“Wait a minute,” Tabby interjects into the fray. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Dancy doesn’t have any experience with kids.”
I do, too! “Hey, have you forgotten that I kept my little brother while my folks were away? And besides, you didn’t either, until Jenn and Jeffy came along. Remember the job you got fired from because you started an argument with a six-year-old?”
“Okay, listen, honey,” Tabby says, as if she’s talking to the twins. “First of all, the little girl was a tyrant. So different story.”
David snickers, then shuts up fast as Tabby spears him with a glare. He covers well with a cough.
“Second of all,” Tabby continues, “Brandon is a teenager. So you didn’t take care of him. You gave him a place to eat, crash, and take a shower. You’ve never taken care of children. They have to be fed, bathed, taken to school and to ice-skating and all those things. How are you going to do that and still work?”
“She can take them to day care,” David interjects, ignoring Tabby’s frown. “Besides, the week after Christmas, there is no ice-skating or school. So two less things she’d have to worry about.”
“But this apartment—” Tabby says.
“We have the pullout couch,” Laini reminds her, taking up the cause.
I grin.
Tabby opens her mouth and then sits back in the chair, letting her jaw relax. “Well, if you’re sure.”
“We are,” Laini says decisively. She glances at the kids. “We’ll have a swell time, won’t we?”
They nod as they tear into their yummy peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I look at Laini as she eyes those two kids. I hear the unmistakable sound of her biological clock alarm going off. Or is it mine?
16
Ben Harrison stood over Valerie’s desk, the scent of his aftershave swirling through her senses until she had trouble concentrating on the account in front of her. She was in no way ready to consider a relationship with someone new. Not after the heartache of John Quest. Not that Ben acted even remotely interested in her. But the only things that seemed to interest Ben were named Amelia, Eric, and Donnie. His children were his life. Valerie had known only one man who put his family first, and that was her own dad. And in the presence of a father like Ben, her biological clock began to tick-tock, tick-tock. Ben turned and glanced at her, and in his eyes, Valerie saw the first spark of hope.
—An excerpt from Fifth Avenue Princess
by Dancy Ames
I breathe in the smell of new carpet as I walk through the newly renovated offices of Sharp Publishing. The atmosphere seems friendly enough. I see smiles and flirting going on, typical for this kind of office. Overflowing bookshelves line the spaces between departments, and office doors are open. One even has a bicycle parked in front of a desk. For some reason, that impresses me. Mr. Kramer wouldn’t put up with it, that I know.
Kevin’s office is large and plush, with an oak-finished desk and a chair that probably set the company back a couple thousand dollars. He flashes a million-dollar grin and motions to the chair across from him. On his desk is a photo of him and Sheri, arm in arm in someone’s front yard.
“So you’re Sheri’s cousin.” He looks me over like he’s trying to find a resemblance. His eyes stay on certain parts of my anatomy, and I fight the urge to cross my arms over my chest.
“We don’t look much alike,” I mumble, feeling like I should apologize.
“You’re both beautiful . . . where it counts.” My face goes hot. Surely I am misunderstanding his comments. Surely.
“So, you worked for Lane Publishing for . . .” He looks over the document in front of him, suddenly all business. I relax, hoping I indeed misunderstood his intentions.
“Ten years,” I supply.
“Impressive staying power.” His eyebrows go up and his lips twitch a little, and I wonder if he’s making a sexual innuendo. I decide to give him the benefit of the doubt.
“I loved it.” I try to remain professional. But discussing Lane Publishing feels personal, as though I lost a part of my family by leaving the company.
“Why did you leave?”
Is this a trick question? I feel sure Sheri has told him every detail. “I was let go because they want to focus more on nonfiction, and my strength is fiction. That’s why they hired Sheri.”
“I see.”
I swallow as tense silence fills the air between us. I don’t know if I should speak, so I don’t. I read in Granny’s Bible the other night, “Even a fool when he holdeth his peace is counted wise: and he that shutteth his lips is esteemed a man of understanding.” Personally, I’d rather be considered quiet and smart than be a loud idiot.
