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“I’m glad to hear it.” My words are uplifting, and yet my tone is distant, polite. As polite as my rigid posture as I sit in this chair trying with all its might to force me to lean back.

“Tell me, what do you think of Yossi?”

“Yossi?” My antenna rises. Yossi has been with the company for ten years, and yes, while he may bore me to pieces every single meeting, he’s a good man. Loyal to Pennington. Lover of books. Worthy of only good things. “Yossi is great.”

“Is he really, though?” Will raises an eyebrow—the exact same way he did when he questioned my dart skills the other night. Only this time, it doesn’t evoke quite the same emotion. This time, I stiffen. “He’s been late to work three times.”

Sure, he has a problem getting to work on time, but that’s because the man is so eco-conscious he bikes to work. Sometimes he falls prey to the puddles. And sometimes he stays up all night reading, riveted by some new inspiration or other, and sleeps through his alarm. It’s a true booklover’s dilemma. But we’re in a publishing house. These are the known, and surely accepted, consequences of hiring true-to-the-core readers for the job.

“And I’ve noticed he’s not quite as on board as some others when it comes to working as a team.”

Well, can you blame him? He was under Giselle’s wing, and every time she ended up getting her hands on his manuscripts, she inevitably screwed something up, blamed it on him, or watched the manuscript receive praise and took credit that really belonged to him.

“Yossi has been nothing but a treasure to this company. He’s truly one of a kind. Honestly, you should fire me before you fire him.”

There. I said it. I told him the truth, and in doing so may have put myself on the line.

“Yes, but is he confident?” he continues without swerving. “Can he command a group?”

When did I become the Pennington snitch? When did I become the rat who skirted around the darkest corners with the higher-ups, whispering secrets that determined the lives of others? Every single time I’ve met with Will now, somebody has been fired or demoted or moved to another position. Sure, I’d be lying if I didn’t say I appreciated it, but now Yossi?

Asking me for dirt on Yossi?

I can’t do this. I can’t be the company snitch who gets the reputation for whispering little injuries in the boss’s ear whenever I’m frustrated.

I raise my chin. “I think these questions are better left to Yossi himself. I’m sorry, I have quite a bit of work to do. My expense reports are due today. I think I’d better see myself out.”

Will, who’s been so intensely asking me questions that he’s been leaning forward, his elbows on the desk, sits up in surprise. The intensity in his gaze lifts, as though he’s seeing me for the first time.

“Yes,” he says after a lengthy pause. He stands up, the polite distance back in his posture. “Yes, those reports are due today. Good thinking.”

There’s a wedge between us now. I feel it, and the way he moves toward the door to usher me out, there’s no doubt he feels it too.

As I turn at the door, I see a new expression clouding his face, and for a moment I waver. Perhaps it’s my imagination, but he looks almost . . . hurt. Like somehow in there he was finally being vulnerable, too, eager to have somebody else with whom to share his concerns. It must be lonely at the top.

Still.

I pause just before he opens the door and, risking several things at once, put a hand on the cuff of his button-up shirt. “Yossi is a good man and an asset,” I say quietly. “What he lacks in punctuality he makes up in loyalty, goodwill, and a passion for the job that has already stood the test of time.”

He’s quiet, his expression unreadable, and I continue.

“I just hope you take some time to really get to know the employees under your wing before making hasty decisions.”

A slight crease forms on his brow, and I don’t know what he’s thinking, but I certainly know my own thoughts. Will Pennington has been here two weeks, and in that span of time has fired Clyve, changed Tom’s editor, and demoted Giselle. And now, here, he’s considering making a grave mistake with Yossi. Maybe some of that has been called for, but the reality is he’s charged into Pennington like a bull in a china shop.

“You think I made the wrong decision with Giselle?”

“No.” Slowly, I shake my head. “I and the whole Pen team thank you for that, truly. I just . . . don’t feel comfortable being the one to have influenced you in your decision. I’m just a lowly editor. You are the hotshot from New York who’s boss. I’d hate to lead you astray by speaking out of turn.”

His voice is low, quiet, as he responds. “I don’t ask for many people’s opinions, Savannah. But when I do, it’s because I respect them and the lens through which they see the world. You may be, as you say, a lowly editor, but you also have insights into this company that I find admirable, and true.” For a long moment Will looks at me, but when I don’t budge, he gives a polite smile and turns the knob. “At any rate, I asked for your opinion on Yossi. I appreciate you giving it.”

He opens the door.

* * *

I swing through the ARC room during lunchtime two weeks later and, to my surprise, open the door to a whole new world. It’s a land—a whole fairyland—of lights. It really does feel like a fairyland too. I was expecting nothing fancy out of this typical gloomy February day, with the clouds a chalky gray and the forecast nothing but sleet and freezing rain. And then, ta-da. Instead of a dark, shadowy room lit by one hanging bulb, I find nine hundred lights twinkling in glory. The room glows.

And as I pick the manuscript off the stack of books lingering beside the beanbag chair, I can’t help but feel my heart glowing as well.