Chapter 8
Chapter eight
Madison
Pressing my palms to my eyelids, I slowly count to three.
When I blink open, the steadily-building pressure of a headache still resides behind my eyes. Apparently, three seconds of respite doesn’t magically fix twelve straight hours of staring at a computer screen.
Working by the glow of Christmas lights in lieu of a brighter overhead light could also be a contributing factor to the eye fatigue.
I’m not sure how to explain it, but the combination of the Christmas decor around me and the snowy coffee shop ambience video I looped on my tablet has kept my mind in the zone for this marathon workday.
I’ve been too heavily influenced by my best friend.
Clara did bring me lunch, and we sat outside at a picnic table in the crisp air for thirty minutes.
But aside from that brief break, I’ve been working nonstop on today’s to-do list. The first (and most critical) item on the list—officially registering my business—slowed me way down when I realized I needed a physical address for the application.
Which I currently lack. I had a long debate with myself over whether to use a friend’s address in KC, Clara’s here in Noel, or my parents’ in Nebraska.
Which led me to a mental argument over whether I should even bother officially incorporating a business right away.
I could MacGyver my way through for now with PayPal invoices to my personal bank account, especially since I may abandon this idea altogether in the not-so-distant future.
At the very least, I might have a permanent address attached to my existence by the time I decide to do this long term.
I could wait and make things official then.
But even as the rebel devil on one shoulder argued with the rule-following angel on the other, I always knew which side would win out. If I’m going to do this, I’m going to do it right.
Hence, hours of productivity lost to the black hole of pesky physical address requirements.
I ultimately decided to use Clara’s address (with her permission, of course) since I’m physically located in Noel for the short term.
I’ll need access to the documents mailed to the supplied address.
I can update it later when I move back to KC.
Although filing the application to register Madison Joy Editorial as a legitimate LLC took up way too much time, it’s a satisfying checkbox to mark off on the to-do list.
Glancing at my watch, I see that it’s nearly 9:00 p.m. A reasonable person would turn off her computer and wind down for the night.
But reasonable people don’t have friendly “I can accomplish more than you” competitions to win.
Clicking open a new tab in my browser, I navigate to the host I’ve chosen for my website so I can claim a domain name.
I can tackle the actual web design tomorrow.
I’ve been debating between two possible web addresses: a straightforward or a succinct .
I think I’m leaning toward the latter, and I have the domain name pulled up on the browser when I’m startled by a knock at the door.
That’s not a light, hope-I’m-not-imposing Clara knock. It’s a strong, self-confident knock.
I bite back a smile and walk the few steps to the door. I couldn’t know with certainty that Liam would actually check in tonight to compare first days . . . but I’m not surprised in the least. And I may be just a tiny bit delighted.
Swinging the door open, I am surprised by the catch in my chest when I see Liam’s end-of-day appearance in contrast to his buttoned-up suit this morning.
As in, the suit jacket is literally unbuttoned.
The blue tie that was so professionally knotted this morning is now draped around his neck as he leans one hand beside the door.
That hair is still perfectly styled, though. Posh, magazine-worthy hair.
Thankfully, Liam doesn’t seem to notice my double take of his appearance because he’s doing his own double take of my surroundings.
“Whoa, why is it Christmas in your cabin?” he asks, bypassing any perfunctory greeting. “You are aware what month it is, right? March is way past acceptable for leaving up Christmas decor. And way ahead of early decorating.”
“It’s a long story,” I say with a sigh. “Side effect of being best friends with the queen of Christmas spirit. But I’m assuming you didn’t pop by for a long story about Christmas spirit and dreams coming true.”
Liam pushes his weight off the door frame and casually drops his hands to his hips. “I did not. But I admit I’m intrigued now.”
Raising an eyebrow, I sniff. “I’m afraid you’ll have to earn that story,” I say as I shift my weight to one foot and rest a hand on my popped hip. “Now, Mr. Exec, did you come to gloat or admit defeat?”
One corner of Liam’s lips twists into a smirk as he reaches into his leather satchel. “I never admit defeat because I never lose,” he says, holding up a thin tablet.
My eyes light up as I reach for the tablet, effectively pulling him inside the cabin since he doesn’t let go. “Is that one of those paper tablets that converts your handwriting to text?”
