“Isn’t it great? Nicholas bought it for me.”
“Amy would love it,” David said. “She—”
Daneen cleared her throat, interrupting him mid-sentence and wiping the smile off of my face in one fell swoop. I assumed she didn’t share David’s enthusiasm toward my umbrella or more likely, she resented that it was a gift from Nicholas.
“We’re going for department drinks this evening. If anyone calls, please send them to my voicemail,” Daneen said.
At least she said “please” this time. “I would…except I’m joining you guys,” I responded with an apologetic shrug. Trying to be helpful, I added, “Do you want me to set your phone to go directly to voicemail?”
Waving her hand in dismissal she replied, “Never mind” before stomping away. I heard her mutter something about the firm wasting money buying drinks for the staff before she beckoned David to follow her.
With a sheepish grin, he said, “I’m glad you’re coming tonight.”
I smiled fondly at David. He lacked the “edge” I found attractive in men, but clean-cut and All-American, I could see what other girls, including his fiancée Amy, might find appealing. And he was such a pleasant guy. Even Daneen kept her abuse of him to a minimum, although Nicholas used to complain about how long it took him to complete assignments because he tended to tread as if under the influence of a muscle relaxer. “That makes one of you. Thank you.”
It was no secret Daneen didn’t consider my contribution to the department worthy of any distinction, much less Rob’s loyalty to me. But while it came as no surprise she didn’t think I earned my invitation to drinks, the ease with which she voiced her stuck-up opinion made my skin crawl. I was certain she’d find some way to cut me down and make me regret my attendance tonight. I released an audible sigh and reminded myself to accept the things I could not change. Inhale love. Exhale stress.
With the five minutes I had before it would be acceptable to gather my things and freshen up, I checked my Gmail account. My eyes immediately took notice of a new message from Ginny Webber, and I gasped in a combination of eagerness and dread. This was it. My dream agent. I’d memorized every blog she’d ever written on how to write the perfect query letter, how to attract an agent, and the top reasons an agent passed on a query. Had my research paid off? The answer was waiting for me at the click of a mouse. Partially covering my line of vision with my left hand, I opened the email and read the message between my fingers:
Dear Ms. Long,
Thanks for submitting your query for A Blogger’s Life. It’s an interesting premise. Can you send me the first three chapters?
Thanks,
Ginny
Bouncing in my chair, I yelped out loud and reached for my phone with shaky hands.
Bridget answered in one ring. “Hola, chica.”
“Ginny Webber asked for a partial of A Blogger’s Life!”
“Hip hip hooray,” Bridget hooted. “And what exactly is a partial?”
“The first three chapters.” I cradled the phone in my ear while I brought up the newest version of the document on my work computer. “This is huge, Bridge.”
“I’m so happy for you. Celebrate tonight?”
“I wish I could, but I have squad drinks.” After skimming the first page on the screen, I copied and pasted the first three chapters into a new Word document and printed them out to read one more time. I’d arrive late at Banc Café, but it would be worth it when I told Rob the reason behind my tardiness. “I need to call Nicholas.”
Laughing, Bridget said, “I’m so flattered you told me first.”
“It’s a reflex after more than a decade of friendship.”
“Whatever the reason, I’m so happy for you.”
“Cross your fingers and toes she likes it enough to request the full.”
“I’m guessing a ‘full’ means the entire book?”
“You’re a quick study.”
“There’s hope for me yet. Consider my fingers, toes, and eyes crossed.”
“Thanks.” I ended the call as Rob walked out of his office with his jacket and briefcase. “Coming?”
“I’ll be there in a few.”
“Okay.”
After he left, I removed the first three chapters from the printer and carefully read them out loud as quietly as possible. Once I was certain there were no typos, I drafted my response to Ginny.
Dear Ginny,
Thank you so much for your interest in A Blogger’s Life. As requested, I have attached the first three chapters.
