Chapter 11
Greta
The next morning, as she walked into the office building in Midtown, Greta was grateful for the sunglasses that shaded her tired eyes.
She’d added anti-redness drops and used her “emergency moisturizer,” a bee venom–based cream that tightened the weary skin around her eyes.
Typically she put work above everything.
She knew better than to try to pull all-nighters, for whatever reason, at this point in life.
She wasn’t that old, but she didn’t have the ability to go without sleep the way she had in her early twenties.
Lee was worth the lost sleep.
They’d been up until well after midnight, and then dozed briefly only to wake and have sex again before Lee washed up and left with a promise to message after her big meeting.
Greta wished there was another option for them, one that wasn’t only the choices of friends who fucked or never seeing her again. What they’d done already was enough that Greta couldn’t guarantee that she could remain emotionally detached. They clicked. They laughed. They had orgasms.
Oh my God, the orgasms … If they had been dating, Greta was fairly sure that finding time to do anything but have sex would be a challenge, but they lived in different cities. They weren’t going to date.
Want to go to a show or something tonight? As friends?
she quickly texted.
Lee: Sure. Do you want me to grab tickets?
Marie: No, I have a pair I was going to toss to hang out and have orgasms with you later.
Lee: Want to do both? With me?
Marie: Yes please. I may need a nap first.
Lee: Same. Message you after meeting and naps. Wait. Broadway is dark on Mondays.
Marie: Not on Broadway. Explain later. Elevator here. Must run.
She surrendered her sunglasses, wincing at the harsh lights as the elevator was about to stop on her floor. She was rarely this late, even though it was barely eight o’clock, but Ian was waiting in her office. He had a stack of pages in his lap, which he set aside as she walked in.
“Triple-shot latte. Coconut milk. Mint.” Ian walked over and handed her the cup of coffee. Today was not a tea day.
“Remind me to never fire you.” Greta gratefully took the coffee.
It was just this side of too hot, but today it was fine.
If all went well, she was hoping to take a sick day or a work-from-home day tomorrow.
Generally, she was not keen on coming into work this tired, but this was why God made subways—so dead-on-their-feet New Yorkers could get to work without being a danger to themselves or others. Walking felt complicated.
“So much better. I don’t want to scream suddenly.” Greta took another long drink.
“Hangover?”
“No. Just up too late. A friend was in town unexpectedly.” Greta tried to keep the memories of Lee out of her mind. Her burning cheeks let her know she’d failed.
“Mmmhmm.” Ian gave her a look that said he heard what she hadn’t said aloud. “I figured that out when I saw on the tracking app that you were at the train station and then didn’t leave your apartment.”
“The what?”
“Tracking app. I told you I was sharing your location with me. How am I to look after you if I don’t know when you’ll be here?” Ian gestured for her coat.
“You track me?”
“Yes, and you can track me.” Ian had his back to her as he hung her coat on the coatrack that had come with the office. “We talked about this, Greta. If you’re going places you don’t want me to know, switch it to off.”
She stared at him, mouth slightly agape.
He glanced back. “Just because you aren’t showy about it doesn’t mean I’m not aware that you’re … one of us.”
“I’m not closeted, Ian. I just don’t have a person in my life.
If I did, I’d bring her to some functions.
” Greta couldn’t stop the mental image of showing up with Lee at a few events.
In reality, most of the things she attended were still business.
Agents worked the room. Editors always wanted the next hit.
Her social lunches or cocktail parties for this or that book event were still work.
They looked like a social life to outsiders, but they were work. “I like my private life private.”
“Obviously. You don’t owe anyone any explanations.” Ian settled back into the chair beside her desk.
Greta realized that his stack of pages was on a lap desk. “What’s that?”
“Gay literary mystery.”
“I haven’t acquired one of those.…”
“Yet.” He gave her a wide smile. “I was thinking of acquiring it if I can get my boss to agree.”
Greta laughed, grateful for the topic change. “You know your ‘boss’ trusts you, right? You have great taste, a strong editorial eye.…”
“I don’t want to abandon you, and I still want your guidance.”
“My advice wouldn’t end if you were working on books without me,” Greta stressed. “I ask others—including you—for opinions. Even if you were to take a job elsewhere—”
“Not the plan!” He met her gaze. “We can’t change the industry if we don’t have more queer editors in the larger publishing houses. I want to be one of them, but I’m not ready. Not entirely. But if you co-acquire this book with me…”
“I need to read it first.”
Ian nodded. “I don’t want to leave you and become a full-time editor.
Not anytime soon. I want this book, though.
” Ian put his hand on the pages almost affectionately.
