Page 2 of The Bookshop By the Loch

Oh God. This was it. This was the moment.

With my legs resembling a newborn foal’s, I managed to make my way across the office floor and joined the others in a semi-circle. Rhiannon glided up beside me and gave my arm a supportive squeeze.

“Good morning, everyone. I trust you all had a weekend full of fun and debauchery?”

There were ripples of polite laughter.

“I take it that’s a yes then?”

There was a chorus of more sycophantic chortles.

“Right, down to business. You will be aware of Tabitha’s recent retirement. This has, of course, left us with the senior commissioning editor vacancy for romance and popular fiction to fill.”

I was aware that dozens of sets of eyes were drifting my way. Grant glanced over. He gave me a knowing look. My stomach rippled with apprehension.

“Finding someone who has the same drive, flair, experience and creativity as Tabitha has meant, as far as me and the board are concerned, that there was only one candidate for the job.”

Rhiannon gave me a nudge and I grinned at her, rolling my eyes.

“And so, it gives me the greatest pleasure to introduce you to our new senior commissioning editor. Please step forward, Anya.”

A confused ringing sound went off in my ears.

What? Anya? Who?

I felt like I was trapped underwater. There were sounds around me, but they were distorted. My colleagues were muttering and Rhiannon made a weird, gasping noise. Then she ground out a string of expletives.

An impeccably dressed ice-blonde, who looked to be in her forties, emerged out of nowhere.

Heads turned to me for my reaction.

My stunned eyes swept over the woman. Her bleached wavy hair sat perfectly on her shoulders. Recognition punched me in the stomach. Shit. Anya. It was Anya Mills, from the top New York publishing house, Panache Publishing.

I was struggling to swallow. Was this some sort of twisted joke?

Grant began talking again, but my brain couldn’t process what he was saying.

“Team, for those of you who might have been living underground for the past few years, I’d like you to give Anya Mills, our new senior commissioning editor, a very warm welcome. Anya worked as an executive editor for Panache Publishing in New York and her credentials speak for themselves.”

I have no idea how, but I managed to force out a few awkward handclaps, before stumbling in the direction of the ladies’ toilets, with Rhiannon in hot pursuit.

And there I huddled in one of the cubicles, a crying and snotty mess against Rhiannon’s cerise blouse.

Chapter Two

Iscuffed my dark leather ankle boots on the train platform and pushed my fringe out of my eyes.

Lugging my florally wheelie case behind me, I squinted around, until I saw Mum waving so hard at me from across the station car park, it was like she was performing semaphore. Her shoulder-length dark hair was being buffeted around her face.

My stomach sunk to the ground. I knew that once I confessed everything to Mum, she would be sprinting up to my old bedroom to turn it into a spa sanctuary for me, with soft towels and scented candles.

I had intended on telling her and my grandfather last week when I rang them to alert them that the prodigal daughter was returning home for three months, but the words lodged in my throat.

Instead, I’d mumbled something about the extended leave I’d decided to take to lick my wounds, as just being a “use it or lose it situation.”

Oh God. Where was my life headed? That was the million-dollar question. What was I going to do with myself for the next twelve weeks? Did I really want to return to Literati? Did I want to stay here in Bracken Way permanently? Would that feel like I was going backwards, instead of moving on?

What now? Was I even thinking straight? According to Rhiannon, I had lost leave of my senses, when I’d whooshed up in the lift to HR after Anya Mills’s appointment last week, to announce that I had accrued a ridiculous amount of leave entitlement and I would be taking it with immediate effect.