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May my horny, Chase Dawson-infatuated vagina have mercy on me.
Monday, May 15th
Chase
After I volunteered as tribute to be the driver for Brooke Baker’s motor home tour and got it approved by Harold Lewis, Longstrand’s corporate travel manager, and the executives at Netflix, news of my insanity evidently spread fast.
Dawn called me first, panicked about how we were going to maintain our day-to-day if I was out driving a bus, and then Frank and Regina started demon dialing me about the notes I left on their desks. Even Mo left me a five-minute voice mail full of metaphors for how surprised she was about the fact that I’d taken her advice.
None were as scary though, as the single text I received from Jonah Perish—Be in my office tomorrow at 10 a.m.
To say I’m on edge right now, as I stand in front of my boss’s desk, wouldn’t come close to scratching the surface of my current anxiety. I’ve been here for two minutes, and my legs are so numb they’re liable to give out if I make any sudden movements.
“Well, Dawson, you’re nothing if not thorough, huh?” Jonah comments from behind the massive mahogany monstrosity he had shipped in from somewhere expensive.
A desk he rarely sits at, mind you. He’s usually too busy in meetings or jet-setting around the globe on the Longstrand company plane.
“I have to say this is the first time that one of my editors has agreed to drive an RV for an author’s publicity tour in the name of meeting a deadline,” he adds and slides his glasses off his nose and tosses them onto his desk. He leans back in his fancy leather chair and stretches his arms behind his head. “On a book that he put his ass on the line for, at that.”
My laugh is two parts nerves and one part “Am I an idiot?”
Show no weakness, my mind reminds me.
I run a hand through my hair and clear my throat as I dig deep for the voice that convinced him to give Accidental Attachment the green light. “Just like you, sir, I’m a man of follow-through. I stood behind the book because I believe in it, and I know what it’s capable of. And I’m taking the highly unorthodox step of driving an author around the country in an RV because I’m going to make sure Accidental Attachment lives up to those capabilities. Exceeds them, in fact. This tight deadline and these unusual circumstances are nothing more than opportunity, sir.”
A wolflike laugh jumps from Jonah’s mouth. “You’ve got balls of steel, Dawson. I’ll give you that.”
Balls of steel? Pretty sure balls of steel can’t relocate themselves to your stomach.
“You’re not going to drop the ball on any of your other projects,” he declares, a firm statement of warning.
I nod. “Frank has already been briefed on the Beranski deal, and Regina has agreed to be my temporary point of contact for my other authors. I’ll be checking in with them frequently while I’m on the road.”
Jonah stares at me, his eyes never wavering from my face, and I just stand there and take it, fighting the urge to look away with every cell in my body.
Show no weakness.
He purses his lips, then leans forward to pick up his glasses again. “Don’t make me regret this,” he eventually says, and he slides the lenses back over the bridge of his nose. “See you in a few weeks.”
Translation: If I fuck this up, I may as well not even come back.
Which, funnily enough, feels a little like double jeopardy. If the book fails, I’m fired. If I fuck up the tour, I’m fired. But I can’t imagine I can actually be fired twice. Which means all the Eggos are officially in the same basket. And I’m going to have to hold on to the fucker like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz.
Thankfully, the fact that his eyes are no longer focused on me, but on the screen of his desktop, is his way of saying, You’re dismissed, and I can get the hell out of here.
“Thank you, sir,” I say, even though Jonah is now picking up the phone on his desk. His fingers hit the intercom bottom, and he’s already giving his assistant instructions about something related to a business trip overseas to meet with foreign publishing houses in France.
I don’t dally any longer, more than happy to take myself off the chopping block, and head out the glass doors of his office without another word.
Discreetly, I wipe away a sheen of sweat that has now taken up residence on my forehead and offer Jonah’s assistant a friendly but shaky smile as I move into the main hallway.
It takes the entire walk back to my office for my heart rate to calm back down to a normal range, and by the time I’m behind my desk and back to finishing up all the shit I need to get done before I have to leave on Brooke’s tour in two days, I’m silently wondering if I’m an absolute moron.