I look forward to hearing from you at your convenience and thank you very much for your consideration.
Best regards,
Kim
I debated telling her she was my dream agent, but what if she wasn’t the warm-and-fuzzy type and didn’t take well to ass-kissing? Deciding it was better to play it cool than gush, I kept it simple. After printing out a draft of the message, I reviewed it carefully to make sure I didn’t leave out any words, use incorrect punctuation, or spell Ginny’s name (or mine) wrong in my frenzy. When I was finally certain the message was flawless, I held my breath and released the email. After sending Nicholas a quick text with the news, I headed out to meet the others.
Arriving at Banc Café at five forty-five, I weaved through the crowd of patrons taking advantage of the restaurant’s cheap happy-hour specials, and I found my group at the back. Along with several empty lipstick-stained martini glasses on the rectangular cherrywood table was a half-eaten platter of assorted appetizers.
Placing my coat across an empty chair, I said, “Sorry I’m late.”
From her spot on the couch on the other side of the table, Daneen raised an eyebrow. “Working overtime, I presume?” She snorted as if positive that wasn’t the reason.
I plastered on a fake smile. “Not this time, Daneen. Although I do need you to approve my OT for last month,” I said to Rob, who was sitting in the chair next to me. Turning back toward Daneen, I went on to explain the cause of my delay. “An agent requested a partial of my manuscript, and I didn’t want to keep her waiting.”
“Sounds promising,” Rob said, raising his glass. “Wait. You don’t have a drink. What are you having?”
“A peach Bellini. Thanks.”
As Rob excused himself to order my drink, I turned back to the others. I couldn’t contain my smile. My first request for a partial, and it was from Ginny Webber. I allowed myself to imagine the possibilities of being her client. Maybe Olivia Geffen would agree to write a blurb for A Blogger’s Life.
“It’s insane what’s passing for literature these days,” Daneen said, before wincing as if she sucked on a lemon. “All you need is a brainless heroine and a controlling hero. Pepper it with some raunchy sex scenes, and you’re guaranteed to hit the bestseller list.”
I doubted Daneen could surrender enough control to engage in “raunchy sex,” much less write about it and felt bile rise in my throat attempting a visual of the former. “My books have none of those things, so I guess I can kiss my chances of becoming a bestselling author goodbye.” I frowned and raised my shoulders in a mock defeated shrug before accepting my drink from Rob and taking a large sip. While conversation turned to topics more lawyerly (a.k.a. less titillating), I discreetly sent Nicholas a text: “Daneen got me thinking about raunchy sex. I’d like to have some with you tonight if you’re up for it.”
Nicholas responded almost immediately. “I’m always ‘up’ for it if you know what I mean, Kimmie. Dare I ask how Daneen got you pondering X-rated thoughts?”
I texted back: “I could tell you, but I wouldn’t want to ruin the mood.” I placed the phone to the side and rejoined the conversation. David and Amy were nearing the end of their engagement and in the final planning stages of the wedding. They had narrowed down their honeymoon destinations to Barbados, Aruba, and the Cayman Islands, a
nd Daneen and Rob were comparing notes on the Ritz Carlton in each location.
“There’s no Ritz Carlton in Barbados yet, but Sandy Lane Hotel is a premier luxury resort worth considering,” Rob said.
I resisted the urge to laugh. David was doing such a good job pretending to take it all in, but I knew he couldn’t afford to stay at any of those hotels unless he could bill his honeymoon to a client.
Glancing at my phone, I saw a new text from Nicholas. “You needn’t say more. When will you be home? I’m still at work.”
Surmising it would take me about thirty minutes to finish my drink and twenty minutes to get home, I wrote back: “A little more than an hour,” which gave me time to empty not only my glass, but also my bladder before I left the bar.
“I’ll aim for the same. Long and Strong unite.”
“Literally. See you soon, babe.”
