Chapter 12
Logan
“This might sound crazy, but I think we’ve got something really special here. This kind of thing doesn’t happen every day. It’s rare. It’s a gift. And I’m so grateful we’ve found each other. That all of our hard work will pay off when we share this gift with the world. I’ve actually got chills right now. That’s how excited I am. Tell me I’m not alone in this. Do you feel what I’m feeling? I mean, really feel it?”
All I’m feeling is an overwhelming desire to punch Bryce in his permanently smug face.
He was fifteen minutes late for the meeting that he insisted upon. As we waited for him Rilla made a joke about how being late was her thing and how dare he try to play her role. He finally burst through the conference room doors with the swagger of a late night host greeting his audience. You would swear he expected us to jump out of our seats, clapping and dancing to the house band.
In the last fifteen minutes, we’ve been updating him on our progress with Rilla’s manuscript. He’s interrupted both of us at every possible opportunity. Never with anything helpful or important; the jackass just loves the sound of his own voice.
I won’t mince words: I don’t like Bryce, and I never have. He’s the definition of style over substance. The man has never had an original thought, but he’s all too eager to take credit for yours. And if the idea flops, he’s the first person to throw you under the bus.
Bryce got his position at Thompson And Daye through family connections and he is the first person to volunteer that information. His grandfather founded the company and Bryce wants everyone to know it. He needs them to know it. Look at me. My ancestor accomplished something and I’m reaping the rewards.
All our hard work.Bryce hasn’t done any work on this book. The last time I talked to him he hadn’t read it, and I very much doubt that has changed. While he holds the title of publisher, he leaves the heavy lifting to his higher-ups, choosing instead to act as their lap dog. From what I can tell, the only things he reads are their feedback. But he’ll be first in line to accept the praise when Of Cinder And Sand takes off.
And it’s going to take off. I’m more sure of that with every day that passes.
Rilla glances at me before turning her attention back to Bryce. “Um…yeah. I’m feeling good about it. We’ve made a lot of progress in the last couple of weeks, I think.” She looks back at me for confirmation.
“Definitely,” I agree nodding at her. We met in my office on both Monday and yesterday, exchanging ideas and problem solving. Since letting down her guard with me, she’s become an overflowing fountain of creativity. When a problem arises, she comes up with several alternative options without struggle. It’s been amazing watching her mind work; I feel lucky to be part of the process.
That’s not to say that it’s been all clear skies and smooth sailing. She continues to be very protective of her work and any criticism, regardless how constructive, is met with borderline hostility. Still, we’ve been able to work through our differences of opinions, thus far.
“We’re almost finished with the requested revisions. Everything is on schedule for release at the end of the year.”
“Well, that remains to be seen,” Bryce says without taking his eyes off of Rilla. He doesn’t mean that. Release schedules have already been set. He’s just reminding both of us that he’s the one in charge. “When can we expect to see a completed manuscript for book two?”
Rilla continues to play with one of the cuffs of her blouse, tugging at it and fiddling with the button. I wonder if it’s new since it doesn’t appear to match her usual aesthetic. “I have my schedule mapped out and I’ll have it ready for October.”
Bryce leans forward and places his hand on her forearm giving it a squeeze. I sense her stiffening across the table, and my grip tightens around the pen in my hand.
“August would be better for Bryce.” His oily grin makes his already punchable face more of a tempting target.
They agreed on October. True, I haven’t seen the contract, but I was on the email chain when the date was sent. Moving her deadline up like that is unheard of and I’m about to tell him so.
“August it is.” Rilla gives him the same forced smile I saw her use on her unhappy patrons at the bar.
“Beautiful.” He winks at her, his hand still on her arm and I’ve officially had enough.
“Was there anything else you wanted us to work on, Bryce?” It’s not really a question. This meeting was to confirm that we’re staying on track; it’s not as if he has anything to add.
He finally lifts his hand off Rilla and runs it over his clean shaven face. “Nothing specific. Just stay the course. I’m really happy with how things are shaping up.” His gaze travels back and forth between us with interest. “For two people who didn’t want to work together, you seem to be managing just fine.” He leans forward again and whispers to her, “You know, this guy tried to convince me that you were a mess.”
It doesn’t surprise me that he found a way to work that into the conversation, but it angers me nonetheless. I have no one to blame but myself for that lapse in judgment. It had been a long week and I was tired and frustrated about numerous things. Still, I should never have spoken about her that way, especially to Bryce of all people.
“Well, you know what they say,” she says, with a self-deprecating shrug. “A broken clock is right twice a day.”
