Romance Addict Book Blog: GUEST BLOG POST

Who Are You Really?

by Julia Kent

Secret identities are everywhere in fiction, from The Scarlet Pimpernel to the more recent Dark Knight series. From Bruce Wayne to my main character in Maliciously Obedient, Michael Bournham, famous CEOs and (near) billionaires who take on disguises carry an air of hot intrigue, with enough mystery to make a woman curiously aroused.

Why are we so taken with the idea of a secret identity?

Is it that we believe we can let down our guard, allowing our true nature to shine through and get something in return that is more than what we find in daily life? Is it because we have some larger goal that going into disguise serves? For Mike Bournham, yes – he uses his alter ego Matt Jones to secretly film footage for a reality television show, run by producer Jonah Moore, that he hopes will help boost corporate profits, leading to a billion or so in gain for him. What he didn't expect, though, was to find his match in Lydia Charles:

A group of hair and makeup people had transformed him into a man who resembled a younger nephew, if he'd had one. His silver hair, a hallmark since he was in his late twenties, was gone, replaced by a dye job that returned him to a hair color he hadn't seen since early college. The bright baby blues he was known for had to go, replaced by green contact lenses that made Ireland's famous hills look dim. His eyes glowed like something radioactive, like The Green Lantern as a contestant on The Bachelor.

All of his bespoke suits and carefully-chosen fine clothes were gone. Scratchy polos, coarse button down shirts and Dockers replaced his wardrobe. To fit the part, he had to look like a guy who shopped at the mall. All he needed was a beat-up old Toyota Corolla and he fit the part of a guy ten years out of college, still struggling with student loans, and who had just landed his first decent management job.

"Perfect!" Jonah had announced as they convened late last night. "We have cameras in your office, in the outer office where the administrative assistant sits, in all the hallways leading to your office in social media, and in your rental car. If you're here at work, you'll be tracked."

"But once we're off set, it's done, right?" A confirmation. An affirmation. A bit of a power play, too, as Mike made it clear he wouldn't be recorded without his permission.

Jonah had shot him a funny look. "If you're in the office, cameras are rolling."

"If I'm on my way home or elsewhere, they're not." That wasn't a question. Mike's blood pressure shot up, his chest tightening with anger. This wasn't the original deal.

Jonah had bristled. "No! Of course not. So here's the first script." He had handed Mike a thick stack of bound pages.

"Script?" Why would a 'reality television show' need a script? He wasn't an actor, and had assumed nothing was staged. No time in any day for learning lines, either.

"You need to manufacture conflict sometimes. So we'll start by having you steal the administrative assistant's parking spot."

Mike had groaned. And now he knew why he had groaned. But not for any of the reasons he'd thought then. Now he groaned because he wanted to groan for Lydia. As he thought of her he leaned back in his chair and took another deep breath.

Stretching his arms out on the desk, his hands sliding across the fake-wood top, he inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. Not the most auspicious beginning. She looked exactly as he had remembered, but with a maturity that deepened her features over time. What had been fresh faced was now wiser; her guardedness made him want to break through gently – not just bulldoze. Long, dark hair with the loss of nature's shine that comes from long-term office work, the lack of sunlight turning the dimmer switch down on hair color, skin tone, and – he was learning – morale. Her eyes were still that strange color between brown and topaz, with flecks of green. A long, symmetrical nose and high cheekbones made her look slightly Nordic, as if Finnish genes entered into her family tree a few generations back, along with something spicier.

He couldn't put his finger on it. But oh, how he wanted to.

A few fleeting moments of taking in her sweater, her lap, her legs, had been enough to confirm that her luscious body was, indeed, as remembered: curves where they should be, angles where nature intended, and an ass that was full and sensual, as if carved by Ruben and toned by J. Lo. When her skin flushed his pants had tightened. It didn't take a genius to know she was attracted to him in spite of her anger.

