Chapter 6 Ofosua
CHAPTER 6 OFOSUA
ADINKRA SAYING: (Akofena) A sword of war.
HELEN ADDO: When a man vexes you, say nothing, but empty your vex account and go on holiday. When you return, his attitude should be improved.
I was off my game.
The whole debacle at church yesterday combined with a missed call from Yofi after had me on my back foot. What the hell did he want from me? While there was a teeny-tiny part of me that was itching to know, I quashed it. Whatever he wanted, I didn’t care about. And not once in the months since the wedding had he tried to explain why, who’d been in the closet, and how he could do that to me. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of taking his call.
Especially not in the one place I always found solace. Work. I was so busy wondering why my world was tilted on its axis that I didn’t even notice someone was leaning over me as I was previewing the images for an upcoming cover meeting.
“Did you realize you make a face when you’re concentrating? You stick your tongue out a little.”
Flustered and surprised, I shoved my chair back, rolling so far that I hit the cabinet behind me. “Ow.”
“Wow. You do know how to make a fast getaway, don’t you, Addo?”
“Is there something you need, Mr. Drake?”
I watched the muscle in his jaw tick. He really, really hated to be called Mr. Drake.
“Yes, Miss Addo . Allison Kent’s new book? We’re going to have to adjust the original marketing budget.”
I blinked up at him. This happened often. Books were given a projected print run fairly early in the process. But once the sales teams got ahold of the booksellers and tried to pitch a writer, print runs were adjusted to what accounts ordered. That number was then reflected in the marketing budget.
“No. You can’t slash the budget. We’re on a shoestring as it is. We can’t depend on her platform entirely. We have to provide some support here.”
“Sorry. The decision is final, numbers being what they are. And if you checked your emails as opposed to automatically deleting everything coming from me, you’d have been aware.”
One time I’d accidentally deleted an urgent email from him, and he’d never stop reminding me. “You’re going to hear from her agent.”
“Actually, you have to deal with her agent.”
As an associate editor, yes, I spent some time smoothing things over with agents. But this was beyond my pay grade. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”
“I’m not. Allison’s got no social media presence for her pen name. Just for her real name. Readers don’t know anything about her except what she used to do. And let’s face it, booksellers still have a hard time selling romance. And this book is so different from what she’s done before.”
If that wasn’t some sexist, misogynistic bullshit. Allison was a former romance author–turned–thriller writer. Great plot, an excellent hook, and well-executed characters.
“Maybe you don’t love a billion-dollar industry because you don’t understand it, but I assure you booksellers do care about romance novels and their readers. Anyway, we’re pitching them a psychological thriller, not a love story. And you can’t tell me that’s not a successful category.”
He rolled his eyes. “She has no social media presence for the thriller, ergo, no access to that billion-dollar market. And the orders from the booksellers for the thriller you’re trying to school me on reflect that.”
No. I wasn’t going to let him do this. I narrowed my gaze. “Don’t bullshit me. We’ve got our own marketing efforts, plus we have access to her romance newsletter, with over a hundred thousand subscribers. If even ten percent of them convert to sales, this book could hit the USA Today bestseller list.”
He shrugged. “Don’t know what to tell you. Other than this is a part of the job.”
I normally prided myself on not losing my cool at work, ever. But Cole Drake and his smug smile had a way of getting under my skin. Not to mention those slate-gray eyes had a way of hypnotizing you, pulling you into a trance so you felt compelled to say yes to whatever he was asking for. He leaned forward on the table so I could just smell a hint of his cologne. The sandalwood and leather notes tempted me to lean in.
But I knew better. I’d learned to keep my distance from him, so I just waited him out.
“Now, if by chance you wanted to work out an arrangement where Evan Miles releases his book the same week as Allison, I might be able to pair them together for some events, primarily using Evan’s marketing budget.”
No. Not Evan Miles. “You are blackmailing me?”
He put his hands up. “Don’t think of it as blackmail; think of it as doing business.”
“We are not giving him another deal. Do you understand the pain and harassment I had to go through the last time trying to get him to revise his book? I thought his last book was the last one. It didn’t even work. Readers have moved on. We all agreed.”
I thought I was done with Evan’s bullshit and microaggressions. At one point, he’d requested that Amy Green, my department’s shared assistant, replace me as his editor. Once, he’d even asked me to make him coffee and balked when I’d made her do it instead. He was always taking her suggestions and praising her for her ideas. She wasn’t even particularly good. Everyone knew she’d only been hired because Daddy happened to be an editor at the New York Times Book Review .
