You Had Me at Good-bye

by Tracey Bateman

  I breathe a sigh of relief when lunch is over. But then comes the car ride back to the office.

  Kevin presses his hand to my knee. “So, tell me,” he says, slurring his words slightly. “How is your first day going?”

  I take his hand and move it.

  He offers me a sheepish grin that I in no way believe. “Oops, my bad.”

  “My day is going just fine, Kevin.”

  He makes small talk for the rest of the trip. I nearly kiss the ground when we reach the office.

  By the time I get to my office and close the door, I’m fighting tears, because I have no idea what I’m going to do. I cannot work for a man who makes passes at me! I just won’t. It’s not worth it.

  The next day goes off without incident. By Friday I’m feeling pretty confident that Kevin got the message. I’m back into the groove of office life. My inherited piles of proposals are diminishing, and I’m looking forward to Brynn and Kale’s engagement party on Saturday. When I get to work Friday, I’m surprised to find I already have a bunch of unopened e-mails. Three are instructional, which I appreciate. One is from Kevin, and one is from Jack.

  I read the one from Kevin first.

  * * *

  Dancy,

  Please come to my office.

  Kevin

  * * *

  I wiggle the mouse, running the arrow over Jack’s e-mail without actually clicking it open. Finally, my curiosity gets the better of me.

  * * *

  Dancy,

  I trust you’ve had a successful first week. You are a much better editor than you know. Be confident and stay true to your convictions. If you need me for any reason, don’t hesitate to contact me.

  Sincerely,

  Jack Quinn

  Senior Editor

  Lane Publishing

  * * *

  I click reply just as my instant message pops up.

  KMartin: Did you receive my e-mail?

  DAmes: Hello, Kevin. I was just about to head down there.

  KMartin: Good. I’m looking forward to it.

  Jack’s reply will have to wait. I leave it where it is and stand. Gloria jumps when I open the door. “Do you need something, Miss Ames?”

  “Call me Dancy, Gloria. And, no. Mr. Martin wants to see me in his office.”

  “I bet he does,” she mumbles, just loudly enough to be heard.

  “Excuse me?”

  She gives me a guilty glance. “Nothing.”

  I head to Kevin’s office, aware that all eyes are on me as I walk. I’ve never felt more self-conscious. Well, not since my beauty-pageant days, anyway. His door is closed, and I glance at his assistant. “Kevin asked to see me.”

  “Yes, Miss Ames. He told me to have you go on in.”

  I smile at the busty, blond Pamela Anderson wannabe and give the door a tap. “Thank you.” I know he said for me to go on in, but something about a closed door begs a knock.

  “Come in.”

  I twist the knob and push open the door. His face lights up when he sees me. He stands and walks around the desk, meeting me at the door and closing it behind me. “Come sit on the couch.” His hand is on my back, right where my bra strap connects. I’m not crazy about the way his hand is caressing me.

  He sits next to me, and I immediately smell alcohol on his breath.

  His face flushes with pleasure. “You have the prettiest hair,” he says. He reaches forward and wraps a finger around one of my curls. “I usually prefer blonds, but these dark curls could drive a man crazy.”

  Every muscle in my body begins to shake. I shoot to my feet, standing on wobbly legs. Has this guy never heard of sexual harassment? I wonder if I should call Nick and tell him to bring his buddies over to give Kevin a good talking-to. Or something more than a talk.

  “What do you want, Kevin? Remember, you asked me to come to your office?”

  “Come on,” he coaxes. “Sit down and talk to me for a while.”

  “Mr. Martin . . .”

  “Kevin.” His voice has taken on a silky, slithery tone, and I know he’ll be making his move soon. It’s time to bolt. “Kevin. I have work to do, so if you don’t have anything to discuss, I’m going back to my office.”

  He takes my hand and tugs, causing me to lose my footing and stumble back to the couch. “Don’t be a party pooper. Do you want a drink to relax?”