And he was a certified genius, complete with MENSA membership and a long file of tests that confirmed it. None of those had mattered, though. Guts mattered. The will to act mattered. Taking risks really mattered.

He shifted, his erection telling him more than his analysis of her ever could. She clearly had expected a shot at this job, a job he never intended to create. The producers wanted conflict and had made him act out that scene, like something from a very bad Chuck Norris television show, and in the end he had his own raging desire and, now, a very pissed off admin.

The door to the outer office scraped open and his eyes shifted to his smartphone. 7:59 a.m.

Time for his first day as Director to begin.

With a cup of coffee.

* * *

Oh my God, how long is that man going to stand there? Lydia wondered, shoving stacks of papers into the copy machine feeder and hoping the damn contraption didn’t jam this time. Every time it jammed she got toner all over her hands, and that stuff didn’t come out of clothing, her skin, the walls – whatever she touched. Matt just stood there, his eyes half closed, taking a deep breath, and she wondered what on Earth was wrong with him.

Yammering on about coffee and her ancient cremate joke. Gah.

“How about I bring in creamer next time and I'll store it in the fridge?”

“Sure.” She was distracted already by the paper jam. “Just label it with a Sharpie.”

Then again, it was his first day at a new job. She had a tiny shred of sympathy for him, because she imagined that he was anxious and they hadn’t exactly gotten off to the best start. Having your main support person in a corporate environment hate you before the work day has even begun is not the best way to enter into a new position. It was his fault though, so she only had a shred of sympathy.

The rest of him could go to hell.

“Sharpie?” He seemed genuinely perplexed and she pulled back, looking into those weird, green eyes. The guy knew how this worked, right?

“You've worked in an office before? Cubicle farm dweller? Had your soul sucked out from living in a beige box for nine hours a day?” Exasperated, she brushed her hands on the carpet and got back to work on the toner. “If you don't mark your food, someone else will take it.”

He crouched down to nearly her level, his scent preceding him, a rush of citrus and musk and spicy soap. “I'll just consider it my contribution. Anyone can have some. I'll shoulder the sacrifice.” As his mouth formed the word “sacrifice” and whispered it with a sensual sarcasm, it was like a whispered prayer that made her clit twitch, her throat close, and her belly go hot.

For some reason he closed his eyes and took yet another deep breath. Lydia really started to wonder about this guy. It gave her an opportunity to really take a good look at him, though. Boy did she like what she saw. His hair fell in light waves, even though it was closely cropped, and she wondered what he would look like if he grew it longer. His neck had that sinewed look, that of not just a guy who worked out in a gym, but a guy who was an outdoorsman, someone who kayaked and canoed and maybe was a rock climber. A really active, athletic person who integrated it into his life.

His hands were a little too manicured. They didn’t quite meet her overall framework for understanding this guy. His shirt was open, the top two buttons undone, tucked into a nipped waist that narrowed down from broad shoulders, and then there was that ass. She hadn’t seen something that muscled since watching Olympic wrestling, and as the copier churned away she just stood there right next to him, neck craned down, staring and taking it all in.

“Like the view?” She snapped her head up and found those unnatural green eyes laughing at her, his mouth set firmly in an expression of trying desperately not to chuckle – but those eyes betrayed him.

“Oh, I was...just...uh, uh, uh reading...the uh, copier, uh, umm...information down at the – ” Oh shit, she thought to herself. What in the hell am I doing?

“After what you were reading in the parking lot this morning, maybe you needed a visual to go along with the words on the printed page.” He winked.

She snorted. “Are you really comparing yourself to Christian Grey?” she asked, one eyebrow cocked, a look of incredulity and oh, come on buddy covering her face.

“Well – ” He shrugged, with a self-assurance she normally saw only among the executives. Matt looked like he lucked into this job, and could have been delivering pizzas two weeks ago. What kind of misplaced arrogance made him think he could be compared to Christian Grey?

