“Ha. You’re a total grump, and everyone knows it. But you’re a brilliant grump, and no telling how many careers are hanging on your brilliant words, includingmine.”
Well, thanks. No pressure there.
“Listen, I’ve gotta run,” Marina said. “I’ll look for your pages by the thirtieth. Can’t wait to read them. Bye Jack.”
She disconnected as I said, “Goodbye.”
I paced back to the window and stared out at the darkening sky. Might as well sayadiosto my career as well. The deadline was only a month away.
Meeting it would take a miracle, and I didn’t believe in those anymore.
But one nightmare at a time. Unless a rogue wave came along and put me out of my misery first, I had to get through this interview.
And do itwithoutletting this “talented” writer—whoever she was—find out the truth.
Chapter Three
Second Helping
Bonnie
My heart squeezed, and tears filled my eyes. Blinking to clear them, I turned the page and kept reading.
Though I was hunched over the desktop in my cubicle, reading through my lunch break, I was also in another world, living and dying with the characters on the page.
Nothing compared to the terrible, wonderful Dark Moment in a good book—certainly not real life.
And this one was a very good book—one of the best. It was Jack Bestia’s debut novel, and I’d read it so many times I’d lost count.
Why hadn’tthisbeen the one that launched his career into the stratosphere instead of the Onyx books?
They were amazing, but this one was utter brilliance, the book that had made me want to become a novel writer myself.
Sadly, that dream had died a painful death. At least I had a job that involved books—and writing aboutotherpeople’s amazing writing careers.
If only it paid more. With the events of the past few months, I needed a raise. Big time. My dad would need my support in the coming years, not just physically but financially as well.
“You’re making the rest of us look bad, you know.”
The voice came from over my shoulder, yanking me out of the beautiful fictional world and back into the real one, which at the moment smelled strongly of fish.
I twisted in my chair and craned my neck up. Sterling Gaston loomed above me, wearing what he no doubt thought was a charming grin and holding a takeout bag from a pricey sushi restaurant.
The fishy odor was stronger now. It was a struggle not to gag.
“Look bad?” I asked. “What do you mean?”
He gestured toward the empty food storage containers on my desk and the book lying open in front of me.
“Eating at your desk. Working through lunch. You’ve got to cut it out or the CEO will start complaining about all the long lunches I charge to the company tab.”
“I happen to knowyour fatheris already quite familiar with your dining—and spending—habits. I think you’ll be fine,” I quipped.
Though he’d been at the Daily Report no longer than I had, Sterling was already a deputy managing editor. Of course, his fatherdidown the company, along with several others.
I’d made the mistake of going out with Sterling shortly after starting my job here at the Daily Report.
Let’s just say I’d learned my lesson about guys with too much money and handsomeness for their own good.