“Your résumé looks good. I’ve been in contact with Lane Publishing, and they tell me the same thing you did. That you were a good employee. Faithful and loyal. That’s exactly what we’re looking for here at Sharp Publishing. You do know this is a senior editor position, right?”
My heart jumps into my throat for a second. “Yes, I do know that.”
We talk about what the job entails, the starting salary, and a start date. The interview ends precisely thirty minutes after it began, and Kevin stands. I follow his lead. “I’ll be calling you soon to let you know our decision.”
I paste a smile on my face. “I’ll look forward to hearing from you.”
“Dancy,” he says as I walk to the door.
I turn. “Yes?”
“One question.”
I stop and wait.
“Sheri mentioned to me that you’re writing a book. Is your passion to be an editor or a writer?”
I stare, speechless. How did Sheri know I’m writing a book? I know my roommates would cut off their own arms before betraying my confidence.
Now that it’s out there, I have no choice but to answer the question. “Two months ago, I would have said editing, hands down. But I’ve been focusing on writing since then, and quite frankly, I love it. I love my book and I love the writing process.”
He nods.
“However, I also miss my job as an editor. Can’t I love both?”
He stares at me for a second, and I have a feeling I’ve completely blown this interview. “Can you divide your focus between the two, or will one suffer in favor of the other?”
“I’m not sure how one could suffer in favor of the other. My writing is a matter of the heart. I do it in my spare time because it makes me happy. Editing is what I do as a job, and I enjoy that too. One has nothing to do with the other. I don’t think I should have to give up writing in order to edit or the other way around, any more than a chef should give up eating to be a good cook or vice versa.”
I hold my breath as he scrutinizes me for a few seconds. I have no idea what might be going on in his head. Finally he gives me a nod.
“We’ll be in touch.”
Nothing in me thinks that’s good news. Defeated, I leave the Sharp building and walk for a while. My steps take me past Lane Publishing. I truly didn’t mean to go there, but somehow I find myself climbing the steps and entering my former place of employment.
I haven’t been here in six weeks—since I cleaned out my office. I get smiles, hellos, and good-to-see-yous. I stop at Crystal’s desk. “Is he in?” I ask Jack’s assistant.
“He is. Let me see if he can meet with you.”
She picks up the phone. “Dancy Ames is here to see you.” She pauses. “But she doesn’t have an appointment. Okay, Jack.”
She sets down the receiver and looks up at me. “This is a first. He said to go on in.”
“Thanks, Crys.”
Jack opens the door just as I reach for it. The action throws me off balance. I stumble and catch myself from falling face-first onto the floor. Predictably, Jack reaches out and grasps me. “Easy does it,” he says.
“I’m okay,” I say abruptly, aware that we are most likely the focus of plenty of stares. I clear my throat and smooth my jacket as he turns me loose.
“Come in,” he says, st
epping out of the way for me to enter. He closes his door and motions to the couch against the wall. “Would you like something to drink?”
Normally I’d say no, but I find that my throat is parched. “Water?”
He nods and opens the door. “Crystal. Could you bring Dancy a bottle of water?”
He sits down next to me on the sofa. His large body looks out of place as he tries to find a comfortable position. “What brings you here?”
Before I can answer, Crystal taps on the door and enters with my bottle of water. She frowns when she sees us on the couch. I suppose she expected us to sit at the desk. Quite frankly, so did I.
“Thank you, Crystal. Please close the door on your way out,” Jack says pointedly.
I take up the conversation where it left off at Crystal’s interruption. “I’m not sure why I’m here.”
“How did your interview with Kevin go?”
Is my life an open book? “You knew about that?”
“Kale.” He grinned. “Then Sheri.”
I roll my eyes. “We’re too closely connected.”
“You think?” His eyes twinkle. “I’ve been thinking lately that perhaps we’re not close enough.”
