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“Thanks for not yelling at me.”
Her lips quirk up, the paper thin skin around her mouth feathering. “The day’s still young.”
I stand and grab my laptop. “I really have enjoyed working here.”
“Where are you going?” she asks, amusement dancing in her eyes.
“Home. Do you need something from me before I go?”
“I need you to work your full eight hours. You’ve been gone two days, and the work is piling up.”
I stare at her for a long moment, stunned. “I’m not fired?”
She shrugs. “You’re a damn fine editor and we don’t exactly have other candidates beating down our door. We also don’t have anything else Tenth Avenue wants. If you want to stay until they beg for your return, you’re welcome to it.”
Her words are light, but her gaze intense. This is a test. “Okay. Thank you. I’d like to stay.”
“Joy will look for someone to fill your spot, since I’ve made it clear to her you’re leaving us at the earliest opportunity, but you might as well work until then. I’ve already made plans to spend more time with the grandkids and I don’t want to back out.”
I sit back down, relief washing over me. “Thanks. I don’t deserve it, but I really do appreciate it.”
“You should.” She starts to turn back to her desk, but stops mid-way. “Damn genius trap I set for you, wasn’t it?”
“You knew all along what I was after, didn’t you?”
She winks and turns back to her computer. “I had strong suspicions. Gloria Mitchell is no dummy.”
I turn to my own work, a sort of giddy relief making me smile. I hate that Gloria and Joy, and probably everyone else here, know what I did, but it’s probably the least I deserve.
∞∞∞
A cool breeze wafts through the screen porch, carrying with it the scent of new grass and flowers. I lift my head from my computer screen and look over at Gloria’s desk, but she’s gone. There’s a silence about the whole place that suggests everyone but me has left for the day. I got so caught up in my work I didn’t even realize it’s… I glance at my watch… after five.
At Lovemore Books, it seems like everyone actually leaves at five, some even earlier if they have different hours.
I have a few more pages to go of the chapter I’m editing, but I promised Clover I’d be home for dinner and band practice. I save and close what I’m working on and place my curser over the power options.
My phone buzzes on my desk.
I answer right away. “Hey, Sadie. How’s it going?”
“How’s it going with you? Did you meet with Cynthia?” I tell Sadie everything, but telling her Lennox and Cynthia’s stories just seems wrong.
“I did, but she’s not leaving Lovemore. Part of her contract with her agent is that she only wants to work with smaller, indie publishers going forward.”
“And you couldn’t change her mind with your amazing editing skills?”
“Unfortunately, no. I’m sorry, but it doesn’t look like I’m going to be back at Tenth Avenue.”
“What are you talking about? You can’t give up now. I think I’ve got a way for you to get back.”
“I’m listening,” I say, barely breathing.
“Have you edited those manuscripts Fernwood sent you?”
This is why I barely had a social life in New York City. “Some, but not much. I’ve got this job at Lovemore and I’ve been—”
“Well, get on it, but don’t give the edits to Fernwood.”