  Is this guy kidding? A drink? I could sue his behind off! Why hasn’t anyone done just that by now, if this is his MO? “Back off, bud!” Am I seriously fighting off an octopus wearing Armani? This is crazy.

  “Sheri didn’t mention you were such a prude.”

  “Maybe Sheri didn’t know I was.” I frown. “Or maybe she didn’t imagine her fiancé would be making passes at other women in the office.”

  He chuckles. “I’m sure she didn’t, although I made plenty of passes at her. Come on,” he says, leaning in so close I can smell the coffee mixed with alcohol on his breath. Ugh, I may never drink coffee again. “It’s all in the family.”

  Anger shoots through me, driving away my fear. I press my palms against his chest and give him a shove.

  “What the—”

  I shoot to my feet while he’s off guard and stomp to the door, fists clenched. “Never touch me again, Kevin. Or I’ll punch your lights out.”

  Trying to compose myself, I pause a second by the door before swallowing hard, twisting the knob, and leaving his office.

  My gaze stays steady in front of me as I scurry back to my office. I close the door behind me and click the lock. I can’t bear the thought of facing anyone. Guilt assails me. Did I mislead Kevin into thinking I wanted him to make a pass at me?

  Tears pool in my eyes as I sit at my desk. My instant-message alarm sounds, and instinctively I know who is trying to get my attention.

  KMartin: I apologize for the misunderstanding. It will never happen again.

  I stare at the screen. I bet you do, buddy. That sounds like the cry of a man who knows he’s in a position to get sued for sexual harassment, not to mention having his fiancée informed of his womanizing.

  An odd mix of relief and anger threads through me, until I’m not sure which emotion is stronger. One thing is for sure: I’m not answering his instant message. Let him apologize. I’m not answering.

  I see Jack’s message behind the instant-message screen and click reply.

  * * *

  Jack,

  Thanks for the note. Are you still interested in giving me a freelance job?

  Dancy Ames

  Senior Editor

  Sharp Publishing

  * * *

  I stare at my in-box and wait, hoping he will write me back quickly. Jack doesn’t disappoint.

  * * *

  Dancy,

  What’s wrong?

  Jack

  * * *

  Tears stream down my face. I can’t believe I’m even telling him this.

  * * *

  Jack,

  This is between us only. Kevin hit on me—first Monday and then again just a minute ago. He apologized, but I don’t want to work for a man like that.

  Dancy

  * * *

  A minute later, my cell phone rings and I know it’s Jack.

  “Are you all right?” he asks as soon as I answer.

  I heave a sigh. “Just disappointed and feeling like an idiot.”

  “Don’t. You’ve nothing to feel idiotic about. Shall I come and punch this Kevin fellow in the nose for you? I’d be happy to defend your honor.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “No.” I groan. “What should I do, Jack?”

  “Gather your things and leave immediately. You can e-mail your resignation from your home computer.”

  “Should I really do that?” I glance at my clock. “I’ve been here less than a full week. That has to be some kind of record.”

  “Probably.” He pauses. “I have some time this morning. Would you like to go to breakfast?”

  I open my mouth to refuse
when he says, “I’ll bring an agreement for you to do freelance work for us. And we can discuss the terms. What do you say?”

  I can’t help but feel disappointed. The man I had hoped to work with wanted something more. And the man I want something more with can only keep his mind on work. What an awful day.

  17

  Valerie waited impatiently at the airport for her parents to deplane. It had been six months since they left for Africa. Six months that seemed like six years as far as she was concerned. This furlough would only be for two weeks, but she planned to make the most of every minute.

  Her heart lifted at the sight of them. She ran, desperate to fall into her daddy’s open arms and pour out her heartbreak over John, her confusion over Ben.

  But when she reached her parents, she stopped short and stared. Daddy looked weak, ill really. “Mom?” she asked. “What’s wrong with Daddy?”

  “Honey, we didn’t want to tell you.”

  “What? What is it?”