I smiled to myself at how nicely my life was taking shape since I got out of my own way and acknowledged I had dreams worth chasing. Not only did I have an amazing live-in boyfriend to show for it, but my novel had sparked the interest of a hotshot New York City literary agent.
About ten minutes later, Rob reached for his briefcase. “I should get back to the office. Anyone want anything else before I close out the tab?”
I knocked back the rest of my drink. “I’m out of here too. Meeting Nicholas for dinner.” It wasn’t technically a lie depending on how narrowly you defined “dinner.”
“I’ll take one more beer,” David said with a sheepish grin.
As predicted, Daneen said, “I’ll come back to the office with you.”
Once we exchanged our farewells, I walked around the bar to the bathroom. While washing my hands in the dimly lit restroom, my mind wandered to the three chapters of my book waiting in Ginny’s inbox. According to QuerySpy, her response time to a partial request was anywhere from forty-eight hours to six weeks. It was unlikely she’d read my pages yet, but I knew I’d still check my email at least a dozen times between the bar and my apartment. At least I’d have Nicholas to occupy my time once I got home and for the remainder of the night.
“Honey, I’m home,” I called out as I entered our apartment less than an hour later. “What are you listening to?” I didn’t recognize the music playing out of the speakers in the living room, but every other word was “grind.”
I dropped my keys on the kitchen counter as Nicholas’s voice chimed in from behind me. “It’s ‘Grind With Me’ by Pretty Ricky. I was setting the mood.”
I turned around. “Setting the mood for what ex—” I stopped mid-sentence as my hand flew to my mouth.
Wearing nothing but a pair of black mesh briefs and holding a set of handcuffs in one hand and a fire-red silk blindfold in the other, Nicholas shrugged. “What? You said you wanted to engage in raunchy sex. Have at me.”
I burst out laughing, all thoughts of Ginny Webber were temporarily forgotten as I wiggled my fingers in preparation to peel off Nicholas’s cheesy underwear as soon as possible.
As I woke with the smell of hazelnut coffee teasing my nostrils, the first thing I did was let out a snort in remembrance of Nicholas’s getup from the night before. The second thing I did was reach for my phone on the nightstand and confirm Ginny Webber had not yet responded to my partial. Dropping the phone on the bed next to me, I leaned back with a yawn as Nicholas joined me in the bedroom holding a cup of coffee. He had done such a thorough job distracting me with his risqué seduction, I never got around to showing him Ginny’s email. No time like the present. Excitedly, I picked up my phone. “Can I show you Ginny’s note? She said my book had an ‘interesting premise.’”
With an apologetic frown, Nicholas said, “Can you show me later? I’m playing catch-up at work, so I should jet.” Placing the coffee mug on the night table, he kissed me on the forehead. “Have a good day, Kimmie.”
Running my fingers through my hair, I responded, “No worries. Enjoy your day too.” As Nicholas left the room and then the apartment, I reached for my coffee. After a few sips, I was awake enough to get out of bed and take a shower. But first, I’d check my email one more time.
Not really expecting a response from Ginny for at least several days and merely resigned to be another obsessive-compulsive author who would likely refresh my email a hundred-odd times until she eventually did, my eyes bugged out at seeing a message from her delivered only four minutes earlier—around the time Nicholas kissed me goodbye. A rolling feeling in my stomach, I sat on the toilet with the lid closed to gain my bearings. If she responded this quickly with a request for a full, it would mean she really liked it. I closed my eyes and gave a silent prayer. Then, I opened my eyes and with a heavy exhalation, read the message.
Chapter 8
Dear Kim,
Thanks for submitting A Blogger’s Life to Webber Literary. You have an engaging writing style, and I enjoyed the read. However, after much consideration, I do not believe it is a novel I can sell in the current market.
You are a talented author. Please feel free to query me in the future.
Best of luck.
