MY PEN IS HUGE Read online

  I don’t know what possesses me, maybe the shock or the excitement and the thrill, but I throw my arms around his neck. I intend it to just be a thank-you hug, which is horribly awkward all on its own, but I startle him, and he turns his head right as I’m going in. My mouth accidentally—or maybe purposely? I don’t know—lands right on his. Whatever the reason for my rash decision, I can’t seem to pull my lips away. His mouth is warm and soft.

  He pushes me away. “What are you doing?”

  The embarrassment hits me like a kick to the muff.I can’t believe I just did that. I have never, ever thrown myself at anyone, let alone my new, highly dangerous boss. Who also collects pens.

  Merrick steps back a few feet. “You’re smart, Gisselle. I’m sure you’ve figured out from this conversation that I’m not the sort of man to break promises. I gave Augusto my word to keep it professional.”

  Oh god. I’m so, sooo humiliated. “I don’t know why I did that. I swear I was just going to hug you and…” Violate your mouth with my tongue? But just a little? “God, I’m a monster.”

  Like a switch is flipped, Leland Merrick puts on a charming smile and straightens his tie. “No worries, love. I have that effect on women. But you and I, we can’t happen.” He heads for the exit.

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  About the Book

  Other Works by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  To Pirated Book Lovers

  Dedication

  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

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  Coming Soon

  About the Author

  OTHER WORKS BY MIMI JEAN PAMFILOFF

  COMING SOON!

  The Librarian’s Vampire Assistant, Book 4

  Wish

  Brutus (Immortal Matchmakers, Inc., #6)

  Wine Hard, Baby (OHellNo, #6)

  THE ACCIDENTALLY YOURS SERIES

  (Paranormal Romance/Humor)

  Accidentally in Love with…a God? (Book 1)

  Accidentally Married to…a Vampire? (Book 2)

  Sun God Seeks…Surrogate? (Book 3)

  Accidentally…Evil? (a Novella) (Book 3.5)

  Vampires Need Not…Apply? (Book 4)

  Accidentally…Cimil? (a Novella) (Book 4.5)

  Accidentally…Over? (Series Finale) (Book 5)

  THE BOYFRIEND COLLECTOR DUET

  (Duet/New Adult/Suspense)

  The Boyfriend Collector, Part 1

  The Boyfriend Collector, Part 2

  THE FATE BOOK DUET

  (Standalones/New Adult/Suspense/Humor)

  Fate Book

  Fate Book Two

  THE FUGLY DUET

  (Standalones/Contemporary Romance)

  fugly

  it’s a fugly life

  THE HAPPY PANTS SERIES

  (Standalones/Romantic Comedy)

  The Happy Pants Café (Prequel)

  Tailored for Trouble (Book 1)

  Leather Pants (Book 2)

  Skinny Pants (Book 3)

  IMMORTAL MATCHMAKERS, INC., SERIES

  (Standalones/Paranormal/Humor)

  The Immortal Matchmakers (Book 1)

  Tommaso (Book 2)

  God of Wine (Book 3)

  The Goddess of Forgetfulness (Book 4)

  Colel (Book 5)

  THE KING SERIES

  (Dark Fantasy/Suspense)

  King’s (Book 1)

  King for a Day (Book 2)

  King of Me (Book 3)

  Mack (Book 4)

  Ten Club (Series Finale→) Definitely not.

  THE LIBRARIAN’S VAMPIRE ASSISTANT

  (Standalones/Mystery/Humor)

  The Librarian’s Vampire Assistant (Book 1)

  The Librarian’s Vampire Assistant (Book 2)

  The Librarian’s Vampire Assistant (Book 3)

  THE MERMEN TRILOGY

  (Dark Fantasy/Suspense)

  Mermen (Part 1)

  MerMadmen (Part 2)

  MerCiless (Part 3)

  MR. ROOK’S ISLAND TRILOGY

  (Contemporary/Suspense)

  Mr. Rook (Part 1)

  Pawn (Part 2)

  Check (Part 3)

  THE OHELLNO SERIES

  (Standalones/New Adult/Romantic Comedy)

  Smart Tass (Book 1)

  Oh Henry (Book 2)

  Digging A Hole (Book 3)

  Battle of the Bulge (Book 4)

  My Pen is Huge (Book 5) ← You are here.

  MY PEN IS HUGE

  The OHellNo Series

  Book 5

  Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  A Mimi Boutique Novel

  Copyright © 2019 by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  Kobo Edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the writer, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks are not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Cover Design by Earthly Charms

  Developmental Editing by Karen Harris

  Copyediting and Proof Reading by Pauline Nolet

  Formatting by Paul Salvette

  To Pirated Book Lovers

  “I’m not hurting anyone.”

  “I can’t afford to buy books, so the author isn’t losing money. I’d never buy them anyway.”

