‘Why haven’t you shown Serena this novel?’ she asked.
‘Manuscript, not a novel yet,’ he reminded her.
She shrugged. ‘Whatever. Why haven’t you shown Serena?’
Edward took his coffee to his desk and stirred it slowly. He was so deliberate in his movements, Eve felt herself almost hypnotised.
‘Serena likes what she likes,’ he said. ‘She doesn’t think crime is interesting anymore, said it’s overdone.’
‘That’s not true,’ Eve said. ‘At all. Thrillers still sell in huge numbers. Crime is the same. People want to be the armchair detective – it’s a huge market.’
Edward shook his head and walked to the window. ‘Is it true Serena is looking to bring Dan Brown over to Henshaw and Carlson?’
She sighed. ‘No, not that I know of. I’m sorry – I shouldn’t have said that.’
Edward turned to her. ‘You should have actually. It’s good to remind me I’m not as invincible as I think, as evidenced by my latest work.’
Eve thought for a moment. ‘You could publish it under another name?’
‘Too complicated. And it’s disingenuous.’
‘Plenty of successful authors do it, JK Rowling, Stephen King, Nora Roberts. Even Agatha Christie did it.’
‘No, I’m not convinced. If Serena Whitelaw, who is the smartest woman in publishing, said crime doesn’t pay then I believe her.’
Eve laughed at both his pun and at the idea that Serena was the smartest woman in publishing. She was clever but she wasn’t the smartest. She surrounded herself with brilliant readers, editors, marketers and publicists. They were her smartest decisions, and she was clever to hire them, but she also did the worst thing and took other people’s work for her own. She claimed the ideas, the hours and the outcomes, and Eve could never respect her for that.
‘What does your agent say?’ she asked. She knew some agents loathed Serena but she seemed to remember industry gossip that Edward’s agent used to date Serena, so there was history, and since Serena was a demon, she would always have a hold on him.
‘He thinks Serena is always right as long as the advances and royalties keep coming in.’
Sometimes Eve wondered what the authors would think if they knew how awful Serena was to her staff, how she gossiped about other authors and publishers and agents, and how she would play them all off against one another.
But then again, so many people were so desperate to be published, they said nothing even when they saw Serena being awful at work.
‘What do you think I should do, Eve? Should I stick to the Armenian monk heist or write the crime work?’
His question surprised her.
‘I thought you had made up your mind already?’
‘I haven’t yet but I want your opinion. If you were Serena, what would you tell me?’
Eve laughed despite herself. ‘I can’t be Serena. I would only have to be myself. If I were the publishing director at Henshaw and Carlson, I would ask you what gives you the most pleasure to write? Then write it. Your readers are going to buy it anyway and you will get new crime readers. It will be easier to market as we can push the new genre and discuss the character that you are developing in the manuscript. Your detective’s good but don’t be afraid to write a strong woman. She could be amazing if you trusted yourself to write her the way I think you want to. And I think we should try and sell it with a film option also. Get someone attached.’ She paused and could feel Edward staring at her intently.
‘What I have read would make a great TV series. You could turn it into aVera. If I had to imagine someone playing the lead character, I’d suggest Kristin Scott Thomas.’
Edward jumped up from his chair. ‘That’s exactly who I was thinking of when I was writing.’
Eve smiled at him. ‘Great, so we’re on the same page.’
‘How can I tell Serena she won’t be getting the book she’s expecting though?’
‘That’s what your agent is for,’ Eve replied. ‘Tell them the news and let them deal with Serena. They’re not going to let you go, so don’t worry about that.’ She thought about Serena’s response and knew it would involve a lot of swearing and threats and then she would move on and tell everyone that it was her idea that Edward turn to writing crime.
‘Do you think? I must have something to give her by the end of January. I’m only ten thousand words in.’
Eve opened her calendar. ‘It’s the fourth of December today. To reach your goal you would have to write minimum fifteen hundred words a day while I edit and sculpt as we go along. How long has it taken you to write the ten thousand words?’ Eve knew she was under strict instructions to copy-edit only, but if Edward made revisions along the way according to her feedback, how would Serena even know?
