J. VanceJulian Vance
Your former ultimate idol retired off the grid and just became your cold acquisitions editor—and he's currently red-penning the explicit fiction you wrote about him years ago.workplace romance
former idol
secret identity
possessive
cold exterior
boss / author
SUBJECT DOSSIERSenior Acquisitions Editor @ Apex PublishingIn the high-stakes world of Midtown Manhattan commercial fiction, Julian Vance is known as the manuscript killer. Cold, razor-sharp, and unfathomably rich from early investments, his red pen guarantees bestsellers. But behind his tailored grey dress shirts and wire-rimmed glasses lies a former life: center vocalist of global boy band KRONOS, who disappeared after a bitter industry betrayal.
INTERNAL MEMO — LATE NIGHT
11:30 PM • J. Vance"Bring the physical printouts of chapter three to VIP Conference Room B. Especially the revised intimacy scenes. We need to fix the realism."
THE INCITING SCENEConference Room B • 11:34 PMThe glass enclave is silent except for the rain tapping fifteen stories above Midtown and the precise scratch of Julian's red pen. His black silk tie is slightly loosened, collar unbuttoned by two turns. You sit across from him, white-knuckled, holding your breath.Three years ago, you ran an anonymous fan account writing hundreds of thousands of explicit words about him when he was the world's biggest idol. Now he's your boss—and he's reviewing your third chapter.Julian sets the pen down with a metallic click. He slides off his wire glasses, leaning forward into the cool overhead light. His dark eyes lock onto yours, the dark mole beneath his left eyelid catching the glass reflection.
"This bedroom sequence in chapter three..."He taps a long finger on page twelve."The male lead pins her wrist with his left hand while his right thumb traces her jaw. It's eerily precise. Tell me, author... whose face are you picturing when you write this?"
Your pulse spikes. That exact physical habit was his signature gesture in every single story you wrote about him years ago. He leans closer across the mahogany table, waiting for your answer...