thumbed for an elevator and wiped the back of his neck frustratingly. The grimacing look on his face suggested that he was definitely planning on scrapping with his co-worker later.

“I didn’t think they’d bait me out like that.”

“Don’t be annoyed. It’s funny. Flattering.”

Flying a client out because you wanted to go on a date with them wasn’t very professional but the action was easy to overlook when he had a face so attractive it looked like it’d been tampered by AI.

“Sorry.” He bit his lip. “That was bang out of order for me.”

The elevator arrived.

He hesitated to step in.

“Well I’m here now. We might as well go on the date.”

“True.” He stepped in after.

It was reassuring to know that he didn’t know what I looked like before the video call. He enjoyed my book. That was all that mattered.

The puppy crush he had on me was a bonus of course.

It was a coffee date. He ordered two flat whites, two croissants, and I said no when he asked if I took sugar.

“Thought so. You’re already as sweet as they come.”

Funny.

“So.” I netted together my hands. “To make this clear, you actually like the book?”

“Love it. My colleagues read it too. There’s a gap in the market for this sort of stuff. And – “he shuffled in his chair” – the sex scenes. Wow. Engaging, to say the least. Not like that’s why I enjoyed it, Sally and Mark as characters are really fleshed out, but the scenes… they added seasoning. Tell me. Just how did you come up with the pool table scene?”

“Not a recount of real life events.” I put up my hands. “I’m not that adventurous.”

Sex wasn’t something you were supposed to discuss on a first date but somehow we got deep into the trenches of it. Kinks, favourite positions… all hardly professional. I sipped coffee like it was some kind of relaxant that was gonna settle my nerves, my attraction for this man, because it was one hundred per cent gonna get me in trouble. This was supposed to be an innocent date, maybe we’d discuss logistics of the book, steps we all needed to take to get the book on submission. Instead the date consisted of prolonged eye contact. Sexual chemistry fizzling between us, so hot that at one point I thought I actually saw the energy waves.

The desire between my legs only continued to grow in intensity.

Those olive green eyes of his scanned my face. Landed on my lips a couple times. We sipped coffee and maintained eye contact the entire time, even when setting the mug back down on the table. He extended his foot. Brushed it against mine.

That alone had several chemical reactions rushing through me.

The tension between us… anybody would’ve thought we’d made these coffees Irish.

I licked my lips. “You want to kiss me.”

“I do.” He reached for my hand. Brushed his thumb over mine. “Should we get out of here?”

“Is this illegal?”

“What?”

“An agent and her client?”

He shrugged. Sniffed a laugh. “Maybe it breaks a few codes of conduct. But it would make a good story.”

We left the coffeeshop and headed down to the subway. He led the way, his hand entwined with mine the whole time, and in the train carriage we watched one another’s eyes. The sexual heat flooding through me mixed with that from being underground had me on the verge of passing out. I took a seat when one became available and he stood over me, all tall and green eyed like a Greek god, to flash me the most sinful look I’ve ever seen. Just you wait to see what I’m gonna do to you, was what it said.

I’d never felt more alive. The anticipation of walking to my agent’s apartment for sex, having just signed a book with him, brought a kind of rush that couldn’t be replicated by drugs. It was in that moment I thought back to George, the worthless way he made me feel, the sleepless nights, the endless scrolling on my phone to make myself feel an ounce lighter, the leaving the house and seeing reminders of him everywhere, that I felt a sense of triumph. The sun setting between two skyscrapers, a godsend of a man in front of me… that was the moment I realised I’d made it.

The highest of all highs.

Until, of course, we got to his apartment and challenged high in an entirely different way.

The pool table.

“I’m convinced you made a phone call when you snuck off to the bathroom. Rented this table from somewhere.” I knocked on it. “You’re sleek.”

“Nope, not sleek.” Vance circled around the table and slid two cues from their holders. “Just very good at pool.”

“We’ll see about that.” In taking the cue from him, I brushed my hand against his.

He waggled his eyebrows.

Gestured for me to break once the balls were set up.

First shot, I potted one. “Stripes.”

He leant over the table, positioned the cue between his finger and thumb and-

Strike!

Two balls.

It’s how it all went in the novel. Tensions high from the competition. Silence thick and filled with concentration. A ceiling fan turned, generating cool air, but it did nothing for the growing heat around my neck. I was wearing a collared shirt- dressed smart casual because after doing some research, that’s how you were supposed to dress when attending an agency meeting.

But safe to say this was no meeting.

Not a formal one anyway.

I unbuttoned the first few buttons of my shirt, leaned down to expose to him some of my cleavage and…

Strike!

Another clean shot.

The ball bounced. Rolled to join the others inside the table.

“Good shot,” Vance said, eyes glued to my chest.

“Let’s see if you can do better, shall we?”

He lined himself up with a shot.

The cue went sideways and hit the black ball.

Pity.

I think my half exposed chest had something to do with it.

“Two shots to me.”

Strike!

Another pot.

“You’re very good with balls.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I know how to handle them.”

He swept his unkempt hair to the side to improve his vision, tightened his jaw and locked in for his next shot.

Pussy palpitations just looking at him…

The swell of desire between my thighs didn’t care about how much I was beating him in the game anymore. It wanted something else.

Relief.

“What’s the table made out of?”

Vance looked up from his shot. “Solid oak.”

I climbed on without a minute’s hesitation.

One look up and that was him done.

Cues rattling to the floor.

Wood creaking.

He ran his forearm over the table to get rid of the balls and they hit the floor with a bounce. Rolled away to god knows where.

His lips were on mine, so wet and hot and sensitive.

Damn, he knew how to kiss.

I ripped his shirt.

Buttons rained to the ground.

“Fuck,” he choked between our kisses. “Reenacting one of Sally and Mark’s love scenes are we?”

“Looks that way.”

“Well… in that case.” He pulled away from my lips. “On your back.”

I’ve never obeyed someone so fast in my life.

Vance locked my hands above my head to start trailing kisses down my neck. Along my collarbone. Each kiss grew in sensitivity and his lips travelled further and further south until they arrived at the valley of my breasts.

He ripped my shirt open, even more buttons raining to the ground, and then-

“Vance!”

He tweaked my nipple with his tongue.

Started nibbling.

My desire could’ve refilled all the lakes in the world in a drought.

Then he took out his dick, tilted my hips up towards the ceiling and slipped inside of me unprotected.

That was the first time I’d ever had unprotected sex. He could’ve given me an STD, a kid, god knows, but I didn’t care in that moment because I craved the buttery feel of his length sliding in and out of me too much.

It was the best sex I’d ever had.

And he reached deep.

I’m talking Mariana Trench deep.

He had perfect rhythm, the tip of his dick hitting the same spot over and over without fail until I came undone. And the orgasm, let me tell you, was like bathing in silk. Like being held by Mother Orgasm herself.

We showered together afterwards. Soaped one another up in shower gel and blew bubbles into one another’s face. I spent every night in New York City with him, some at his place and others at the hotel. After living on top of someone for two weeks, you’d expect to grow tired of them, to crave your own space, but we didn’t, and when my flight back home came around, my heart felt like it had been whacked by a cricket bat.

For the three months I was alone at home, we called every day. Worked around the time difference because if it was meant to be, it would all naturally come together

And it did.

I was back on that British Airways flight to JFK the second we receiver an offer from a publishing house. Granted, it wasn’t anything big and the money wasn’t life changing.

But meeting Vance was.