“Hopefully?”
She looked at me, but didn’t answer.
“Do you think Boss will carry through with his threat?”
“I’d like to say that he’s smart enough to not even think about doing something so stupid, but that man is irrational. He proved it last night, and he just proved it again a moment ago. I always knew he had an ego, and I always felt that there was something off about his hubris, but he runs hotter than I ever imagined. I don’t know what he’s capable of.”
“Now you’re frightening me.”
“I don’t mean to. I’m just being honest with you. We have to face this.”
“If he did anything, what would he do?”
“Who knows? What I do know is that I didn’t like the look in his eyes when he left. I didn’t like how he looked at you. That bothered me. That was a look of pure evil. I don’t trust him. I set him up this morning—he knows that now—and my one regret is that I had you stay for his dismissal. I never should have done that. That was a mistake. I knew it wouldn’t go well, but I certainly never expected for him to issue a public threat. I’m the first to admit when I’m wrong, and I apologize to you. I handled this one poorly.”
“He’s gone,” I said. “I’m not going to worry about it. Too many people heard what he said. He’d be a fool to try something.”
“If he can’t find another job right away, I don’t know what he’ll do. So, I’ll have Tank pay him a little visit to make sure Boss sees God, in case he has other ideas. A visit from Tank should quell any thoughts of revenge.”
“Actually, Tank already mentioned that.”
“Did he?”
“He did. He was angry about how Marco behaved last night. When he returns home, he wants some alone time with Marco.”
“And yet another reason why I adore Tank.”
“I’m very lucky.”
“You both are. Don’t forget that. After that woman cheated on him, Tank had a rough time of it before you came into his life. Now, he has a wonderful woman who is gobsmacked by him—and vice versa. His ex-girlfriend hurt him so badly that, for a while there, I didn’t think he’d try a relationship again. But he has. He took a chance, and I don’t think you have any idea what you mean to that man now.”
She stood from her desk, pressed her hands down over her suit to smooth it out, and seemed to come back into herself. Her eyes became bright again. Focused. “Now,” she said. “The morning is young. It’s time for you to meet your new editor—Iris Masterson. She’s quirky as hell, but she’s an excellent editor. Better yet, she wants to keep your book as it is with only a few reasonable changes that don't affect the story. In fact, her idea is to just strengthen what you’ve already written. At five this morning, I met with her. I saw what she had in mind for changes myself, and I agree. At some point today, she knows you’re coming to meet with her. That time is now. Come with me. I’ll show you to her.”
* * *
We took an elevator to Wenn Publishing, and when the doors of the car slid open on the twenty-first floor, the first person I saw was Beatrice, the woman who had been rude to me the first time I’d come to meet Marco Boss at his office when he still worked for Wenn. She’d judged me for being a ‘self-published author,’ as she put it, and she’d made me stand against a wall while I waited for Marco to come and collect me.
She was just as severe-looking as Blackwell, but when she saw Blackwell leaving the elevator with me, the woman straightened in her chair and broke into a smile that was too quick to be real—or to reach her eyes.
Since IT had just been here to remove Boss’ computer from his office, she knew what was up—she knew that he was gone—but did she know that he’d been fired because of me? Unlikely at that point, but with Blackwell and I standing before her, she knew it now.
So I had to wonder how long it would take for her to send the email that would turn me into the pariah of Wenn Publishing. In a corporate culture such as this, all Beatrice had to do was send one email to her co-workers, and I’d forever be known as the person who was responsible for getting one of their senior colleagues fired.
And what will they think of me then?
“Barbara,” Beatrice said.
Blackwell didn’t return the smile. “Beatrice.”
“It’s so good to see you. It’s been so—”
“We’re here to see Iris Masterson. She’s Lisa Ward’s new editor.”
“New editor?”
“You’re a horrible actress, Beatrice, so give it up—it’s embarrassing. You and I both know that Marco Boss has been fired. You and I both know that soon this place will be a hive of gossip, likely due to your loose lips. So, please, don’t play act with me again—I won’t have it. Shall I take Lisa to Iris’ office on my own, or do you want to call the woman first?”