When I’d finally gotten up the nerve to tell my boss about Evan’s behavior, I’d been met with what honestly felt like mock horror, but at least I was promised I’d never have to work with him again.
Apparently, this had been forgotten.
I opened my mouth to remind Cole of why I didn’t have to work with Evan, but I knew how this would go. Even if I took this to my senior editor, Lila Garret, I’d only get pretend platitudes and I’d end up right back here. Did I have the energy for that? No.
“I understand, but the reps insist that most independent booksellers still love him and that buys will be strong enough. Especially in the South.”
No way, no how. “Absolutely not. Besides, didn’t he try to shop his book?”
“He did. But no one took the bait, so he’s back. We have an opportunity here. We have his backlist. And your last edits, despite his combativeness, were terrific. You’re familiar with his style and you can handle him. You’re strong-willed.”
I crossed my arms. “If I refuse?”
“It’s your choice. Have fun explaining to Allison’s agent why you decided you’d rather see Evan Miles fail than her client succeed.”
I seethed but said nothing. In the office, there were three factions when it came to Cole. The wish-they-could-fuck-him faction: the girls, gays, and theys at Drake that salivated whenever he walked the hallways. Which, could I really blame them? Because Cole in a three-piece suit was mouthwatering. And he knew it too.
Then there were the haters who thought he was a nepo baby. They didn’t realize he was intelligent enough to get into Yale without using his father’s name. Not that I had dug up that little tidbit. Because it was none of my business.
And then there were the users, who wanted to be close to him to secure their own futures at Drake.
Where do you fall?
I was the rarity. The outlier. I hated him because he’d kissed me on a balcony two years ago and then he had totally and completely forgotten me. I had never happened. But that was neither here nor there. Right now, he was fucking with my career. Right now, he was blackmailing me, although I couldn’t help but notice that he wasn’t using his trump card. He was my true nemesis, and he hated me—why hadn’t he taken the opportunity to embarrass me with the information about my hospital visit? Not a single rumor.
It didn’t make sense given our enemies-to-nemeses relationship.
“Why go to war over Evan Miles? You don’t actually read any of these books.”
“I read some of them,” he countered.
“You read the first three chapters of many books. Do you actually finish any?”
Okay, yes. That was a low blow. The night we’d met, we’d discussed our favorite books and what we loved about them in depth. I knew he read. But it was easier to treat him like he was just a pretty face and not like we were standing in the halls of a prestigious publisher that he would eventually inherit.
It made it easier to compartmentalize him.
He sighed. “Look, I know Evan Miles is old and crotchety. I know his sales aren’t what they used to be, but they are sales. He’s in the black, not the red. And he is one of the last authors my grandfather personally signed on. I want to keep him.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Bullshit. You’re really going to use what you call your ‘grandfather’s legacy’ to mess with my list?”
Did I really see a minute tick in his jaw? But then he shook his head slightly, grinned, and winked. “One hundred percent. You have to learn how to play ball, Addo.”
“This is blackmail.”
“Business, like I said. Take it or leave it.”
He knew what he was doing. And so did I. And at the end of the day, I knew what was up around here. I could agree to his demands, or else his uncle Steven, our publisher, would want to personally know why I wasn’t being a team player.
“You are the most pompous pain in the—”
Lila chose that moment to walk in. “Ofosua, do you have the…” She straightened immediately and plastered a smile on her face as her gaze raked over Cole. Lila was in the wants-to-fuck-him category. “Cole! I had no idea you were here. I would love your opinion on some cover art for next season.”
“I have a meeting, sorry. I was just stopping by to give Ofosua a quick budget update.”
I knew he had me. I could fight him all I wanted, but I couldn’t win. And certainly not in front of Lila, who would (rightly) ream me out for insubordination. I marshaled the control I needed. Zero emotion.
“Mr. Drake, I do appreciate you coming to address the matter with me and it seems that we’ll figure something out. As we consider budgets, your suggestion to pair Evan Miles with my author was a—smart—business decision,” I muttered through clenched teeth.
He flashed me a grin. He knew exactly what I was doing. “Ofosua, I’ve told you a thousand times, call me Cole. Mr. Drake is my uncle. And I appreciate you taking the time to work this out with me. You are really the future of this company, you know that?”
I smiled so hard he could see my molars. Such an asshole. “I appreciate you saying that, Mr.—I mean, Cole .”
I really laid on the simpering-female thing thick. When he was gone, I had to force myself to take five deep breaths.
