30. Dog Work
30
Dog Work
Evan
The boardroom at Inkspill isn’t much of a boardroom at all.
More like a converted storage room at the back of the office, wedged between crooked green filing cabinets and a bookshelf stacked so full it sags to one side.
The long oak table is scarred with scratches and coffee rings, and a row of dying plants slouches beneath the window, reaching for sunlight that never comes.
The pathetic fallacy, if I were to analyse it, isn’t exactly inspiring confidence.
The team’s already seated when I walk in.
It’s hard not to feel nervous around them: Matt is the closest to me in age, and he’s still five years older than me.
Patch, the most patient one of them all, has been doing this probably almost as long as I’ve been alive.
But I force myself to take a deep breath, smoothing the front of my shirt as I take my seat.
I’m not wearing a tie, this time, and I’ve replaced the suit with plain slacks and a dress shirt.
My notes are already spread out in front of me, and I straighten them with a fumble of my fingers, clearing my throat .
“Alright,” I begin. “I’ve been looking at our finances, and the reality is, we need to make serious changes if we want to survive.”
Inés lets out a tiny scoff.
I ignore it.
“We’re haemorrhaging money,” I continue, flipping open the folder in front of me.
“The overheads are too high, and the profit margins on academic books are too thin. As far as I can see, we really only have one viable solution: we cut costs, streamline production, and downsize where necessary.”
Silence.
Mina purses her lips and swaps a look with Matt.
Both of them look away with barely disguised smirks.
Patch is the first to speak
“Downsize, eh?” he says.
“Downsize what exactly?”
I hesitate, just for a second, but that’s all it takes for Inés to cut in.
“Wait, let me guess,” she says.
“Reduce print runs? Maybe fire the marketing department entirely?”
Patch gasps.
“I’m getting the sack?”
Matt raises his hand like he’s in a classroom.
“If anyone’s getting the sack, I’d rather be the first.” He rolls his eyes.
“Put me out of my misery.”
“Inés,” Mina says sweetly.
“If Patch and Matt get the sack, does that mean I can have their wages?”
“Nobody’s getting wages,” Matt says.
“Haven’t you heard him? We’re downsizing .”
“Nobody’s getting sacked or losing their wages,” I say, cutting them both off—even though it’s definitely an option I’d considered.
“It’s about making adjustments. We have to be realistic. We need to focus on books that actually sell and allocate our resources accordingly.”
Matt sighs like he’s just heard the dumbest thing in the world.
“Jesus fucking Christ. ”
“Evan,” Inés says, slowly, like she’s explaining something to a child, “this is academic publishing. Nothing we publish turns a profit.”
“Look, ethics and pedigree and principles are all great, but this is a business, and we don’t have the luxury of pretending money doesn’t matter. If Inkspill goes under, all of this”—I gesture around the table—“goes with it. Do you understand?”
I press my fingers to my temples, frustration mounting.
“I’m just trying to help keep this company alive.”
“No, you’re not,” Inés says coolly.
“You’re trying to turn us into a corporation.”
“Well, if we don’t start acting like one, we won’t exist anymore.”
“But if we survive by becoming something totally different,” Mina says, “then how is that different from not existing at all?”
For a moment, nobody says anything.
I sit back down with a sigh, gazing hopelessly around the room.
“What’s our other option?” I ask finally.
“We find people who believe in what we do,” Inés says.
“People who care about the work . And I mean genuinely care—not just about the money.”
“ I care,” I snap before I can stop myself.
Inés levels me with a look.
“Do you?”
And for the first time in my life, I understand, with total clarity, why Sophie was always so hard and defensive and aching.
Caring—really caring—when the world couldn’t give less of a shit that you do is hard .
It’s dog work. It’s frustrating.
It’s exhausting . It’s watching something you actually want to fight for slip through your fingers and knowing you might not be able to stop it, no matter how hard you work.
It’s knowing that, for the first time, you actually care about the outcome—an outcome that’s not even guaranteed.
