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An awkward silence ensued, where I could feel everything slipping away—goodbye, brilliant book, goodbye, career at Maples&Co, hello, law school. I pulled out my copy of the manuscript and pasted on another bright smile. “I was hoping you could tell me what you’ve been doing with your book right now? In order to get it published?”
Great. Now I was doing that thing where every sentence ended in a question mark.
Thankfully, Alexa became infinitely more approachable as we spoke about the book, and once I was on footing I understood, I stopped sounding like an over-eager intern and instead felt reasonably competent. It helped that Alexa didn’t actually have a clue how publishing worked, and had simply sent the manuscript out to everyone. “It started as a joke.” Her pointer finger traced a map of Alexander’s route throughout Europe, Africa, and Asia. “For my friends. And then they sent it out to their friends in other programs and some of the professors saw it and it took on a life of its own.”
Her friends were doctoral candidates at the top universities in the States and UK; her professors the leading researchers in their fields. Alexa was in the last year of her PhD program at the University of Chicago, writing her dissertation on economic exchange in the Hellenistic World. That helped me tremendously, since non-fiction authors, even snarky ones, needed to have a knowledge base that would convince readers they were worth listening to.
“And...how do you think you can help me?” she finally asked.
I shifted, and took a deep breath. This was what the economy was like now, wasn’t it? Selling yourself. Proving you were invaluable. “You have a great concept and I think you could really have a hit here, but it needs to be cleaned up a bit. You have to decide who your audience is—are you going for intelligent, academic humor, or are you trying to make Alexander the Great entertaining and accessible? I could help you narrow your focus. Also, I think there’s a great potential for expansion—this is very social media friendly. I don’t know if you’ve thought about a website, but I think that would bring in a lot of readers.” I stopped and resisted clearing my throat. Instead, I watched Alexa nervously. Had I spoken too much? This carving-your-own-position was terrifying, and I wasn’t even looking for a paid partnership.
Alexa tilted back on her chair, looking a little stung and overwhelmed. “No—no, I hadn’t thought about any of that. I wouldn’t even know how to go about doing a website.”
“Oh, it’s easy enough,” I said, relieved she hadn’t dismissed me out of turn. “We’d probably buy a domain and use a blogging platform and CMS isn’t that tricky.” Or at least, it no longer was after three months updating Penelope Books’ website. “The hard thing is publicity and marketing, but I have a couple of ideas about that, especially tied into a website.”
“And would you want to be hired as a publicist? Or what?”
I took a sip of my raspberry mocha. “To be honest. I’m hoping that I can help you get this ship-shape, and then present it again to my editor. I think you have a great project; it just needs to be a little fine-tuned.”
For the rest of the afternoon, we bent over the table, flipping back ideas about publicity and websites and other avenues. Alexa’s background as a doctoral student meant she knew the material she’d written about inside and out, the odd tidbits and ancient gossip that made each story fascinating. And I could point out the parts that needed more clarifications, and the bits that wouldn’t interest the general public.
We went on longer than I’d expected, long enough for the game to end even if it had gone into overtime. When Alexa excused herself to the bathroom, I quickly texted Ryan to see when he was free. Dammit, I should have texted earlier. Was there a sports equivalent of “break a leg?” I should have at least wished him good luck.
My phone buzzed and I almost jumped.
Give me 10. You still at the Easton?
I saw Alexa coming back, and I quickly typed, Yeah, I’ll call you when I’m done.
Alexa sat back down, unease sharpening her features. I wanted to dash out the door, but I also wanted to make sure everything was wrapped up and that she was okay. I liked Alexa. She came off as quiet but sincere, dedicated and sharp. And a little sad, but I couldn’t do anything about that. “Are you all right?”
“Oh.” She glanced over her shoulder, at the quickly filling lobby. “Yes.”
I followed her gaze, surprised at the number of people, and the disproportionate amount that did not look like guests. “Do you know what they’re all doing here?”
About a quarter of the women dressed like the men, coats slung over jerseys, but an alarming amount wore casual-best or alarmingly tight dresses. The rest wore a heavy sprinkling of Leopard jerseys, and I frowned in shock. The staff acted irritated but unsurprised. I looked to Alexa to see if she felt as equally baffled as I did.
To my surprise, she blushed. “Actually, I think I do. I heard that since this is the closest hotel to the football stadium, visiting teams often stay here, so fans sometimes come and hang out to try to meet them.”
“Really?” I craned my head to better scan the lobby. “Wow! And there was a game today... Do you think they’ll be back soon?”
Alexa toyed with her fork. “Do you follow football?”
Ha. “Not as much as I ought to,” I admitted, swallowing a laugh. This was ridiculous. How had I gone twenty-odd years without ever noticing a single football advertisement, and then all of a sudden they were everywhere? It was like the real life equivalent of Plato’s Cave—the moment you learn about it, you can’t stop seeing it. “It’s like you can’t throw a rock without hitting a football player in this town.”
Alexa’s elegant brows rose.
I coughed slightly. “Do you follow it?”
“Um... Yes. Sometimes.” She shook her head, as though she were clearing it. “An old friend plays.”
The note in her voice was sligh
tly off. I tilted my head. “Professionally?”
Her face paled. “Yes.” She spoke almost too faintly to hear. I followed her gaze to the lobby’s doors, and watched two broad shouldered men enter.
Ah.