Liam surrenders the tablet to my greedy hands and closes the door to the draft outside. “Yes. I got a reMarkable tablet two years ago and have never looked back.”
I try not to drool. There’s something especially satisfying about marking edits with a real pen on real paper. But, as someone who cares about the environment, I don’t like unnecessarily printing out documents.
“I’ll admit I’m getting a little green-eyed here.
As an editor, I would love marking changes by hand and having them convert to text.
I wouldn’t kill my eyes staring at a computer screen and could sit in a comfortable chair instead of being tied to a table.
Could have saved a lot of headaches over the past several years,” I say, turning the tablet over in my hands.
“That’s what you do? Editing?” Liam asks, holding out his hand for the device.
I nod, meeting his gaze. “Proofreading and copyediting, mostly. Different than line editing,” I say. When he quirks an eyebrow, I add, “What? Now you’re intrigued by the difference between editing stages?”
Liam’s eyes bore into mine as he remarks, “I’m intrigued by a lot of things.”
I ignore the thrilling shiver that surges through me.
His eyes drop to the tablet as he powers it on. “I can see how it would be appealing to an editor,” he says, then gives me a brief rundown of the features.
“What made you want something like this instead of a regular laptop? Computers seem much more executive,” I quip.
“I write by hand a lot faster than I type,” Liam replies.
I brace myself. “Liam Park, do not tell me that you don’t have proper typing technique.”
His eyes dance mischievously as he leans in, pointing to himself. “I’m a hunt-and-peck typer, through and through.”
I groan, covering my ears and squinting my eyes shut. “I think you just ruptured my ear drums with that admission. I’m appalled.”
Liam shrugs. “Hasn’t held my career back in the slightest, despite your dismay.
Besides, this is much more conducive to taking notes while walking around a factory than a laptop,” he says.
He waves the tablet in front of me like a taunt and adds, “As evidenced by the twenty-two pages of notes I have from today alone.”
Scoffing dramatically, I motion toward my laptop on the small table next to us. “Well, I created a brand-new business from nothing today, so who’s the real productivity victor here?”
Liam glances at the table then back at me, an evil gleam in his eye. “All I see is a jazzy Christmas ambience scene on your tablet. I hardly call that a productive work day, despite whatever long-story explanation you have to tell me.”
Smacking him on the arm, I huff. “You have definitely not earned that long story yet. Your insight into Noel’s Christmas magic will have to wait. I’ll have you know, I wrestled with US government regulations and won,” I say, pointing at the laptop.
He looks more intently at the screen, which still displays the web domain site. “MJ, huh?” His eyes meet mine again. “Is that what your friends call you?”
“No, absolutely not. I’m calling the business ‘Madison Joy Editorial’ because Madison Joy rolls off the tongue more smoothly than Madison Wheeler.
My friends call me ‘Mads,’ but my middle name does not come into play with nicknames,” I say.
When his eyes narrow slightly, I narrow my own.
“Maybe ‘Joy’ isn’t the appropriate nickname for my saucy attitude. ”
“Maybe,” he says, holding my pointed gaze. “Or maybe it’s perfect, MJ.”
I roll my eyes to break the spell of Liam’s eye contact. “Regardless, I maintain that starting a new business is a more impressive achievement than twenty-one pages of notes,” I say.
“Twenty-two,” Liam corrects. “Twenty-two pages of notes.”
I wave off the correction. “Just admit defeat,” I assert, returning my hand to a popped hip.
“Never,” Liam murmurs. “Is a business really valid if there’s no website to prove its legitimacy?”
Ugh, that’s such a good point. I absolutely don’t trust a business with no online presence.
I pin him with my best glare. “We’ll call day one a draw, Mr. Exec, but we may need to clearly define the rules of this competition for the future,” I state.
Liam shrugs one shoulder. “If you insist, MJ. Now, if you don’t mind, I have twenty-two pages of notes to review and consolidate, so I’ll leave you to your relaxing Christmas vibes.”
As he steps backward, I realize for the first time how closely we were standing to each other. An odd wave of disappointment cascades through me at the empty space between us now. Shaking it off, I raise my chin. “I’ll call your notes review and raise you one web design. See you tomorrow, Liam.”
Did I stay awake until 1:30 a.m. fighting with a web design platform?
I’m exercising my fifth amendment rights.