Matt’ s phone buzzes on the table.
He glances at the screen and his face darkens.
He looks up. “Shit.”
Inés’s already reaching for her laptop.
A few quick clicks, a sharp breath.
Then she leans back, rubbing her fingers over her eyes.
“What?” I ask, stomach dropping.
She looks at me, and for the first time, there’s real disappointment in her face.
“We just lost Greer Manning.”
Mina slumps down, face pressed into the table with a defeated sigh.
Patch whistles low. Matt leans back in his chair, jaw tightening.
I freeze. “Wait. What?”
“She pulled her manuscript,” Inés says.
“Inkspill was set to publish her new book, Ink & Vellum. We were the only ones who saw the value in it, because it’s such a dense text.” She sneers.
“The exact opposite of the kind of profitable manuscript you’d like us to go for.”
I stare at her.
My mind scrambles, trying to make sense of it as I flip through my files for our authors.
I find the name Greer Manning and skim-read: she’s a major name in academic nonfiction, a historian with a bunch of awards under her name—one of our heavyweights.
“How?” I ask, looking back.
“I don’t get it. What happened?”
Inés shuts her laptop with a snap.
“Probably got wind of your father sending you here. Nobody wants to be the next victim of death by cost-cutting measures and downsizing .”
Patch lets out a low laugh, shaking his head.
“Fantastic. Well done, kiddo. Great start. ”
Shit, shit, shit.
For a moment, I can’t formulate any other thought than that.
My eyes fall back to the table in front of me, all my papers, all my carefully calculated numbers.
A week’s worth of non-stop work, staying up late, sitting on my apartment floor with my laptop balanced on my lap and paperwork spread out around me.
A week’s worth of work, and nothing to show for it except a team that thinks I’m trying to mutilate their baby and Frankenstein it into some unrecognisable monster, and the loss of an author we simply can’t afford to lose.
Is this really all I’m capable of?
A prophecy of failure for me to endlessly self-fulfill?
No. Fuck that.
I stand back up so suddenly even Inés starts, spilling the cup of coffee she was just lifting to her lips with a stifled curse.
“I’m going to fix this.”
Matt laughs out loud, but Mina looks up, raising her face off the table, and Inés’s eyes narrow on me, not in mockery or annoyance, but in genuine interest.
“How?” she says.
“I’m going to speak to her—Greer Manning.”
“You really think she’s going to take a call from—”
“No, I mean I’m going to go and speak to her. Properly. In person.”
Now even Matt’s not laughing, mouth gaping open, eyes wide.
“Evan,” Inés says, in the most gentle tone I’ve heard from her so far, “she lives in Illinois.”
“Yea.”
Inés shakes her head in disbelief.
“Look, I admire the heroics as much as the next person, but let’s be real. Even if you speak to her, it won’ t change anything. Manning’s been in publishing for thirty years. You think she hasn’t seen it all before?”
“I know one thing she hasn’t seen.”
Inés lifts an eyebrow.
“And what’s that?”
I grin.
“ Me .”
I gather my files into one thick pile and grab my coat from the rickety coat hanger.
“Look, forget about this. You’re right, all of you. It’s not the right approach, and I need to work out a way of saving Inkspill without distorting in the process. So I’ll start again from scratch and come up with something. And if you want me to find you people who care? I’ll find them.”
A stunned silence reigns, and actually, it’s almost an honour, being able to surprise this hardened group of wary, mouthy fucking academics.
Then Patch laughs, a rich sound that feels like a bag of warm, greasy chips.
“Gotta give it to you, you’ve got spirit,” he says, and before I can feel good about this, he follows it up with, “At least, if you fail spectacularly, it’ll be fun to watch.”
Matt laughs, and Mina shakes her head, but Inés’s eyes stay on mine, dark and searching.
I meet her gaze.
“Give me until Friday. I’ll get us Manning back.” I give her my most motivational thumbs-up.
“And after that—we’re saving Inkspill.”