"Good Morning, Ellie," Clive greets as I enter his office Monday morning. "I expect you've read the manuscripts I requested."
I take a seat. "Yes, sir."
"And your thoughts?"
"Have been emailed if you'd like to pull them up."
He bats my instructions away with the simple flick of his hand. "Don't be coy. What did you think?"
He's requesting my opinion of his lover's manuscript. My answer won't appease him, so I postpone it for the more positive analysis. "The Sci-Fi novel is a great piece; very in-depth and entertaining. Overall, it's a wonderful reading experience. I just made a few minor plot suggestions and touched up the grammar. All my notes are in your inbox."
Clive sighs and rubs his temple, as if my entire Saturday of unpaid work on that manuscript is an annoyance. So much for appreciation. "And Nia's?"
I bite the inside of my cheek.
"Ellie?"
"It needs work."
"Clarify."
If we were discussing a general author's future novel, this wouldn't be difficult, but with Clive's relation to this particular author, he's not going to be pleased with my opinion. Still, this is my job and while I can't tell him the entire piece needs to be rewritten, I can guide him and ultimately Nia in the right direction.
"The concept is pretty straight-forward and it works, but her main character has serious flaws I'm unsure readers will be able to overlook."
"Those being?"
I fold my hands together in my lap and just blurt it out. "She's unlikable."
Clive purses his lips, taking the moment to fumble with an unimportant folder on his desk. As he begins flipping through its contents as though I'm not in his presence, I elaborate. "She lacks a backbone and allows not only the male protagonist to walk all over her but the sub-characters as well. Female readers want a heroine they can relate to and find inspiring. Nia dropped the ball in that sense."
"What makes you so certain readers won't find her inspiring?" He still doesn't grace me with his attention as he pulls a sheet of paper from the folder and lifts it to read.
Seriously? I'm trying to help out his girlfriend or bed partner or whatever she is and I can't even warrant his full attention? I lean forward in an attempt to amplify my presence. "Because I didn't."
"And you're qualified to speak for the masses because?"
I should keep my mouth shut. It's what I've done for the past two years, but I consider Nia's character and the annoyance I fostered every time she didn't speak up for herself. I won't be a walking depiction of that spineless sap.
I stand, resulting in Clive's attention. "Sir, I've read enough of this genre to know what the audience is looking for. It's why you hired me and it's why I'm still working here."
He laughs something cold and condescending. "You're working here because I allow you to."
My rage simmers, making my heartbeat pound in my ears, as I attempt to keep my voice level. "And also because I'm good at my job." It comes out strong, and as a result, I have the severe urge to crack my knuckles but digress. I'm a professional, after all. Even if my boss isn't. "You can choose to take my suggestions into consideration or you can publish the novel as is and let it flop. It's your call."
Clive's expression remains composed, but beneath that polished exterior is a furious man who's been challenged for probably the first time in his existence. And as he stares at me I'm forced to stifle my smile.
He turns to his computer, per usual, and shows me the bottom level of respect. "Indeed it is. The manuscripts I emailed this morning are due back to me first thing Friday."
He doesn't utter another word, signifying our conversation is over. I lift and stroll through his door, beaming at my accomplishment. I may still work for a patronizing prick but at least I was able to assert I deserve respect.
When I reach my desk, Rita wastes no time thrusting her phone in my face.
"Just look at this beautiful specimen."
"And who am I looking at?" Squinting my eyes, I lean down to look at the tiny image of a man's Facebook picture.
"Fabian Shane."
I turn around and pack up the remainder of my things. "That's one heck of a name."
"How important is a name, really?"
My lips quirk. "Depending on how many times I have to cry it out while we're having sex, I'd say it's pretty important."
"You're starting to talk like Seth." Her nose scrunches with revulsion. "I don't like it."
"It was a joke, Rita."
Frustrated, she places her phone on her desk and sighs. "I just want you to be happy. I know you want a relationship and this is the only way I know how to help."
While I appreciate her effort, my horrendous attempt at a simple one-night stand last night has me steering clear of the opposite sex-romantically speaking, that is. But she doesn't need to know this.
"I know. And I love you for that. "My phone pings. Lifting it, I see the email I've waited weeks for in my inbox. "I've just decided to take a step back from the dating pool for a bit to focus on my career. I have enough friends to satisfy the loneliness in the meantime." I tug my purse onto my shoulder. "But hey, I have to go. I'll see you tomorrow."
I stride from the room, fighting to keep my composure, but as soon as I'm out of our building a grin permeates my entire face. The urge to reread the email in greater detail is substantial but fails in comparison to the urge I have to share my news. I hail a taxi and head home to the one person I want to share it with.
Seth's dusting my bookshelf when I get back and it's just sprinkles on my cupcake at this point. The action alone is enough to make me smile, but the news I have is the reason it's actually there.
"Two days." Seth holds up the dust rag and points at the shelf I've resisted cleaning. "I didn't think you had it in you to hold out that long. You going through withdrawals?"
"Nope." I spring on my heels.
"What's got you so bouncy? I know the cleaning bit gets you all hot and excited, but there's more happening here."
"It happened," I squeal. With my phone clutched in my grasp, I pounce over to hand it to him.
He throws the dirty rag over his shoulder and looks at the screen while I vivaciously tap my fingertips against my grin. When his eyes widen, I can't hold my excitement in any longer. I throw my head back and toss out my arms. "I got an interview at MEKA!"
I spin around the room, immersed in my elation. Seth's muscular arms wrap around my waist. He lifts me with a gorgeous smile lighting his features. "It's about fucking time."
