I end up lying in my cozy sheets, staring at the ceiling, an unfamiliar buzz humming through my veins that I’m not quite sure what to do with. I feel simultaneously exhausted and antsy. Maybe even a little agitated. Like everything normal about my life is being thrown to the wind. Like I’m slowly losing control of my perfect world and I can’t seem to slow it all down long enough to know how to handle it.
Why do things have to change? Everything was perfect the way it was, I don’t understand why the girls had to go get their hearts tangled up in men. Stupid thoughts, and I hate myself for it because I love them, and I love that they are so incredibly happy. Bound to be miserable one day, I’m sure. All marriages end in affairs or divorce…or in Addison’s parent’s case, both.
I just wish things weren’t changing. The future I’ve been denying, delaying, and hiding from was creeping closer, and it was a reminder I didn’t want or need. In all my avoidance and running, I hadn’t stopped to check how quickly it was all going to catch up to me.
CHAPTER 2
orgasms > patriarchy
Rosie
“Oh shit, she’s got the Jimmys and the red lip on.” Jasper’s attempt at whispering is poor considering I’m four cubicles away and I can hear him.
“Oh no. I wonder if it was Dick-bag Daniel or the long stint of dull dick.”
“Good morning to you two nosey little hoes.” I grunt at Jasper and Halle, the only two people helping me get through this merger at this godforsaken place. “And to answer your questions, it’s both.” I did put on my comfort Jimmys today—my power pumps—and added the red lip for an ego boost, because I woke up in a foul mood and it was either dress for the hustle and push on, or sulk around in my house all day. Daddy didn’t raise no quitter (my father did not, in fact, raise me, period), and I still have something to prove to Andersen Schulzand MeyersPublishing. So, I shook it off, dressed to impress, and dragged this fine ass out the door and into this sterile building.
“You’re late though,” Halle points out, like something is different this week.
“Well, they’re lucky I showed at all,” I mutter, my Chanel bag landing with athunkon my desk. “Times the meeting?” I ask.
“Eight. Same as every Monday,” Jasper replies, his focus now back on his computer. Our three desks are in an uncommon setup at the corner end of the bullpen, so the three of us managed to get inside the same three dividers. It made for complete chaos when we were all busy, but was fantastic on a Friday when we’d all rather be at a bar…or just anywhere but here.
“Great. Any updates?” I ask absently, getting settled at my desk and preparing for the usual Monday meeting.
“Dick-bag Daniel was walking out of HR at seven thirty this morning,” Halle provides, her knees on her chair as she spins at her desk, chewing on a piece of red licorice like it’s going out of fashion.
“And!?” I spin in her direction for the details. “He get fired? Oh please, for the sake of my sanity and all that is holy, tell me he was fired.” I cross my fingers and my toes and my legs, hopefully also an eyelash or two, as I scrunch my eyes closed in preparation for an answer. I hear both Jas and Hal giggling before I squint and see her shaking her head. “Dammit.” I spin back toward my desk.
“Nope, he got a warning or something. I think he was harassing Steph again.” That poor receptionist gets the brunt of it. She is only nineteen too. But am I surprised he only got a warning? No. See aforementioned Neanderthals.
“Typical.” Annoyed sighs all around as we settle into the day in preparation for the meeting.
“How’s the new pitch coming?” Halle, who sits closest to me, tosses out as she rolls her chair across to me.
“Yeah, it’s coming,” I mutter back because I’m not ready to admit yet that I’m nervous. This manuscript is incredible. Of course, the author is none other than our resident lumberjack.While I would have preferred to publish his first manuscript, I couldn’t deny that his second piece was even better—especially after the editor in chief already threw out an offer. It’s so raw, perhaps not as sad and depressing, but there’s so much intensity. It could fit within both romance and general fiction, but the love story woven into this, while beautiful, is only secondary to the plot. It is growth, pain, learning. It is the epitome of the human experience, and it deserves to be published. People deserve to read his beautiful words.
You will not catch me dead admitting all of this to him in person, that caveman doesn’t need a bigger ego. But he did deserve the success his words could earn him. I’m just working extra hard on the pitch. Because, despite every one of my titles theydochoose ending up at the top of the charts within the first week of release, they are still notorious for slamming down most of my pitches.
Do I work for a lot of open-door romance authors? Yes. Is that all I care about? Of course not. But these copy-and-paste wannabe suits see a woman and thenromanceand jump straight to filthy, plotless smut, like we have no depth.
“You think Chris will blush again this week?” Halle asks with humor.
“I sincerely hope so. Watching him squirm makes that meeting worth it. Have you got a coffee, or should we dash down before it begins?” I stand from my desk and grab my favorite purple blazer to put on, and Halle follows suit.
“You guys go, I’m still sifting through the slush.” Jas waves us off. “Get me a soy macchiato, would you, Halle-hoe?”
“Of course, princess, anything for you.” She smiles back at him, and he flicks his nonexistent hair with a smirk. Jasper is the most tolerable man in this building, and I love him. Halle, Jasper, and I were all interns in the same year, thankfully in different departments so when the actual hiring came around,we all managed to get a job. I had wanted the path toward editor in chief for my own imprint. Halle was satisfied with being an editor for any imprint, while I’m pretty sure Jasper would be a receptionist if it paid enough to cover his lifestyle.
Halle and I grab our satchels and start for the elevator. In my shiny black stilettos, Halle and I end up being the same height, her wearing her signature Converse, high-waisted slacks, short-sleeve turtleneck, and a statement piece headband. I label it Halle-chic, because her style is never the same; every day is completely random and new, and you never know what you’re going to get. And yet, somehow, it always works. She pulls it off with confidence and always looks incredible.
I, on the other hand, wouldn’t be caught dead in Converse. And, if you do ever see me out in public in tennis shoes of any kind, promptly turn and run. I’m obviously in a hideous mood.
“How was the weekend?” I prompt her.
“Finally locked down Jackson. Epic too. You?”
“Oh, nice!” I high-five her as we make it down the elevator and into the lobby where the coffee hut is. “Eh, weekend was fine. Met up with that Dorian guy from the twelfth floor.” Yes, I slept with someone in my own building, I am a dumb ass sometimes. “Certainly had better.”