  “I don’t think it’s wrong. So many people do it.”

  As an author who is supporting her family on this income, it’s really difficult to come up with the right words to convey how damaging ebook piracy is to me personally, to my fellow authors, and to the industry. (Remember, publishers HAVE to make money, too. We want them to. They have employees with families like anyone else. They create jobs and pay taxes in our communities. Businesses need to be healthy because when they’re not, people get laid off and lose things like their homes.)

  As for the individual author, well, I just can’t imagine anyone being okay with working for four months at their job on a presentation and then their boss says, “Hey, I’m not going to pay you because I can’t afford it. Also, I know that I used the presentation and you did the work and slaved over it, but I never had the money to pay for it in the first place, so you really haven’t lost any money. Either way, you weren’t going to get paid.”

  Hell no would you put up with that!

&nbs
p; Bottom line is we all have a right to decide how we’re compensated for our work and time. Strangers, the public, and book pirate sites don’t have the right to decide for us. It’s okay to have an opinion about what you’re willing to pay for my books or to have a political view about access to books, but that doesn’t give anyone the right to decide for me. Just like I don’t get to steal from you or tell you what I think your time is worth.

  As for these sites that claim they’re not doing anything wrong? The sites pirated book lovers go to and think they’re not hurting anyone? We all KNOW THEY ARE.

  What sort of person or organization would put up a website that uses stolen work (or encourages its users to share stolen work) in order to make money for themselves, either through website traffic or direct sales? Haven’t you ever wondered?

  Putting up thousands of pirated books onto a website or creating those anonymous ebook file-sharing sites takes time and resources. Quite a lot, actually.

  So who are these people? Do you think they’re decent, ethical people with good intentions? Why do they set up camp anonymously in countries—Russia and Iran, for example—where they can’t be touched? And the money they make from advertising every time you go to their website, or through selling stolen work, what are they using it for? The answer is you don’t know. They could be terrorists, organized criminals, or just greedy bastards. But one thing we DO know is that THEY ARE CRIMINALS who don’t care about you, your family, or me and mine. And their intentions can’t be good.

  And every time YOU illegally share or download a book, YOU ARE BREAKING the law and HELPING these people BREAK THE LAW. You are helping them get paid for my stolen work via web-traffic and ad impressions.

  Meanwhile, people like me, who work to support a family and children, are left wondering why anyone would condone this.

  So please, please ask yourself who YOU are HELPING when you support ebook piracy, and then ask yourself who you are HURTING.

  And for those who legally purchased/borrowed/obtained my work from a reputable retailer (not sure, just ask me!) muchas thank yous! You rock.

  The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by fines and federal imprisonment.

  DEDICATION

  I dedicate this book to Kathy O’Toole for jumping all over the trolls. You have a good heart, girl, and world needs more of you.

  MY PEN IS HUGE

  CHAPTER ONE

  Gisselle

  “You are confident. You are strong. You are intelligent.” Deep inhale. “You are confident. You are strong. You are…sonofabitch! Seriously?” I look at the chunk of red lipstick now sitting on my lap. Unfuckingfortunately, I’ve got on a white skirt and I’m supposed to start work in three minutes. My first day.

  “Jesus. Just great.” I reach over to the passenger seat for my purse—really, a leather satchel my roommate, Camila, gave me for good luck because she thought it made me look “all reporter-like,” and today is a big day for me. A milestone in my journalistic career.

  I dig out a tissue and pluck the broken lipstick from my lap, careful not to add to the red skid mark.

  Fail.

  “Oh, come on!” My attempt to blot away a leftover clump results in more smears. Wonderful! Now it looks like a period accident. The only thing going for me is that the stain is on the front. But is that really better? Is it?

  I can’t believe this. I have to meet my new boss, Leland Merrick, this morning, and he’s a legend in the freelance journalistic world, best known for four things: One, he doesn’t like sloppy dressers. It’s rumored he once told a female reporter she needed to work on her appearance. Apparently, he didn’t feel her jeans, T-shirt, and lack of makeup were a winning combo or professional.

  Two, he has no fear. He’ll go anywhere, do anything for a sensational story and for the perfect photograph, like that time he literally jumped down a flooded mineshaft in Ecuador with nothing but a flashlight, a small tank of oxygen, and his waterproof camera. Two hours later, he emerged with interviews and photos of the sixteen stranded miners, which saved their lives, because everyone thought they were dead, and rescue crews weren’t allowed to go in until the rain subsided. It was the wet season. Rain every day for months. Not good. But Merrick was able to assure everyone that a rescue wasn’t impossible, and those men were brought to safety. He was deemed a hero and reportedly sold the story for a nice fifty grand.

  Three, Leland Merrick is known for his lone-wolf ways. He doesn’t use guides, no matter how harsh or unfamiliar the terrain; he doesn’t bring translators; and he always travels alone. That’s why I nearly wet myself when I was offered this position as his assistant.

