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He turns on his heel and hustles for the elevator to get to his mani-pedi appointment on time, which he thinks no one knows about, but everyone does.
2
AMALIA
“How areyou liking your new desk?”
As if the demise of the romance division of Empire Ink Press is not depressing enough, they’ve recently crammed our small team into a stuffy, dim corner of the floor where we’re so crowded, our desks are lined up end to end with each other.
The HR people were kind enough to put what they call ‘dividers’ between the desks, which amount to nothing more than a one-foot wall between each to create a sense of privacy. Now I can hear my office mates on their phone calls, chewing their lunch, and even burping and farting.
The only benefit to the new set-up is that I can more easily reach Ralph’s jar of jelly beans.
I chafe at the pity he’s throwing my way due to Cameron’s scolding, not to mention his attempt at small talk. Now that office privacy is nonexistent, he gets to hear every time the boss loses his shit on me. That makes it about ten times worse.
“It’s okay, Ralph, this new set-up. It’s not like we had much choice in the matter, anyway.”
“Well, I’m glad I’m next to you and not someone else,” he says, grinning like he won the lottery. “And hey, we’re near the kitchen.”
“And the bathrooms.” I amsonot happy about that. The walls in this building are not the most soundproof.
But my sarcasm is lost on Ralph, who grins even bigger. “I know! So convenient!”
I smile back just to be polite and pull on my headphones, the universal sign forI’m done talking to you, and get back to cleaning out my desk of the crap belonging to the last person who used it. It’s not that I need much space—enough for my tampons and emergency makeup is fine. Oh, I also need to find a space for my purse. It’s crazy to think it, but even in these offices with security and cameras, people still steal shit from others’ desks.
I toss old office supplies, stale breath mints, and an expired Macy’s coupon into my trash bin until I reach the bottom drawer. I touch something in the back, a thick envelope it feels like, but from where I’m sitting, I can’t figure out what it is.
It’s stuck.
With an annoyed sigh, I kneel on the floor and peer into the depths of my bottom drawer. In the dim there is indeed a fat envelope, the corner of which is pinned by the upper drawer. I open that one a smidge, and the envelope comes loose.
Just as I’m about to dump it into the trash, I realize it’s different from the other junk I’ve thrown out. One, it has a mailing label with no return address, and two, it’s never been opened. The postmark, while faded, looks to be from last year. Or the year before. It’s hard to tell.
It’s not addressed to anyone in particular, just Empire Ink Press, so I figure what the hell. Still on the floor by my desk, I tear it open. The only other thing I have to do today is write blurbs for that turd of a novel,Love Among the Lemons, andI’m only too happy to procrastinate on that. I heard through the grapevine that the lemon ‘masterpiece’ of a romance novel was written by a friend of a friend of Cameron’s, and that he agreed to publish it as a favor. Most likely someone with lots of money and influence in the city who he wants to suck up to.
Welcome to New York.
I tear open the envelope and pull a smallish manuscript out of it, small as compared to the ones I usually see here in the romance division.
The cover page readsAnErotic Romance, by Ryder Night.
What the hell?
I glance around to see if anyone’s watching, but Ralph is popping jellybeans, lost in his work. Whoever is supposed to sit on the other side of me is on vacation or something. There’s no chance anyone can see what I’m reading.
Yes, I work in the romance division of a big publishing house, so I’ve seen every shape and size of sweet and sexy.
But I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite likethis.
I page through the first chapter and find it’s more erotica than romance, not that I mind. In fact, if it weren’t obvious, I might lug the whole thing to the ladies’ room and relieve myself of a little tension. God knows I need it.
Instead, I can’t move from where I’m kneeling on the floor.
From what I can tell, the book is divided into different kinky scenarios. I skim a story about a blindfolded woman, who’s whisked into a windowless van driven to a house far out in the country. The lucky lady is served up a lifelong fantasy of being taken by multiple men, as a birthday present from her adoring husband.
It’s titledGang Bang.
Jesusfuckingchrist. Heat washes over me. I need water.
