The Ordinary Haunting

8. The Fast Meeting

"I apologise for asking you to meet me here."

"It's fine."

"I despise that stuffy office you all work in."

"I see."

"Do you know that I'll have been their client for ten years next year?"

"It was brought to my attention, yes."

"I think I've worked with seven lead editors in that time. I have a very specific set of expectations. Does that intimidate you?"

"No, ma'am."

"So, why are you an editor?"

"I'm good at it."

I played with the straw in my Islay whisky sour, leaning over the glass so that the lemon, cherry and brown sugar scents would fan over my face. I'd never drunk this kind of cocktail in my life, but when Arm asked the bartender for anything with a firm smell, this was what came out. In the corner of my eye I spotted New glancing my way, and hastily sat back. The ice tinkled together as the straw fell still.

"Tsk. I wish you could taste it. They're heavenly."

A hand sporting ornately manicured nails reached out for my drink. I quickly swatted it away.

"The one drink rule applies, as always, Mild," I chuckled. "Stick to your own and let your dead editor enjoy his."

Mild pursed her lips but smiled coolly anyway. She flicked her eyes back to New, who regarded her passively from his place in the corner of our booth. Arm was next to her, reclined against the seat and watching everyone gleefully. Off was clearly questioning the need for him to be there at all, besides having to push up against New to make sure there was enough room for me at the end. Turned out that that hadn't mattered though, because Mild had seen me instantly, from way across the bar, and had come running over to us excitedly shouting my name.

It would be too difficult to describe the look that appeared on New's face at that moment.

"I can't believe how lucky I am."

Off snorted into his beer. Mild giggled apologetically.

"Sorry, you know what I mean. A fantasy writer with a ghost editor? Please, it's perfect fiction."

"We're all glad that you're happy for this partnership to continue." Arm clinked his glass against hers and mine. "Of course I have no doubt that you and New could have worked together just as well. In any case, he will take responsibility for some aspects of your work, particularly liaising with marketers, distributors and your agent."

"I'm sure Jenny won't have any problem seeing Tay," Mild shrugged. New's shoulders squeezed forward a little.

"Do you have the new draft of your manuscript today, or should we contact Jenny on Monday?" I asked.

"I've got it with me, but I'm thinking I want to do some revisions." Mild tapped at her bottom lip. I saw Off wipe his hands on the knees of his trousers below the table and forced myself not to roll my eyes.

"What kind of revisions?" I stood up to let Off out of the booth. He patted me on the shoulder gratefully (with great concentration, trying to stop his hand at just the right place) and bustled off towards the restrooms. "You're already two weeks behind the agreed deadline as it is." Arm mimed rubbing his knees and I nodded, making him laugh to himself. I sat back down.

"You do remember what this book's about, right?" Mild ran her fingers through her long black hair, loosening it to the ends.

I frowned, trying to recall any details of her first draft, which I'd probably seen more than three months ago. As soon as I returned edited drafts to their authors, I tended to clear them from my memory. I didn't like to have old inconsistencies or errors muddying my evaluations of future versions.