  I mean, me, Gisselle Walters. His assistant? Pinch me! The thing is, I only just graduated last semester with a degree in journalism from Texas U, so this is a huge opportunity. “It’s a career maker,” as my professor Augusto Kemmler told me. Turns out, Professor Augusto (he prefers to be called by his first name) and Merrick are old friends, so when Merrick decided to hire someone, he went to Augusto. Merrick didn’t even bother with an interview. He trusts Augusto that much. Lucky me, because Professor Augusto said I was the best choice.

  I wonder why, though. I won a few awards, and I’m one of his best students, but I wasn’t his only straight-A performer. Can’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

  The fourth and final thing Leland Merrick is known for, and this is something that makes me incredibly nervous, is that he’s supposedly old school when it comes to women and gender roles. Some say “ladies’ man.” Some say “traditional.” I just say “sexist.” Professor Augusto assured me that Merrick is professional, though he did admit that Merrick has strong views about a woman’s place—something having to do with growing up in a small third-world village, despite being British. His parents were both aid workers and doctors, but that experience somehow cemented some pretty archaic ideas into Leland Merrick’s head.

  How do I know all this? Well, aside from what Augusto said, I also read an interview Merrick gave in 2011. It was the only one he’s ever done, which sadly did not include a bio pic—a pet peeve of his is being photographed.

  So there you have it. I’m shoving aside judgment, pride, and everything my staunch egalitarian parents taught me, all for the opportunity to work with a living legend. And a societal dinosaur. Sure, chronologically, he’s only thirty-one—versus my twenty-two—but we all know his type. Probably hates women because he’s so grotesquely pompous and heinous looking that no one will date him.

  Still, I know myself. I am confident and strong, and he can be as offensive as he likes. It won’t put a dent in my self-esteem. I’d have to care what he thinks to allow that to happen, and I don’t. I’m here to learn: How does he get people like the chief of the Amazonian Munduruku tribe to invite him to live with them? Why is it rumored that MI6 spies feed him classified information? The answer is, he gets people to trust him with their lives, and I want to know how.

  I slide on my black-framed glasses and flip up the vanity mirror of my beat-up red pickup truck. I can’t be late, so I’ll just have to hope that Merrick doesn’t toss me out for showing up like this.

  I grab my satchel, exit my truck, and pop some money in the meter. I need to find out where employee parking is. Hopefully not too far away. Merrick’s office is in a semi-sketchy—or as I like to call it, eclectic—neighborhood near downtown Austin where the bars, hipster boutiques, and old houses all blend together. On weekends, the entire place turns into a farmers market and the place to buy weed. Leland Merrick’s office is smack in the middle of it all, in an older two-story house that’s been converted into commercial space—two shops on the first floor and what looks like office space upstairs. With the purple siding, white trim, and hand-painted shop signs, it has a bohemian, laid-back feel. Not at all what I imagined for a famed adventurer and journalist like Merrick.


  Nervous as hell, I stop at the front of the house and gaze up at the second story. It’s a cool fall day, the holidays right around the corner, and it’s a little chilly out, but the window is wide open. I can hear two men arguing. About what, I couldn’t say.

  I glance at my phone displaying the address. This is the place.

  Okay. I am confident, strong, intelligent. Inhale. Confident, strong, intelligent. I go to the front door, wedged between two large bay windows, and jiggle the handle. It’s locked, which is weird because there’s a candle shop on one side of it and a tattoo parlor on the other. I see people inside both establishments through the windows.

  I notice a small sign below the doorbell that says the shop entrances are around back and, in very tiny letters, Ring for Merrick Publications. No soliciting. No interviews. No wankers. No exceptions.

  With a shaking hand, I push the buzzer, and a few seconds later a staticky deep voice pipes through the speaker. “Yeah?”

  “Mr. Merrick? I’m Gisselle? Your—”

  “Did you read the sign, love?” he grumbles with an accent. British, with a hint of something else? Hard to tell with all the crackling. The funny part is that I know he’s not from here, but hearing his voice still catches me off guard. With all the Wild West–type stories about him, I half expected a Texas twang.

  “Yes, sir. I read the sign,” I say.

  “So why are you here, then?”

  “I promise I’m not selling, interviewing, or,” I glance at the sign, “wanking. I’m Gisselle Walters, your new assistant.”

  “Assistant…” A deep chuckle pours through the speaker. “Nice try, love. Go back to your rag.”

  Rag? I know he means “tabloid magazine,” but I still glance down at the bright red smudge strategically positioned over my lady hump. Thanks for the reminder.

  “Hello?” I hit the buzzer again, but no one responds this time. “Sonofa…” I step off the porch and back onto the sidewalk so I can see the open window. “Mr. Merrick!” But neither he nor his voice blesses me with its presence.