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“We’re going to have to do this more often,” I whisper as we walk down the stairs.
Trish and Sera just grin as we sit down at our table. The song may be over, but as they talk about random topics, I realize that maybe this whole initiation thing makes sense. When I’d shown up here this evening, I’d felt like they were strangers, but after just that one song, it almost feels like they’re actually friends now. How the hell does singing a song together do that?
Nine
PHILLIP
I was a billionaire yesterday.Now I’m a three hundred and seventy-two dollar-aire. The five hundred dollars definitely will not last me all week, and that’s even if I sleep in the cheapest motel I could find within a cab ride.
That motel in Pennsylvania made this one look like a luxury suite. At least that one wasn’t a pay-per-hour motel, complete with very loud, very active neighbors. My father was right in thinking that I was going to struggle, but this is more than I expected. How does anyone afford a roof and food on five hundred dollars for a week? Not to mention cab rides and laundry services. Heaven forbid, I actually wanted to do something other than sit in bed and stare at the wall.
It's absolute madness.
And I’m loving it. From the moment I left Loughton House last night, I’ve felt free. Free to do whatever I want, however I want. Did I love sleeping in a bed that no one should ever shine a black light on? No. Somehow, that only makes it better, though. I wanted to experience new things, and the daily struggle is just the first of many I can’t wait to explore.
None of it compares to what waits for me at the office. As soon as I walk in the door, Travis, the security guard that’s been there for the last decade, walks up to me and hands me a note.
“Your father left this for you,” he says with a smile.
“Thank you.” Glancing down at it, it’s just a simple desk assignment in the pre-market group, which is exactly where I’d have expected to work. Those are the groups that work on the editing and covers.
Now that I’m officially a junior editor, it’ll be my home. I’ve always spent most of my time on this floor since it’s the one that turns mediocre books into award-winning ones, but now, I’m not in charge of it. I’m just one more worker bee who will spend his days helping someone else to shine more brightly.
And it makes me grin as I ride the elevator to the fourth floor. This is what I’ve wanted for so long, and it’s finally a reality. Okay, maybe not the actual work part, but everything else. Last night, I was stuck trying to figure out where to sleep and how to make things work. But today? Today, I’m going to start this adventure.
Stepping into the cubicle-filled room, I’m reminded of what it used to be. Before the budget cuts four years ago, each of these employees had their own office. Their own little spaces. Then we recognized the need to cut costs and increase the number of books we published, so we brought in more people, took out the offices, and built the cubicle army.
The clicking of keys and mice creates a background noise that almost hides the little snippets of conversation. People notice me and stop talking, moving back to their individual cubicles. I know what I am to the people at Loughton House. They each have team leads and even managers, but everyone knows that I’m the one who sits across from them and tells them they’re fired.
That was a request I made a long time ago. Regardless of who it is, I would be the one to review their file personally and decide whether they stay or go, and I would be the one to deliver the bad news. Any other job would be a step backward.
But today, that’s not me. I’m not the future CEO of Loughton House. I’m not the Director of Publishing. Not today, and not for the next month.
Today, I’m just Phillip Loughton, a junior editor. The thought is freeing. No more meetings or big questions to answer. No senior marketing execs trying to convince me of anything. I just have to edit a book today. That’s it.
I walk between the cubicles and can’t help but notice people glancing at me out of the corner of their eyes without turning away from their monitors. Like a cloud of silence surrounds me, people stop talking when they notice me.
For the first time, it bothers me because I’m supposed to be a nobody. I’m supposed to be the guy who rented a shitty motel room in Pennsylvania today, but nobody else got the memo. That’s to be expected, I guess. It doesn’t mean I have to like it.
I step into my assigned cubicle and move to my desk, one of four in this cubicle. The two women who were already there do their best not to look away from their computers, and I don’t bother to look at them. It’s not like I’m going to make friends at Loughton House during this experiment.
I take a deep breath and sit down in the chair. It’s the worst chair I’ve ever sat in. Instead of a nice executive office chair like I have in my office, this isn’t much better than a plastic seat with a piece of foam for the cushion. Who authorized that budget cut?
Oh well, if a shitty chair is the worst part of my new job, then that sounds like a win in my book.
Opening the new computer, there’s a sticky note with my login information. In minutes, I’m pulling up the manuscript that I’ve been tasked with editing.Love Beyond Timeis the title, and I sigh. This ought to be good…
“Don’t you have an office somewhere?” a voice says, pulling me away from the manuscript before I’ve even read two lines.
I turn around and see Addison staring at me. I recognize Seraphina as well. She’s pretending to be focused on a cover, but I can tell that her attention is on the fact that Addison is talking to me. I guess I should have expected my cubicle-mates to be confused.
All of that runs through my brain in half a second and then is gone because I’m staring at the woman I had wanted to get to know more.
“This is it for now,” I say. My eyes move over the thin white blouse she’s wearing, and I can’t help but imagine the ceiling collapsing so I could get another replay of the night we met.
She looks confused and leans back in the chair, not at all worried about talking to me as though I’m just another guy in the office who moved into her cubicle. “You’re the heir to Loughton House, and you don’t have an office? What kind of shitshow are you running? You just sit down in a random person’s cubicle and work for the day? And are you actually editing a book?”
How do you explain that you’re trying out this whole normal human thing for a month? Obviously, you don’t.