  “Let’s wait until we get home,” Dad said.

  “No.” Tears streamed down Valerie’s face. “I need to know.”

  Mom took her hands. The three stood in the middle of the terminal while travelers buzzed around them. “Your dad was diagnosed with lung cancer right before we decided to go to Africa.”

  “What?” Valerie felt the betrayal to her bones. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “We’ve always wanted to go. To feed the hungry. Dad wanted the chance to do that before he died.”

  “You’re not going back, are you?”

  Dad shook his head. “This was a one-way trip for me.”

  A sob caught in Valerie’s throat.

  “Shh,” her dad said, caressing her hair with his gentle hand. “Don’t cry for me, honey. I’m about to take another one-way trip. The one I’ve been waiting for all my life.”

  —An excerpt from Fifth Avenue Princess

  by Dancy Ames

  Tears are flowing freely by the time Jack meets me halfway between Sharp and Lane.

  “May I?” he asks, holding out his arms.

  I nod and he gathers me close into warm, strong arms. People swarm past us, but I don’t care. I feel safe, and right now that’s all that matters to me.

  When my tears are spent, Jack pulls out a handkerchief and dabs my eyes for me. Then he puts the cloth to my nose and I laugh. “I’ll blow my own nose, thank you very much.”

  “Good. Your sense of humor is still intact. You may blow.”

  “I can’t believe I quit my job less than an hour into my fifth day. What is that going to say about me in this business?”

  “You’re not going to have to worry about that. If you want to launch a freelance business, I can guarantee you will be in high demand.”

  I laugh. “You’re just trying to cheer me up.”

  He shakes his head. “Not at all.”

  We find an outdoor café and sit. Jack pulls out a sheet of paper and hands it to me.

  Nondisclosure? “What is this?”

  “You need to sign it before you can see the manuscript we’d like you to edit.”

  I quickly read it over. It says only that I will not disclose the contents of the manuscript or discuss the author with anyone outside of approved personnel. I shrug. “Who’s the author? President Bush?”

  He grins. “Hardly.”

  I scrawl my name on the dotted line and hand the pen back to Jack. “All right, secret-agent man. Let’s see this manuscript.”

  He pulls out a padded yellow envelope with a manuscript inside. I take it and reach in. “Wait until later,” he says. “Let’s have our coffee and breakfast.”

  I frown. “What? After all that? There’s no way I can wait until after breakfast. My curiosity won’t let me.”

  He gives me a half-smile. “I’d forgotten you’re still a child.”

  I stick out my tongue as I pull the four-hundred-page manuscript from the envelope. I gasp as I read the title and the name of the author.

  My Heart Weeps No More by Cate Able.

  “Are you kidding me?” I look up at Jack. “Jack! Are you kidding me?”

  “I wouldn’t make you sign a nondisclosure form for a joke, would I?”

  “Cate Able is my favorite author.” I’m aware that I’m gushing. But I never thought I’d be given the chance to edit the reclusive author.

  “Is that so?”

  “Oh, come on. Everyone knows that.”

  He sends me his boyish Hugh Grant grin along with a wink, and I realize this is more than an editing job. This is a huge favor. A gift.

  I’m in such awe, even I can hear it in my voice. “Does this mean I get to meet her?”

  “We’ll see. For now, just work on the manuscript. And, Dancy,” he says, his tone suddenly serious, “you must give this manuscript a one-hundred-percent effort. Ms. Able is not like Virginia Tyne. She will not throw a fit and get you sent on vacation if you give honest feedback.”

  “Are you sure about that? Cate Able can likely call her own shots.”

  “I give you my word that if you give all you have on this edit and do what I know you can do, Ms. Able will be most pleased.”

  “Jack, I just have to know one thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “Why on earth would you ask me to edit for Lane Publishing’s biggest author?”

  “I’m not sure I understand the question.”

  A short laugh erupts from my throat. “Face it, when I worked for you, you critiqued my edits, then made me face the cranky authors—so much so that I was forced on vacation and then eventually fired.”