Bryce laughs loudly, tossing his head back and putting both hands over his Armani clad chest. “Rilla, you slay me.”
If only.
“Alright, kids,” he places both hands down on the table with a sigh. “As much as I’d love to hang out with my new favorite author all day, there is money to be made and my grandfather’s company isn’t going to run itself.” He stands and straightens his tie. “Rilla, it was an absolute pleasure. I look forward to working closely with you for years to come.” With a brief nod at me, he gives her one last perusal before breezing out.
Instantly the air feels more breathable, and we both relax into the high-back chairs with sighs of relief.
“Are all meetings with him that enjoyable?” Rilla turns in her chair to face me. “Because I feel like I just got a root canal with no freezing.”
A chuckle rumbles through my chest and I shake my head. “That was one of the more pleasant ones, believe it or not. Last year he gathered up as many of us as he could and made us look at pictures from his vacation. Another time I had to watch him tell the diversity and equity committee that no one in history has been more misunderstood and misrepresented than straight White men.”
Rilla’s laughter echoes off the walls, warming the cold boardroom like no heat source could. I find myself going out of my way to make her laugh, craving not only the sound but the feeling it sparks within me.
“He really is a model of resilience in the face of adversity.”
“Truly.”
“We should come up with a game to play the next time we meet with him.” She pushes her curls back behind her ears and I notice the caramel highlights in her brown hair. “We can put vodka in our coffee mugs and take a drink every time he interrupts us.”
I shake my head. “We’d be drunk in less than five minutes.”
“Okay, okay, good point.” She taps her delicate fingers on the table, performing her own little drum solo as she thinks. “We’ll play Bryce bingo!”
“Bingo?”
“Yes!” Her eyes light up with mischief. “I’ll make up bingo cards for each of us with things we expect him to do. Like, he brings up that his grandfather founded the company.”
I nod, catching on. “Every time he speaks about himself in the third-person, or takes credit for work he didn’t do.”
“Yes! Or every time he reminds me that you called me a mess.” The room goes silent as the words leave her mouth. I feel my face drop and she looks away, packing up her laptop. “The possibilities are endless.”
Even though she appears to have forgiven me for saying what I said, she definitely hasn’t forgotten. I hate that it still feels like a rift in an otherwise amicable working relationship.
“Rilla, I want to once again say that I’m sorry for calling you that–”
“No, Logan, it’s fine. I was just–”
“Can I please finish?”
“Okay, Bryce, you just interrupted me too.” She frowns at me.
“Jesus, you are a hard person to apologize to.”
“Maybe you’re just really bad at apologizing.”
We stare at one another from across the boardroom table, neither blinking. When I can’t fight it any longer, I let myself laugh. A genuine bark of laughter leaves me. I can’t even remember the last time I found anything so amusing. I’m trying to tell her I’m sorry and it turns into an argument.
Rilla grins at me, obviously pleased with herself. “You don’t need to apologize,” she says sheepishly. “I guess I am a bit of a mess.”
“No,” I start, but then stop. “I mean, yes you are.” She tosses her pen at me, but she’s smiling. “I admit that when we first met I didn’t have high hopes for us getting along. Our methods are very different and I couldn’t imagine us finding much common ground. You’re undisciplined, stubborn, and occasionally downright petty.”
“I was right. You suck at apologizing.” She appears to be scanning her surroundings to find more things to throw at me.
“But I don’t think you should change a thing. However unpredictable your creative process is, it works for you and that’s all that really matters. To be honest, I think working with you has made me better at my job. So,” I pause, unsure at this point if I’m helping matters or simply digging myself in deeper, “keep being a mess. It looks good on you.”
She stares at me for a few moments with an unreadable expression and I’m certain I’ve once again endangered our tenuous working relationship. But then the corners of her lips turn up and her eyes sparkle.
“Aww, Logan. You like me exactly as I am.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Yes you did. We’re having our own little Bridget Jones and Mark Darcy moment, right here. You like me just the way I am.” She pushes herself up to stand and starts gathering her things.
“I don’t know who those people are. All I was trying to say–”
“I think we’re becoming best friends.” After her coat is buttoned, she wraps the red wool scarf around her neck, ignoring all my protests.
“That a bit of a stret–”
“Okay, best friend. I’m going to go home and work on my book in the perfectly imperfect way you love so much.”
“I definitely never said you were per–”
“Bye, bestie!”
She exits the boardroom with an exaggerated wave and I sit there staring after her with a dumb grin on my face.