With my tiny body smashed against the solid planes of his chest, I toss my arms around his neck and relish in his hug. I don't even care that my face is pressed against the still present rag on his shoulder, because his body is warm and his skin smells phenomenal and I have an interview.
My life's on the fast track to success and with Seth holding me, there isn't a single thing I can complain about. Then it hits me...
"Oh god." I gasp, pulling away, threading my fingers through my hair. "I have an interview. I haven't interviewed in two years." I spin on my heels and charge to my desk in Seth's room. Without wasting the second to sit in the chair, I bend forward, flipping open my laptop, typing words furiously onto the keyboard. "I need to figure out what questions they're going to ask and what I should say."
Seth walks into the room. "Tap the breaks there, Speedy Gonzales."
"They're going to ask me what my strengths and weaknesses are and heck if I know." I roll my eyes around in their sockets, mimicking the thoughts rolling around in my head. "I guess I'm a dedicated worker, at least I was until I started to hate my job. Then again, I still get all my work done on or before my deadlines, so I guess I can still use that as an answer."
"Ellie." He places a hand on my shoulder.
"And I graduated Magna Cum Laude," I continue, scrolling through the websites Google supplied. "I could use that to showcase my expertise."
His fingers grip my shoulder, trying to turn me around. "Magna Cum what?"
"It means I graduated top of my class with a GPA over 3.8. It's tough to do, especially at a university like Brown, but is it enough to wow them?" I focus on that instead of Seth's hand, which is still on my shoulder. "If I pair it with the sales records of the books I've edited over the past year, then maybe."
I lift to a standing position. "But my weakness. What are my weaknesses?"
Seth's hands land on my cheeks, demanding my attention, as he brings his eyes right in front of mine. The single action stops the erratic threading of thoughts, supplying me with an answer I already know.
He's my weakness. There's no refuting that. But I can't give his name as an answer during my interview.
I'm captivated by the curves of his perfectly edible lips when he says, "Time out before you get lost in your head for the next seven days."
I shake my head and regain focus. "Seven days?"
"Yeah, the interview is Monday afternoon, which leaves you a week to freak the fuck out and prepare for it." He snorts. "Not like you need to. You've got this position already in the bag."
"You don't know that." Nobody can. There may be twenty other people lined up for the same interview and what's to say I'm better than Joe Blow sitting next to me in the waiting room?
"I do. You have the resume' and the stats to prove your worth and the second they hear you talk about your dedication to making the books you read successful, they won't be able to say no to you. You're fucking good at your job and you deserve this. They'll know that immediately."
He's being so supportive and I want to believe everything he's saying, but it's difficult with the nerves settling in.
"You only say that because Marsha believes it and I'm a bit of a bragger."
"No, I say it because I have to sit there every night and listen to you drone on about whether the circumstances in a book have made it believable for Harry to end up with Sally at the end of some cheesy romance or whether it's more fitting for a cult to have one-hundred followers or one-hundred and four. You don't just care about the overall product but the details and the authenticity that makes it successful. And you do that on your own time for a company paying you a trillion times less than what you're worth."
"You love being an editor, and although those Wright bastards haven't given you the proper title or salary, it's what you are. So stop freaking out because that love is what's going to land you the job and that experience is going to be the yellow brick road that leads you to it."
This beautiful man with an arsenal of snarky one liners and sarcastic retorts just shattered all my apprehensions with a two-minute stream of heartfelt optimism. Sure, he's a pain in the butt most of the time, but these breakthroughs reveal who Seth truly is. It's the ones my heart can't stop tripping over as it attempts to walk away from him.
I should be furious he's done it again, but all I feel is gratitude.
With the heat of his fingertips still seeping under my skin and the weight of his support still clenching my chest, I smile. "You can be really sweet when you want to be."
He rolls his eyes. "I pick and choose my moments."
"Thank you for this one."
The effects of my appreciation stretch over his features. The corners of his eyes crinkle in delight, and his brows relax with a sigh of contentment. It's sunshine and warmth breaking through a vast stretch of clouds, but as he backs away and shields his face by twisting around, I know I wasn't supposed to see it.
But I see you, Seth. I always see you.
"Now that we've bypassed your panic attack-" he steps through the door and down the hallway, "-we finally have an excuse to pop open this bad boy."
I follow him to the kitchen and catch him pulling out our bottle of red wine.
"That's for a special occasion."
"And this would be considered..."
"Not one." As he sneers his annoyance, I say, "I don't have the job yet."
He opens his mouth to bark off another opposition, but I hold up my finger. "And although you're completely sure I do, I want to wait until I really have it before we drink it." I step over and swipe the wine from him to set it back under the sink. "The bottle's been there for a month. What's another few days of waiting?"
"Pointless?"
"Regardless, I want to wait."
"Fine." He releases a dramatic blast of air. "But if we're not drinking that, we're going out tonight. You've earned a celebration and I've earned hard liquor. And before you say no -" he stalks across the room, grabbing and tossing me the dust rag, "-remember, I cleaned your bookshelf."
I catch it and wring it between my fingers. "I have to work tomorrow morning."
"Call out. Those unappreciative dicks only have you for another week or two anyway. What's a day off going to cost you?"
He has a point, but, "I've never called out a day in my life."
"All the more reason why you should. Live on the edge."
He's mocking me, but with a new job in my prospects I don't feel the burn of my usual anger. Plus, if no longer working under Clive isn't a reason to celebrate, I don't know what is.
"Let's do it."