Regards,
Ginny
I sniffed back my tears. After much consideration? It had been less than twenty-four hours since I sent her the pages. I couldn’t even console myself with the possibility she had carefully deliberated the pros and cons of taking a chance on me, since she had made her decision faster than a junkie just said yes. And as much as I wanted to blame it on the publishing world’s current disfavor of chick lit, other writers were succeeding where I was failing. Case in point: Hannah Marshak. If I were as talented as Hannah, Ginny might have at least asked for the full manuscript.
Deciding to take a sick day, I slunk back to the bed and crawled under the covers. I couldn’t face my colleagues, especially not Daneen. I should have kept my big mouth shut, but no, I had to prematurely tell the entire squad my dream agent asked to read the first few chapters of my book. And now, I’d have to tell them she declined representation without even finding out how it ended.
Perhaps “author” was not meant to be on my resume. Maybe it was time I accepted my fate to be an uninspired legal secretary by day and sought-after book blogger by night. I had a supportive family, a loyal best friend, and a sexy live-in boyfriend who loved me. What else could I ask for?
I curled in the fetal position, pulled the blankets tighter over my head, and tried to fall back to sleep even as my heart wrenched.
Later that night, Nicholas climbed into bed next to me with his laptop, a stack of papers, and a bowl of chocolate-chip ice cream. “She said you were a talented author. That counts for something, right?”
“That and a bowl of ice cream will get me a bowl of ice cream,” I replied dryly.
“She’s only one agent,” Nicholas said, taking a spoonful into his mouth before flipping through his documents.
Even as my stomach quaked in dread, my mouth salivated as I watched him eat. My hunger was not surprising considering I had hibernated within the confines of my bed the entire day, getting up only to use the bathroom and boil water for a single cup of soup. “She’s more than an agent. She was the agent.”
Nicholas frowned as he shuffled through his papers.
“My dream agent,” I said, scooching closer to him on the bed.
Nicholas placed his documents in front of him and turned to me. “Kathryn Stockett got sixty rejections.”
“Who else, besides Kathryn?” I held my breath, hoping for more evidence that many famous authors before me received the brush-off before finally landing an agent and reaching bestselling status.
Nicholas pursed his lips. “I don’t know, but I’m sure there are hundreds of them.”
I tried to shake off my disappointment. It was silly to expect Nicholas to possess encyclopedic knowledge of authors’ histories with agent submissions. But man, how I wished for more p
roof that even the most successful writers didn’t get there overnight. With each rejection I received, it became harder to take comfort in the statement, “She’s only one agent.” What if I ran out of agents to query?
Nicholas dipped his spoon into the ice cream dish once again, and my mouth opened in anticipation. If anyone could soothe my pain, even temporarily, it was Ben & Jerry.
Bringing the spoon to his own lips, Nicholas said with his mouth half-full, “Her loss, Kimmie.”
This I knew to be false. “But—”
“Shrug it off and move on,” he said, before returning his focus to his laptop.
Remembering something, panic rose in my throat, and I said, “Promise me you won’t say anything to Daneen.”
Nicholas glanced toward me only to roll his eyes. “Seriously?”
“Yes.” I groaned. “Oh, the pleasure she’d derive from throwing it in my face.”
“No comment,” Nicholas mumbled, resuming his typing.
I placed my hand across his monitor to regain his attention. “What do you mean, ‘no comment’?”
“You give her way too much power.”
My eyes bugged out as I felt heat rise to my face. “She’s been nasty since the first time we met without any provocation on my part. And you know it. I, on the other hand, have always taken the high road. I have dirt on her I’ve never shared with a soul.” Not entirely true, as I had divulged the secret to Bridget, but she didn’t count since Daneen had never met her. I turned on my side with my back to Nicholas.
Nicholas sighed. “Try to cut the girl some slack. She’s had a tough life.”
I pictured Daneen in her well-fitted Chanel suits with her chin upturned in confidence. “What’s this about a tough life?” I asked, flipping over to face him.
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