“Everyone is so busy. It’s my duty to call.”
“Yes, God knows how busy Iris is in this tomb of silence and crickets. So, call. But before you call, shouldn’t you, at the very least, welcome Lisa? I have a feeling why you haven’t acknowledged her, but that no longer will do. She’s one of Wenn’s major acquisitions. You need to know that and respect that.”
“Of course. And I do. Lisa and I had a fine meeting the first time we met.”
“No, we didn’t,” I said. “You were horrible to me. You belittled and judged me. It wasn’t pleasant.”
Her face flushed, and I could see a mask of anger boiling just beneath the surface. “I’m sorry if you felt that way. It was never my intent. It’s so nice to see you again, Lisa.”
Blackwell rolled her eyes. “Well, that sounded heartfelt. Please call Iris, Beatrice. Let’s get this train moving.”
“One moment.” She picked up her phone and punched a few numbers. “Lisa Ward to see you. Yes, she’s here now with Ms. Blackwell. Very well. I’ll send them your way. Thank you, Iris.” She looked up at us. “Iris will see you straight away.”
“Quelle surprise. But it won’t be both of us—it will just be Lisa. I need to get back to my office and fill out some paperwork to finalize Marco Boss’ removal from Wenn. But that’s easy enough—I deal with eliminations on a daily basis, Beatrice. Not that I mind them. What I need you to do with Boss’ office is to close his door and make sure that it’s locked if the IT staff hasn’t already done so.”
“Oh, they locked the door.”
Blackwell folded her arms. “And you know this how? You’ve checked?”
“Well, I—”
“Fine. You checked. Naturally, you checked. From what I know about you, it’s in your nature to get into all sorts of nooks and crannies. You’ve always been—shall we say—the curious type. But here’s what you really need to know. Nobody goes near that office until Mr. Boss’ personal items have been removed from it. Security will take care of that. Not anybody else on this floor. Are we clear on that?”
“We’re clear.”
Blackwell turned to me. “Come and see me the moment you’re finished with Iris. In the meantime, Beatrice here will be professional and pleasant, and will take you to Iris—won’t you, Beatrice?”
“Of course I will.”
Beatrice rounded her desk in a daze and eyed us both as Blackwell gave me a kiss on the cheek. “If you get any attitude from anyone—and I mean anyone, present company included—I want to know about it. OK? And I’ll want their names, so make sure that you get them. I’m in a firing mood. Understand? Good. Now, off with Beatrice. Time to meet your new editor.”
* * *
When we arrived at Iris Masterson’s office—which wasn’t one of the nice corner offices that Marco had enjoyed—we were met at the door by a glum-looking fortysomething woman with a shock of red hair that fanned out from her shoulders in a frizz of angular waves. She wore no makeup or jewelry, and her blue business suit was so ill fitting that it looked almost mannish on her.
“Iris Masterson,” Beatrice said. “Lisa Ward.”
I held out my hand to shake Iris’, but she declin
ed it. “No, no,” she said to me. “Don’t do it—pull it back. I have a horrible cold. The worse in decades. It’s risible.” She lowered her voice. “I think I’m still incubating.”
I dropped my hand. On one level, I was relieved to hear that she wasn’t lying—she sounded terrible to me. It was obvious that she would have shaken my hand otherwise. On another level, I felt bad that she was sick.
“You don’t want what I have,” she said to me. “Stay as far away as possible. Wear a mask if you have one. Get inoculated while you can. I’m riddled with germs. I can feel them thrumming through me. Please come in, but only at your own peril. Remember, I’ve warned you.”
She looked at Beatrice, who was lingering beside me in a way that felt intrusive. “We’ve been introduced, Beatrice,” she said in a cool voice. “Is there anything else? Would you also like to sit down? Be part of the conversation so you can share it with others later? Or perhaps you’d like to shake my hand….”
