Mont Business CEO:
Professionally professional, I am doing my work professionally. (Two more emails done, with professional professionalism, probably.)
CCing HR for breach of personal space and the scandalous attempt to transition our (VERY professional) relationship into a workplace romance,
August
(Your Super Duper Professional) Virtual Assistant
With utmost thorough competence (also known as the words that came up when I looked for “professional” synonyms), I sort through several more emails. Ignoring Ali’s reply so I can actually get this work done, I keep sorting until December is tugging on my skirt and turning her giant blue eyes up at me.
Aghast, I plant my palm on my cheek. “Oh no, an orphan! Who let you out of the factories, little one?”
Her perfect pink bottom lip juts. “I don’t work in the factories.”
“The coal mines, then! Come, come, little orphan. Before your lungs recall the sweet taste of fresh air, we must return you to the bowels of the earth.”
Her head hangs, beautiful black waves cascading around her shoulders. Pitifully, and with some small faith in my possession of a soul, she lifts the marked-up pages of my latest story and says, “All gone.” Her eyes rise, glassy and hopeful, big and doe-like. “More?”
Taking the pages, I say, “There’s anOliver Twistreference here, I just know it.”
Dramatic as ever, December melts against my carpet, arm thrust across her brow. Breath leaves her in a long, depressing sigh. “I am to die by dawn.”
Oh no! I’ll be friendless by dawn!
“What a shame,” I provide, quaintly, “considering my next story is to be about a regal prince, and I know you love regal princes.”
She perks, glittery eyes peeking out at me.
Dreamily, I provide, “He’s blond.”
Her wee nose scrunches. “Ew.”
No one understands me.
Hopeful, she murmurs, “Can’t he be…big. And dark-haired. And…maybe grumpy?”
Oh, so…can’t he bemy brother? “Ew,” I counter. “He’s going to be blond, and secretly evil, and maybe he’ll duct tape the female lead’s hand to his and tell her she’s cute when she begs, I dunno. TBD.”
“I’m listening again.” Sitting up, December wiggles her painted toes as a dimple settles in her cheek. “Why duct tape?”
Because. Reasons. “So he can rip it with his teeth, duh.”
“That sounds like a sensory nightmare.”
“You have a better idea?” I drawl.
Sparkly, like an angel, my beautiful friend puts her precious dimples on full display and says, “Handcuffs.”
I tut. “No more eight-page-long kisses for you.”
Her expression shatters. “No, I’ll be good. Please.”
Humming dubiously, I begin my perusal of her final comments on my manuscript. Lots of little hearts. A handful of misplaced clauses. A slew of exclamation marks and bids for more romance, at only the most inappropriate times. On the whole, it’s looking like she didnothate the conclusion of the book. “I take it I should publish this one?”
She bobbleheads. “Yes, please. In hardback, too. Because it’s fantasy, I want a dust cover.”
Amazon’s free indie publishing platform does not presently provide such whimsical options. “I can probably ask my cover artist to format a dust cover file then find a way to print it at a FedEX or Office Depot.”
