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Unlike what most people thought about editors, I didn’t take pride in telling people that. I wanted those who sent their stuff into us to have a pleasant experience. I wanted them to walk away with something. Whether it was a contract, or feedback that truly helped them in their writing journey. Clint joked all the time that editors like me were the reason writers like him self-published. And while I knew he was being light-hearted about it, sometimes it hurt.
I didn’t want people thinking that publishing houses were the ‘big bad’ people thought we were.
I stepped off the last stair and panted for air. I hopped around, exchanging my flats for the pair of heels I had stuffed down in my purse and stumbled out of the side door, directly into the parking lot. After slipping my heels on, I started for my car.
I need some damn coffee.
I tossed everything into the back seat and slipped behind the wheel. I cranked it up and peered out the windshield, taking in the expanse of the apartment complex. It had taken Clint and me three applications to get into this place. While it was expensive, it had been worth it. In the beginning, at least. Until that damn elevator broke. And our plumbing went bad. And our balcony had to be repaired because it started getting wobbly.
“Definitely not worth the money anymore,” I said breathlessly.
I grabbed a croissant and a large iced coffee just in time. Things seemed to be moving in a positive direction as I pulled into the underground parking garage of Monarch Publishing. I drew in a deep breath, took a long pull of my coffee, and took a massive bite of my hot chocolate croissant. I relished the tastes blending together and signaling to my brain that it was time to wake up. Time to get to work. Time to get shit done.
All right. Let’s go.
After wolfing down my food and sucking down half of my coffee, I grabbed my things, raced to the working elevator--thank fuck--and took it all the way up to the top floor. All the way to where my office now was. I strode by my boss’s office, peeking in to see her head buried in manuscripts. I rushed by, taking my chance, and practically leapt for the front door of my office. As I quickly unlocked it, I heard someone shuffling up behind me.
“Morning, Miss Cleaver! Cutting it a bit close, aren’t we?”
I cringed at the voice of my assistant. “Morning, Robyn.”
I looked down the hallway and saw my boss look up before she gave me a knowing smile. I raised my coffee and she shook her head before returning back to the manuscript in her hands.
“Maybe next time, a bit softer,” I said.
Robyn nodded. “Oh, yes. Of course. Sorry. So, you have that meeting in five minutes with Albert Freddington. You have a meeting scheduled with Mrs. Plumstone at ten. She wants to go over some manuscripts she just received this morning. Also, you have a lunch date with Callie and a two o’clock meeting with the rest of the staff in Mrs. Plumstone’s office. And to cap off the day, Luther’s retirement party. It’s at four, shouldn't be more than thirty minutes. Then you’re done.”
I sighed. “Great. Thank you.”
“Anything else you need from me today?”
A lightbulb went off. “Um, yes actually. Come inside and close the door.”
“Of course.”
I walked over to my desk and dropped everything on top of it. I started up my computer and pulled out my laptop, trying to get myself situated for the day. When I looked up, I found Robyn frowning at me.
“What?” I asked.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes. Yeah, of course. I just need you to run an errand for me.”
“Sure. What kind?”
“The kind you don’t talk about.”
She nodded. “Oh, you got it. I need some things myself. Plastic insert, or cardboard?”
I blinked. “Wait, what?”
“Shi--I mean, shoot. You’re a pad sort of girl, aren’t you? Don’t worry, I’ve got you covered there--”
It clicked. “Oh! No, no, no. I mean, plastic, for future reference. But I’m not on my period. Which is kind of the issue.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh. Oh--oh!”
“Yeah.”
