Page 57 of Backlash

Now, I wonder if I’m sending the wrong message. I don’t want Trish to think I’m here to take over. There’s a lot I need to learn from her before I’ll be ready to be a real editor, let alone oversee the entire company as its owner.

“Is it okay?” she asks when I’m quiet for too long. “We can move your desk anywhere—”

“No!” I stop her. I don’t want her to ruin the moment. “This is perfect.”

“I know it’s not fancy…” Trish glances around as if she’s afraid someone might hear her. “But we can’t afford much.”

“About that.” I take a deep breath and prepare myself. “My salary.”

“Obviously, it’s not very competitive,” she says, tugging her honey blonde hair into a messy bun. “I can see if we can afford more.”

“Are you kidding? It’s my first real job. I’d probably work for free coffee,” I confess to her. Now that she knows who I am, there’s no need to hide that fact. “But I also own the place, so maybe I shouldn’t take a salary at all.”

“Of course you should take a salary.” Trish looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. “If you think you’re gonna make any money as the owner, then you’re deluding yourself.”

“But Bluebird can afford this?” I should have seen how difficult this was going to be. As much as I want this job on my own terms and as much as I want to be treated like everyone else, I can’t divorce the fact that I’m responsible for all of them. Why I thought I could come here to play editor and pretend I don’t have the power to make or break this publishing company, I don’t know. Standing here now amid my new coworkers, I realize they’re more than that. They’re my company’s backbone.

“Look, you should get paid for what you do. It’s only fair. But you might want to check with accounting—and by accounting, I mean Meg.” Trish grins and hitches a finger toward a woman sitting on the far side of the room. “She’s pretty much in charge of keeping the books. It’s a really sophisticated operation we have going here.”

“I can see that.” I return her smile. If she can have a good attitude about all of this, I can as well. I’d expected to come here and find a pity position, but Trish isn’t acting any differently than when I saw her last week. “I want to do whatever I can to help Bluebird succeed. But, honestly, I really want to work with books.”

“Let me clear about this. You earned the editorial job,” Trish reminds me. “I had no idea who you were. Not that it matters.”

“It doesn’t?” I mutter.

Trish mistakes the look on my face. “Don’t worry. I haven’t told anyone that you own them.”

“I don’t,” I say quickly. Something about the way she says it reminds me too much of my father.

“I’m just teasing.”

“Sorry, sore subject,” I admit. “Being a MacLaine is a lot like having a big, old albatross hanging around my neck.”

“I would think it opens a lot of doors,” Trish says thoughtfully.

“It does—but mostly to cigar lounges and boys clubs and private meetings with lots and lots of old men.”

“When you put it like that.” Trish gives me a rueful smile. “I have no idea why your dad kept Bluebird for all these years. I’ll be truthful. We kept waiting for him to decide we weren’t profitable or that we needed to publish different kinds of books. It was a relief when…” She trails off, clamping her mouth shut.

“It’s okay. Actually, it’s refreshing to know I’m not the only one who felt a little relieved when he died.” I can’t believe I said those words out loud, but Trish doesn’t look shocked.

“We’re just glad to be in good hands now.” She winks at me. “So, anyway, we aren’t very formal here. Come and go as you please. I just ask that you get the manuscripts and notes back to me by the dates on the Post-it notes.” She taps a yellow sticky note dated July 18 attached to the front of the manuscript. “If you’re not going to make a deadline, let me know. If one of your authors is being a pill, let me know. If you need anything—”

“I’ll let you know,” I promise her.

“I need to make a few calls. You’re welcome to hang out or start whenever. I think you’ll like these manuscripts.” She hesitates a second before giving me a quick hug. Pulling back, she gives me a thumbs up. “Welcome to the team.”

The team. I like the sound of that. I settle down at my desk at my job and pick up my first manuscript. I always thought my dreams were out of reach, but it turns out they were just down the street.

I’m so absorbed in the Valmont grad’s manuscript that I skip lunch and keep reading. The premise is unlike anything I’ve ever read. It’s a thriller, but somehow romantic and dreamy at the same time. I want to linger on every word and savor every sentence. It’s so good that I nearly jump out of my chair when Trish taps me on the shoulder. I hastily drop the page onto the top of my stack.

“Sorry,” she says with the hint of laughter in her voice, “but you have a guest.”

For a split second, I’m embarrassed, wondering which of my friends has come down to take pictures of me like it’s the first day of school or prom night. Then I catch the dazed expression on Trish’s face. My gaze moves from her wide eyes to the front door, already knowing exactly who I’d find. Sterling is standing near the door, looking a bit too much like a male model for his own good. Glancing around the office, I realize that everyone is staring at him. But Sterling? He’s looking directly at me and the intensity of his gaze scorches through me.

“Thank you. Is it okay?” I ask Trish, half-hoping she’ll tell me about some heretofore unmentioned visitation policy preventing hot men from distracting the entire office during work hours.

“Look, if you don’t want him to visit you, he can come and hang out at my desk,” she whispers.