Without a word, Beatrice stalked away. When she was out of earshot, Iris Masterson gave me a weary look and we moved into her office. “Be careful of that one,” she said as she sat behind her desk and motioned to the chair opposite it. “It’s probably unfair of me to poison your mind so soon, but the devil just left us.”
I decided at once that I liked Iris.
“I’m sorry that you’re ill,” I said. “Should we reschedule?”
“Only if you feel worried that you might die should you come too close to me.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Good,” she said. “Now, look—I’ve read your book. It’s super. I loved it. And that’s not some canned response somebody told me to feed to you because of your dealings with Marco Boss.”
“You read it so soon?”
“Actually, I was going to acquire it myself, but Boss beat me to it. So, yes, I have read it. I re-read parts of it this morning when I went over it with Barbara. Does your novel need a bit of work? It does. Does it need an entire overhaul? God, no. All we need to do is tweak a few things, strengthen a few characters, clean up a few redundancies, sharpen some of the dialogue, offer a bit of clarity here and there, that sort of thing. Otherwise, as far as I’m concerned, we already have a fine novel here. I expect that the work we need to do will take no longer than a week or so.”
She grabbed a Kleenex from a box on her desk and dabbed at her nose. “Honestly, I don’t know what all of the fuss was about? Marco always has been difficult—that’s just who he is. A know-it-all. And frankly, a bastard to his core.”
“I want to be up front with you—I know my book is far from perfect. I welcome your help. Did I disagree with Marco Boss’ radical changes? Sure, I did. He wanted to go for the zombie cliché, which is not what my book is about. It’s about reimagining the genre, and trying something new. New frightens people in this business. I get it. That’s why I chose self-publishing first. The book was a bestseller for a reason—I think that people crave something new.”
“But with a whiff of the familiar….”
“Exactly.”
“So, look,” she said, glancing around her office. “I’m not going to keep you in this Petrie dish any longer—I can’t have you getting sick on me. We have too much work to do. So, how about this? The moment you leave, I’m going to start to go through your book and will begin sending you suggestions via email. We’ll start a conversation, and will come to an agreement on the changes I suggest. Then, you can work on that portion of the book. This way—unless I somehow manage to give your computer a virus, which is possible given the severity of my symptoms—you should retain your health. Does that work for you?”
“It sounds perfect. You have my email address?”
“I do.”
“Then I’m ready to work. Let me get home and we’ll dig in.”
“If I can somehow rid myself of this disease, I think we’re going to work well together, Lisa,” she said. “And by the way, I saw that ad of yours in the Times. I understand that a certain person may have flipped out about how you were styled—but whatever. I, for one, rather liked the diamonds on your lips. You looked fresh, exciting, cutting-edge. Blackwell was right, as she generally is. By drawing attention to you, she drew attention to your book. And she’ll continue to do that for you. Wenn has made a major investment in you—we can’t lose on that investment. So. Now that the wicked witch is dead, we’ll craft a fine book together.”
“The wicked witch?”
“Oh, come on,” she said with a leveling glance. “You know exactly who I’m talking about—that son-of-a-bitch Marco Boss.”
* * *
“I love her,” I said to Blackwell when I entered her office.
“I thought that you would. Iris is an eccentric and she dresses like a man, which makes my Diors want to curl up and die, but she’s very smart, very shrewd, and a prized editor. She also has a wicked sense of humor that can be surprisingly cutting. Thus my further admiration of her. You’ll get no bullshit from her, but she’s a workhorse, so you’ll need to keep up.”
“Thank you for making this happen.”
“Thank Iris. Marco beat her to the punch when it came to acquiring your book, and that frustrated the hell out of her—she wanted it very badly for herself, but lost out. Now she has it, and I know for a fact that she’s thrilled that she does. Let’s consider this a win-win.” She reached into her glass of ice and popped a cube into her mouth. “Want to hear about another win?”