Breathe, Dancy. Breathe.
“What do you mean?”
He leans in. “Surely you know exactly what I mean.”
“Y-you fired me.”
“Are you going to forgive me? I had no choice.”
“Why didn’t you fight for me?” Tears burn my eyes and throat. Oh, why do I always cry?
“You were no longer right for the position.”
“How do you know?” Anger flashes through me. “You didn’t even give me a chance to acquire nonfiction, did you? I read quite a bit of nonfiction, as a matter of fact.”
“It’s done, Dancy.” His jaw twitches as he clenches his teeth together. A telltale sign of irritation. “Surely you didn’t come all this way to talk about something that can’t be changed at this point.”
I hop up from his couch. “Forget why I came.”
I grab the water from the table and slam out of his office. “Thanks for the water, Crys.”
“You’re welcome,” she says meekly.
It isn’t until I reach the street that I realize something horrible.
“Dancy! Wait.”
Humiliation rips through me as I turn toward Jack. I don’t even have to ask why he followed me. He hands me my purse. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets and stares at me. “Are we ever going to move past this? It seems like we start to, and then you bring it back.”
“I don’t know, Jack. I try. But I need someone to fight for me, and you just let me go.”
He steps forward, hands still in his pockets. “Is this about work? Or is it personal?”
His presence is so overwhelming as his eyes pierce me. I stumble back to escape the intensity.
“I have to go, Jack.”
Thankfully, a cab stops as soon as I raise my arm. I slide inside and slam the door. Unable to help myself, I turn to look out the window. Jack is still standing on the sidewalk. He lifts his hand in a farewell. I press my palm to the window and watch him until he fades into the distance.
After a month of nail-biting, I finally get a call from Kevin at Sharp Publishing, offering me the job as senior editor. It’s the middle of the day and there’s no one to share my news with, so I pack up my laptop and walk down to Nick’s. Joe is behind the counter.
“Hi, doll,” he says. “What can I get you?”
“Green tea would be lovely.” Then I notice a sign with a picture of a pumpkin latte. “Since when did you start serving those?”
“It’s for the fall.” He grins. “My idea. Try one. On the house.”
“Who are you giving drinks to on the house?” Nick barrels through the kitchen door, a frown firmly in place until he sees me. Then he smiles. “’Ey, princess. I thought you fell off the face of the earth. Fix her that latte and don’t take a penny,” he commands Joe.
Joe grins and sends me a wink.
Nick comes from behind the counter and slips his massive arm around my shoulder as he leads me to a table. “You want I should fix you a meatball sub?”
I shake my head. “I’m having the latte. I’d better save the rest of my calories. I have news.”
“You gettin’ married finally?”
Nick! He douses my enthusiasm without even trying.
“No. I’m not getting married. I got a new job.” I grin. “A better position with more money.”
“’Ey! This is a celebration!”
“You know, you’re right. Do you have any of Laini’s stuffed sandwiches left?”
Joe delivers my latte and overhears my question. “Are you kidding? We sold two dozen between eleven and twelve thirty and had at least two dozen more orders. People weren’t too happy when I told them we were sold out.”
“Laini’s going to be so excited.”
“What’s she doin’, wastin’ her time goin’ to school when she can sell her food like this?”
“Well, this isn’t a business, Nick. It’s just a way for her to burn off stress. If she can make a little money on the side, so much the better.”
Sort of like my writing. I’m an editor first. But if I can sell my book and make a little bit on the side, so much the better.
The door dings and I look up. Emily enters, wearing her typical bell-bottoms and peasant blouse. She has a crocheted bag slung over her shoulder and heads straight for me. “Hi, Dancy.” She gives me a hug and takes the seat next to me since Nick’s sitting on the other side of the table. She seems to be less terrified of him now, but not completely comfortable.
“What can I get you, Emily?” Joe asks.
She orders a chai tea.