  His eyes flash alarm. “You think I was critiquing your edits? Dancy, I read your edits because they fascinated me. I enjoyed your insights. And yes, I added my two cents’ worth, but not as a criticism. You were perfectly free to discard my thoughts.”

  “Well, I mean, I agreed with most of them,” I admit. “Still, I felt like you were undermining me.”

  “Then why didn’t you come to me, silly woman?” His eyes are kind and a little confused. “I would have certainly apologized.”

  “And getting fired?” Fresh anger washes over me. “Why didn’t you fight for me?”

  “You keep saying that,” he says. “What makes you think I didn’t?”

  Rays of hope finally break through my cloudy day as he continues. “I don’t decide the direction of our program. Your heart is clearly in fiction. We are expanding in nonfiction, and there was no way Kramer would have fired Fran. You know that without me expounding upon the reason.”

  He’s right. “So I was just the sacrificial lamb.”

  “Something like that.” He waves away the waitress as she starts to give him a refill. “So, if I’ve answered all of your questions satisfactorily, may I please have your answer?”

  “You know I can’t pass this up.”

  “Lovely!”

  Clasping my hands together, I can feel myself practically beaming. “I just can’t believe this! Wait until I tell Laini and Tabby.”

  He expels an exasperated breath. “Dancy, darling. Do I need to explain what nondisclosure means?”

  I stare. “Oh, Jack. I can’t edit Cate Able and not tell my friends. They live with me. They know everything. We don’t keep those sorts of secrets.” I slip the manuscript back inside the envelope. Swallowing hard, I push it back across the table. “I’d better not take the job, Jack. I can’t keep from telling Tabby and Laini. It’s just not possible.”

  He gives me a little scowl and pushes the envelope back to me. “Take it. But do not tell anyone else. Is that clear? And you mustn’t reveal the contents before publication. Not even to your girlfriends.”

  “That’s no problem. They don’t care for her books.”

  “Why not? Don’t they read?”

  “Oh, sure. Laini reads romance, and Tabby reads Soap Opera Digest and the Bible.”

  “Now that’s a combination.” Jack laughs.

  I smile. “So I get to keep the job?�
�

  He nods. “You do. I can’t help but admire your honesty. Many people in your position would have broken the agreement without being honest about it. You were willing to give it up because you know you can’t keep a secret from your two chums. I respect that.”

  “Thanks, Jack.” My heart lifts at his smile. “I needed those kind words.”

  Later, I stand on the subway, holding the pole with one hand and clinging to the treasured manuscript with the other. Just when I should be crawling home, defeated and depressed, I actually have to say this might be the best day of my entire life.

  Kale and Brynn’s engagement party is huge, formal, and about as pretentious as an Academy Awards after-party. Mother and Dad reserved the entire club, and Brynn’s folks flew in from Oklahoma.

  My mother is showing off. That’s all there is to it. And there’s no reason to. Brynn’s parents are kind, simple folks. Salt of the earth. Farmers. And even dressed appropriately. Secretly, I think my mother hoped Brynn’s mother would need her advice on what to wear. But she wasn’t given the satisfaction. The woman is dressed beautifully in an understated black dress that, unless I miss my guess (and I rarely do where little black dresses are concerned), is Gucci.

  Really, was it necessary to commission a five-foot ice sculpture of two swans, their heads pressed together so their necks form a heart? Has Mother never heard of subtlety?

  The foyer is set at a freezing-cold temperature to keep the ice from melting too quickly. No one’s sticking around to enjoy that particular decoration anyway, though, so it just seems like a waste of money. But Mother likes it, so I guess if that’s the goal, it was worth it.

  The core of the party is taking place in the huge dining hall. Twelve round tables that host six guests each are placed strategically so that there is plenty of room for dancing. There’s a bar, but I won’t go there. Besides, Dad is imbibing enough for the whole family.