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Brooke took a deep breath. Kim was efficient and super–keen, but she had an awful lot to learn about the publishing business. She wanted to shout at her, but Brooke knew that Kim had no idea what she had just done.
‘We’ll talk later,’ she mumbled, shooing Kim out of the office and putting her head in her hands. Vanessa Greenbaum was fierce, the master of the deal. She took on very few clients and was famous for getting six–figure deals for all of them. Breathe, breathe, she willed herself. She flicked through her Rolodex and dialled Vanessa’s number with a sense of dread. This was the part of her job that she hated.
‘Vanessa, hi. It’s Brooke Asgill. How are you?’
‘Brooke Asgill,’ said Vanessa. ‘This is a nice surprise. Didn’t think you’d still be working.’
‘Really? Why?’
‘Brooke, you are America’s most famous bride–to–be. That sounds like a full–time job in itself.’
‘Well, remind me to take a long holiday when it’s all over.’
Vanessa laughed a little too enthusiastically. ‘Well, congratulations on your wedding. I hope your favourite agent is going to get an invite, and if you ever want to publish your memoirs, I’d be happy for us to talk.’
‘Actually, that’s why I’m calling.’
‘Fantastic!’ said Vanessa, her enthusiasm real this time.
‘No, not about me. About a slush–pile script that came into me a couple of weeks ago. I believe you’re looking after the author.’
There was a pause and a rustling of papers.
‘Ah yes, Eileen Dunne. I was going to call you this week. Incredible book, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up when I read it. In my thirty years in the business that hasn’t happened very often but with Portico – phew! This is the real deal.’
Brooke was experienced enough to know she was being set up. It was just agent’s hyperbole; in fact Brooke seriously doubted that Vanessa had read more than the first few pages. Eileen Dunne already had serious interest from a publisher; for an agent it was a no–brainer. Who cared what the book was like?
‘When a book is this good, obviously I want to go straight to auction with it,’ continued Vanessa briskly. ‘But the author insisted I give you first look.’
‘I’m glad,’ said Brooke, trying to sound bright although her heart was pounding. ‘I did rescue it from Yellow Door’s slush–pile after all. And I think one of our assistants recommended you to Eileen.’
There was a long pause which suggested that what she had just said cut no ice.
‘So you are interested?’ said Vanessa finally.
‘Well, I’ve only seen the first few chapters. I also gave it to Mimi Hall who liked it as well,’ Brooke replied, trying to keep her voice casual. It was a game: agent bigging up the manuscript as if it was literary gold, editor down–playing their excitement. It was like a lover’s dance.
‘How about I give you twenty–four hours to come up with a pre–empt?’ said Vanessa smoothly.
‘Did you have a figure in mind?’ asked Brooke, the words sticking in her throat.
She was not a tough negotiator like Mimi, who could eat even the fiercest agent alive. For someone who had been brought up in a very wealthy family, she was uncomfortable talking about money, and haggling over advances with agents actually made her feel physically ill. It was certainly not what she’d signed up for when she first started at Yellow Door as an editorial assistant with the dreamy notion that life in a publishing house would be spent leisurely reading books. Vanessa gave a low laugh down the phone.
‘It’s a trilogy with enormous crossover appeal. If it went to auction it could go to seven figures for a three–book deal.’
Seven figures. A million dollars, minimum. Brooke swallowed as quietly as she could.
‘I’ll need to talk to Mimi about this one.’
‘Fine. How about we put in a call for five p.m.? I want to drop the manuscript to other editors by tomorrow lunchtime.’
Brooke put the phone gently back into its cradle. She felt nauseous. She was not confrontational by nature and wondered what would happen if she offered Vanessa the maximum advance she could. Seventy–five thousand was her limit as a commissioning editor. Vanessa would probably break a rib laughing. Steeling herself, she picked up the manuscript and walked down the hall to Mimi’s office. The corner room was by far the best office on the floor. Bright morning sun was streaming in through the floor–to–ceiling windows, along with the unmistakable sounds of a normal New York morning: road–drills, beeping taxi–cab horns. The bustle and energy of the city served as a welcome juxtaposition to the hush of the Yellow Door workplace.
‘Come in,’ said Mimi at Brooke’s timid knock on her open door. For a moment, Mimi didn’t even look up from her notebook. She tucked her dyed black bob behind her ears and placed both palms on the table before she favoured Brooke with eye contact.
‘Brooke. Good,’ she said. ‘Have you spoken to the Dunne woman yet?’
Brooke held the manuscript in front of her like a shield. ‘I’ve just spoken to her agent.’