Lila watched me shrewdly. “Evan Miles? I thought we were done with him.” She might want to get in Cole’s pants, but she was smart, quick, and let nothing slip.
“Marketing strategy. At the right price, we publish him and pool his marketing budget with Allison Kent’s.”
Lila cursed under her breath. “Son of a bitch. Pretty and shrewd.”
“Tell me about it.” I hurried to add, “The shrewd part, not the pretty.”
She just chuckled. “I suppose he’s not your type. More of a Chris Evans than a Michael B. Jordan.”
Michael B. Jordan? I knew she assumed that just because I was Black, I would only be interested in Michael B. Jordan. As if I couldn’t appreciate beauty. “Actually? I’m an equal opportunity gorgeous man enthusiast. But it’s unprofessional of me to notice men at work. Especially ones who like to irritate me.”
“Well, you two certainly are actually professional with each other. You know in that way that there is some tension. You know, I’ve said this before, but you don’t need to call him Mr. Drake. That antiquated office custom died with his grandfather. Even Steven doesn’t require it.”
“Yeah. I know. But boundaries are good.” Boundaries. My life was complicated enough. It was just annoying that Cole Drake was the one who always brought my fire out.
COLE
Did I irritate her on purpose?
Yes.
Did I do it because I liked seeing the spark fire in her eyes?
Also yes.
It wasn’t like I invented a reason to go and talk to her. The Allison Kent budget did in fact need adjusting. But I also knew that Miles was a major pain in the ass. He hated being edited by women. He didn’t think women understood his brand of hard-boiled detective fiction well.
Eventually, he’d been handed to Ofosua to see the book through because every other editor refused to work with him. And since she was only an associate editor at the time, she didn’t really have the luxury of saying no. She’d heroically gotten the book out the door, but I remember it being a fight. And so shoving another Miles book on her in exchange for some piddling author events for Allison Kent wasn’t playing fair. I knew it.
Did I care?
Too much.
I still had a job to do, didn’t I?
Yes, but you could’ve sent her an email. You wanted to go talk to her.
I scowled at that as I rushed to grab the elevator to head down to accounts.
Usually, I could go days without seeing her. But seeing her at her church during yesterday’s brunch had put her in the forefront of my mind. So even though I could’ve shot her an email, I’d deliberately chosen to go speak to her.
Because I was a fucking glutton for punishment.
Chad ran into the elevator just as the doors were closing. “Hey.”
“Oh. Hey, man.”
“What’s wrong with you? You look like you’re in a mood.”
The short answer, yes. I was in a mood anytime I had to talk to him, but I didn’t say that.
“Just had a meeting.”
He laughed. “Ah, the only one who makes you look like that is the Addo bitch.”
I clamped my jaw tight. “Didn’t we already have this conversation about how you talk about her?”
He rolled his eyes. “Sorry. We’re at work. ‘Respect all employees’ and that bullshit.” He used air quotes.
I narrowed my gaze on him. “So we’re clear, she’s good at her job. We needed to negotiate a marketing budget. But she wasn’t happy and made sure I knew it. Let me be clear, you don’t talk about her, or anyone for that matter, like that. Not if you like your job.”
He raised his hands in surrender. “Testy, testy. Why don’t you just have her, like, transferred or demoted or fired or something?”
I studied him, wondering what the fuck his problem was.
“On what grounds?”
“You know, she was, like, an affirmative action hire or whatever, wasn’t she? So I’m sure her work’s not exactly up to par, even though you say it is. But beyond that, she irritates you, and you’re the golden child. You can do what you want.”
“Hey, douche canoe. You know she went to Columbia, right? Weren’t you wait-listed there?”
He folded his arms. “It’s all relative. I was wait-listed because they were letting in affirmative action cases. Besides, I went to Harvard, so it’s fine.”
Of course he’d explain that away. “Right. She’s actually amazing at her job. Just because she irritates me isn’t cause enough to fire her. After all, you’re still here.”
Chad guffawed. “Ah, funny man. Whatever. You know where your uncle is? I went to talk to him about some projections, and I could have sworn I saw Nazrin go into his office, but when I knocked, there was no answer.”
I was too distracted to pay attention to him, so I grunted something noncommittal.
With a sigh, he said, “Look, fuck her or fire her. But you can’t keep walking around with that look on your face every time you interact with her.”
I blinked rapidly at him. “What did you say?”
“Fuck her or fire her. There’s no anti-fraternization policy. Maybe she will stop irritating you so much once you get her out of your system one way or another.”