Nick hauls himself up. “I’ll let you two girls chat.” He clasps my shoulder as he walks by. “I’m real happy for you, princess.”
“Thank you, Nick.”
Emily stares. “Happy about what?”
“I got a new job.”
Her face lights up. “Congratulations.”
I can’t hold back my crazy grin. “Thanks.”
“I have news, too,” Emily says. Her grin is about as crazy as mine.
“Spill it.”
“I’m dating someone.”
“Floyd?”
A blush creeps across her face. She nods. “He said the two of you have sort of been a fixture at dinner parties and family get-togethers since you were kids, but it never went anywhere. Is that true?”
“Very.” I smile. “Believe me, I couldn’t be happier for the two of you.”
I can’t help but wonder what she sees in him. I also can’t help but wonder what Mrs. Bartell will say about the possibility of a hippie tainting the blue blood of her family line.
My first day at Sharp Publishing dawns crisp and sunny, as late autumn is bound to be in Manhattan. It’s Halloween, so the subway ride is interesting, to say the least. Costumes abound on folks from two years old to fifty-two. Once I arrive downtown, I walk the crowded streets, past Lane Publishing and beyond, to the steps leading to my new life.
Senior Editor. Senior Editor. Dancy Ames, Senior Editor. I can’t keep the stupid grin from splitting my face. I smile in the elevator and no one smiles back, but even those sour faces can’t dampen my happiness. I’ve been thanking God every second, it seems, for directing my steps.
I get to the tenth floor and say hello to the assistants and editors who occupy cubicles instead of offices.
Gloria, my assistant, is right outside my office. I can see her from my desk if I leave the blinds open. Which I won’t, for now. I need my privacy as I learn the ropes at my new company.
On my desk are a basket of flowers and a bouquet of roses. I look at the card on the basket first. It’s from Tabby and Laini, congratulating me on my new position.
My hand shakes a little as I lift the card from the roses. I can’t believe I’m ho
ping they’re from Jack. But I am. My heart plummets as I read: “Welcome to Sharp Publishing. I look forward to working closely with you. Kevin.”
Well, that was sort of nice, I suppose. Roses, though?
Of course, it’s because I’m his fiancée’s cousin. I set the cards aside and walk to the window. An office with a view. Granted it’s a view of other buildings and busy traffic. But still I have a view. I feel like Melanie Griffith at the end of Working Girl.
Gloria taps on my door almost immediately. I smile a welcome, and she seems relieved. Was Sheri that hard to work for? “Kevin has a couple of meetings this morning, but he asked that you join him for lunch. He’ll send a car to pick you up at noon.”
“Okay. That sounds good. Thanks.”
She motions to a pile of manuscripts on the floor. “Those are proposals that are still under consideration. She points to another pile. “Those have been rejected but no one has gotten around to sharing that information with the agents.”
I toss a wry smile. “I suppose that’s my first order of business?”
She grins. “Something like that.”
“Thank you, Gloria.”
“Can I get you anything?”
I shake my head. “Nothing I can think of.”
She closes the door as she leaves, and I plant my hands on my hips. Where do I start?
At noon, I slide into a town car to find Kevin in the backseat waiting for me. “Hi, gorgeous,” he says immediately. He leans over and gives me a kiss on the cheek. I’m taken aback by the gesture, and I suppose it shows because he holds up his palm. “Don’t worry, just a little welcome kiss between soon-to-be cousins.”
“Sheri and I aren’t that close, normally,” I say.
“That’s not what she says.”
Oh.
The restaurant is dim, and we’re escorted to an even dimmer corner booth where Kevin sits close enough to press his thigh against mine. I scoot and he stays. Whew!
Three margaritas (for him) later, and he’s all hands. But not blatantly. He sort of reaches over me to get the salt and happens to brush my hand. He goes for his wallet in his back pocket and “accidentally” presses against me. I’m telling you, this guy is a lecher. I wonder how on earth Sheri doesn’t know this.
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