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It was the final step in moving on, really.
The work also kept him busy. It hadn’t been like his old job, sitting around a desk, making the occasional correction, and formatting articles for their web publication. Now he was dealing with overly picky authors and manuscripts so poorly written, he couldn’t work out why they’d been accepted.
He spent more time re-writing than he did correcting spelling and grammar, and at times he fought the very real urge to just stand up and walk out. But he had something to prove—to his father and to himself— and after a while, it just became routine. He learned how to tune out the authors shouting at him through video chat and email, he learned to ignore their protests, and forced the changes to go through. He stopped worrying about making them happy, and more about just doing his job.
He had friends there, too. He drove down to Stanford a few times a month to see Leo, and on weekends he and his office mates would have drinks and drag their least favorite authors over plates of fried foods.
It was nice.
It was normal.
A life he’d always craved and always felt was beyond him and was now within his grasp.
“If I do this,” Oliver said, giving Kristen narrow eyes, “you’re going to owe me.”
Kristen’s face dropped. “Owe you what?”
“Well, a little birdie told me you just got a brilliant new manuscript in your inbox. And you’re going to trade me.”
Kristen’s eyes widened. “Not for the…”
“Yes, love. For the Vampire one.”
With a huge groan, she sat back, covering her face. “Oliver,” she moaned.
“How much do you love your friend? How much do you want him to have this date?”
“I hate you so much,” she said, dropping her hands. “Fine. Fine, but you have to go on at least two dates if he’s interested. Barring like, racist comments—which I know he’s not a racist so you can’t make shit up—you have to get past your weird…” She stopped and waggled her fingers at him. “Your weird whatever it is that keeps you from dating, andtryto like him.”
Oliver let out a harsh breath. The idea of dating exclusively did not sound appealing, but the idea of getting the worst book he’d ever read off his desk and into someone else’s queue was enough to make him take her up on it. “Alright, fine. But I’m going to tell him I bartered the date for the book.”
“You’re a complete asshole.”
“This should not be news to you, my love. Now text me his number. And expect an incoming email in three minutes.”
Oliver shoved his chair back to his desk and got to work, sending her the file before shooting an email off to the EOC about the swap. He heard the deep groan from her end when the email arrived, and a second later his phone buzzed with the mystery man’s number.
“Any chance you’ve got a photo of him?” Oliver asked through the cube wall.
“Nope. You’re just going to have to be surprised. I’ve already sent him a text telling him to expect yours, and to not send any selfies. I’m not going to let you get some ridiculous, preconceived notions about him from the way he looks.”
“He’s got a neck-beard and a fedora, hasn’t he? He’s not some bi-curious twat who wants to experiment with his sexuality because he thinks it’s edgy, is he?”
“Jesus Christ, Oliver,” Kristen said, poking her head around the cube again. “If you must know, he’s about six months out of a long-term relationship, so he’s fragile and wants to take things slow. Which is exactly why I thought he’d be good for you.”
Oliver sighed again but wasted no time in sending a text to Will the Mystery Date. Within ten minutes, they had a time set up for later that evening—just a quick drink at the local bar, and Oliver had an email with his new project.
It wasn’t the most ideal way he could have ended his day, but as far as endings went, it didn’t seem so bad.
Twenty-Eight
“…and for whatever reason, I agreed.” Oliver stopped just outside the bar and leaned against the wall as he finished up his conversation with his sibling. “I mean, I guess two dates is worth it to get rid of that nightmare book, but I’m starting to wonder if this was such a good idea.”
“Well, at the very least you can get a couple drinks out of it,” Leo said, his voice sounding muffled.
“Mate, are you in bed right now?”
“I’m tired,” Leo complained. “Really bloody tired, and Max isn’t going to be home until after two. He’s got all the closing shifts this week, so I get no shags,andI have to cook for myself.”