“Middle-aged gay author, activist, and it has the kind of authenticity I want as a reader. Not the othering of gay men that I run into when I’m looking for a book for me.
I get that those books have a readership, which is fine, but … they’re not written by or for gay men.”
Greta took another drink. “I hear you. I’ll prioritize it this weekend.”
“That’s all I need.” Ian beamed in a familiar sort of joy. She’d felt that, the hopeful feeling before acquiring a book, the gleam of excitement.
They settled into their individual work stacks, and there was a part of Greta that was grateful they’d developed this friendship, as well as their work relationship. After roughly an hour, she looked over at him. “I like that you work in here some days.”
“I started because it makes people leave you alone when you’re in a less charming mood,” he said mildly. Then he shrugged. “I stay because you’re my friend. I like being around you.”
“We ought to grab coffee sometime outside work.”
“Your treat. I can’t expense the coffee if it’s not work.” Ian’s words were a challenge or maybe just a question.
“I’d like that.” Greta didn’t really have much of a social life the last two years. She worked. She worked some more. She had flings with strangers. Aside from visiting her sister every so often, she was isolated.
Intentionally so.
Maybe it was time to rediscover that part of her life, too.
Her breakup with Tasha had led to a lot of withdrawing when she realized that all her friends were their friends.
Tasha wasn’t ready for their life together, even though she had pressed for marriage to the point that Greta felt like she had to ask her to move in, had to put a ring on her hand.
Then six months later, Tasha moved out and took all their friends with her.
And I crawled into my shell.
Lee was the first person since the breakup who had made her ponder if she was ready to try dating again. Not just because of the sex, either. They’d had fun talking yesterday.
Maybe it was the idea of having a friend to spend time with.…
But Ian was her friend, too, and maybe Emily Haide could be. There were other editors and agents she was friendly with. Maybe she had the possibilities of social outings and just hadn’t admitted that.
Maybe I need to find a book club or something.…
Almost two hours later, her phone buzzed, and Ian grabbed it.
She was inordinately glad that he wasn’t ready to move on to another publisher.
He could. Plenty of places had been trying to lure him away the last year, maybe thinking that he was the reason Toni Darbyshire was with her.
Ian was decidedly out, and a lot of people were new enough not to realize that Greta herself was also out.
Being privacy focused meant that a fair number of people were oblivious; they hadn’t met Tash because it was so long ago in publishing time. Turnover in the industry was frequent.
Or maybe it’s because I don’t match their stereotypes.
“I’m glad you haven’t left for greener pastures,” Greta blurted out. She wasn’t usually so blunt or emotional, but she would be lost if Ian did leave. Training a new assistant always had a learning curve that wasn’t ever as easy as she expected.
“I have no intention of leaving. I do think I ought to get a better raise this year.” Ian grinned as he stood. “That was the front desk. Your author and the delightful Ms. Haide are on their way up.”
Greta nodded. “See them to the conference room for me. Art needs to talk to them now before we do anything else.”
“You aren’t meeting them at the elevator…?”
“So far, Carpenter is as approachable as an old hound with a sore tooth. I want to have something for her to focus on when we meet, and you’re a bundle of happiness so…” Greta made a shooing motion. “Go be charming. I’ll be in with the art.”
Ian laughed. “I am always charming.”
“I am not.”
“Obviously,” he teased.
Once he was gone, Greta called the art department. “Our author’s here.”
“On the way,” Shay said in her perpetually cheerful voice. “I’ll grab Charlie. It’s the only way to separate her from her work.”
“The problem with a good publicist,” Greta agreed with a laugh.
She had a great team. Charlotte was the kind of publicist other publishing houses would love to steal, and Shay headed up a group of designers who were either creating the trends or finding ways to keep their spin on existing cover trends fresh.
Ian, of course, made Greta’s part of the book process run smoothly.
Marketing was still in flux. They had good people, but they weren’t as gelled as the other departments.
They’ll still charm even a shy author like Kaelee Carpenter.
With that thought in mind, Greta walked toward the conference room, expecting to have all of five minutes there without the distraction of art and publicity.
This will be fine. We’ll get the author over her reserve.
Greta saw Emily, the agent for this book and Darbyshire’s books, through the glass walls as she stepped in.
She saw the back of another person, short dark hair that looked a lot like Lee’s.
“Hi, I’m Greta. How lovely to meet y—” Her words faltered as the author turned around.
The look on her author’s face was as stunned as the feelings churning in Greta’s stomach.
My author couldn’t be … She wasn’t …
But then Lee walked over and took Greta’s still outstretched hand. “Hi. I’m Kaelee Carpenter. How nice to finally meet you in person.”