“Another win?” I asked.
“That’s right.”
“What win?”
“Alex has been in contact with Julian West.”
I sat down in the chair opposite her. “When? They haven’t even landed yet.”
“Do you really think that Alex can’t make calls from the air? Come on, Lisa. They spoke this morning.”
She crunched hard on the ice in her mouth. I just stared at her.
“Gird your loins, girl, because the deal went through. West has optioned your book for one million dollars—and that’s just for the option. There will be more to come later. Your book is about to become a movie.”
“Oh, my God.”
“You’ll need to sign papers, of course—they’re being drawn up as we speak. I expect them to arrive in the next week or so. And then we’ll have a deal.”
“I can’t believe this. Julian West is going to direct a movie based on one of my books.”
“Potentially direct. It’s just an option—now he needs to find financing, which can be a challenge. But let’s face it—with that kind of money tossed onto the table, he already knows he’ll have no issues. So, congratulations. After a morning that nearly drowned us in a sea of ugliness, we have this to celebrate.”
“I wish Tank were here so we could celebrate with him. And Jennifer and Alex. Without you, I’m alone here.”
“Then how about if you and I go out for a cocktail tonight?”
“Really?”
“Of course. Why not? Meet me at the Waldorf at eight. Peacock Alley Bar. Have you been? No? It’s just been through a major restoration, and I hear it’s beyond. You deserve to have your celebration—so let’s make certain you have one.”
“Perfect. And who knows—maybe we will find you a man.”
“Oh, please. At this point in my life, I prefer to be manless. Certain drives aren’t what they used to be—they galloped away years ago. Now, listen to me. When you sign papers for the film option, Wenn will issue a press release, as will West and whatever studio he’s working with. I believe it’s Paramount. At that point, expect interest in you to heighten. The Wenn Publicity machine will crank up, and secure interviews with all the major newspapers and magazines. We’ve only just started to build interest in you and your book. The ad in the Times and the billboard in Times Square is nothing compared to what you’re about to face. You need to know that.”
“I don’t know how comfortable I am with all of this attention,” I said.
“Then, my dear, I’m afra
id you chose the wrong profession. Because this is part of what it really means to be a best-selling author. Will you survive it? Of course you will. You have me and all of your friends looking out for your best interests. Will it feel strange to put yourself out there to so many people? Absolutely. But this is business. And to get your business off the ground in a major way, this is what it takes. Again, you won’t be alone. You’ll have Bernie and me there to style you, and there are professionals here at Wenn who will coach you on how to give an excellent interview, whether on camera or off.”
“On camera?”
“Well, yes. Don’t you see? Within a few weeks, you’re going to be a household name.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
The next week was so busy, it passed in a blur, but not an unpleasant one.
It was, in fact, one of the best, most productive weeks of my life, which was good because I was beginning to miss Tank to the point that it was ridiculous. We talked each morning when I woke up, and each night before I went to bed—and we Skyped as often as our schedules would allow us to.
But for me, it wasn’t enough. I missed my boyfriend. I missed his presence, I missed his face, I missed his quiet strength, I missed being near him, I missed making love to him—and yet I still needed to wait another week for him to return home.
A week ago, when Blackwell and I had our night out at the Peacock Alley Bar, she gave me some sage advice.
“I know you miss him,” she said. “We all do, really, but not like you. So here’s what you’re going to find out this week when you work on your book with Iris. Our work saves us. It always does. Remember that—our work saves us. You’ll see. Work is what got me through my divorce from Charles. If I didn’t have the insanity of Jennifer to deal with when I was going through that divorce, I would have gone mad. Seriously—that girl put me through my paces as much as I put her through hers. If you bury yourself in your work—which Iris is going to make you do anyway—the time will pass faster.” Then, she’d lifted her martini and held it up to me. “Now, cheers to your success, my dear. And well done on the movie option. It’s well earned.”
Unleash Me, Vol. 2 (Unleash Me, Annihilate Me Series) Page 5