Laughter poured out of her even as she struggled to get the copier to stop leaving black streaks on all the left-hand corners of the pages, her mind and hands so busy her professional filter faded a bit. “You don't exactly look like a billionaire.”

“You wouldn’t know a billionaire if he stared you in the face,” he said flatly.

Smirk. “It’s not like you run into billionaires every day at the office. Especially at a company run by a cheapskate like Bournham.” Pointing to his coffee, she added, “Bet he doesn't drink that shit.”

Something in his eyes, the way his nostrils flared and his jaw opened then clenched, made her think she'd crossed a line. Pull it back in. “Even Dave doesn't drink it.”

“Dave?”

“Our boss,” she said slowly, as if talking to a small child. “Dave Crawford. Director of Communications.”

His eyes narrowed, as if calculating something. Glanced at his cup, then peered at her. “What does Dave drink?”

“Starbucks. Double soy latte.” She knew the order by heart. And she should – he sent her out for one every day.

He frowned, the look not unappealing. There was a strength in him, an assumption of power. “You know that one well.”

“I get it for him every day.” The burn began, that growing fire inside that was ripshit pissed about being someone's paid ass wiper. Dave said his time was valuable, but so was hers.

“Why?”

“Is there an echo in here?” His eyebrows shot up and he stood before her, hands on hips, demanding an answer. If he was trying to be intimidating, he was succeeding. Briefly.

She found her brain and answered, “This is what the director of communications told me to do.” Sickly sweet, syrupy derision filled her voice.

“Then I need to fire that idiot because that's really uncalled for.”

“Uhh, Matt? You can’t fire him. He’s your boss. It's not like you're Michael Bournham.” Her laughter seemed to put him on edge, so she pushed him right over as best she could.

She looked at Matt and narrowed her eyes, peering at him, studying his features openly. Finally, she felt like she could say what she wanted to say for the past hours. “You know, you actually look like him. Sort of.” Good going Lydia – that was really definitive.

“Yeah,” he said. “I get that a lot.”

* * *

Back to Julia Kent...

In that scene, as Mike/Matt realizes how much trouble he's in when it comes to his attraction to Lydia, we get a glimpse of how easy it is to fool her. Cubicle corporate life is so hierarchical, so stratified that even when the CEO of her company is literally staring her in the face she can't see it.

Meanwhile, Mike/Matt experiences the first twinge of uh oh about his secret identity, because how does he come clean if this arousal continues? How long to you keep up a charade like this? The longer you lie, the more intricate the unwinding, right?

Being Batman might be great for Bruce Wayne, but there comes a time when you have to come clean, and what happens when the woman you've fallen for realizes she's been duped?

That's why secret identities are so fascinating in romance novels, though – because the person in disguise has to override his or her goals because what the heart wants is so much stronger that the original reason for becoming someone else.

Which is, in a way, what happens when you truly fall in love – you become a new you because living that happily ever after comes with one big string attached: you are loved for who you are, whether you like it or not.

Julia Kent turned to writing romance novels after learning that she could not work as a fighter pilot because her fear of flying disqualified her. Turning to her second love, she became a dog groomer, but had to abandon that job after adopting too many strays. Writing about very real, very flawed people is a natural extension of her life and, well, her. She lives on the east coast with her partner, two small children, seventeen dogs that weigh less than fifteen pounds each, and a monthly consumption of Nutella, brie and french bread that makes cardiologists cringe.

She loves to hear from her readers by email at jkentauthor@gmail.com, on Twitter @jkentauthor and on Facebook (Like me!) at http://www.facebook.com/julia.kent.100

Julia is currently on virtual tour with 15 other awesome romance authors as part of the Insatiable Reads Book Tour. From March 4-31st, readers will be invited to enter for a chance to win a Kindle Paperwhite, free books, and other fun goodies. Readers will also be able to participate in author chats, get insights into writing and publishing romance, and collect story swag.

This week, Julia is touring with Melanie Marchande, Selena Kitt, and Tanya Korval.