12. Melanie
Melanie lit the Neom Calm candle that Sloane had given her. She closed the upper blinds so the office wasn’t too bright. Sloane didn’t like bright light. She wrote all night and slept all day.
Melanie had met a lot of writers like her along the way and only the ones who didn’t go on to have children were able to continue the upside-down routine.
She doubted Sloane would ever have kids – she was the least maternal person Melanie had ever met, and she was not exactly Mother Earth.
Sometimes she envied Sloane, a child-free, burden-free life with nothing to focus on except work.
Melanie found the twins increasingly draining and difficult.
In their eyes she could do nothing right …
ever. There seemed to be a hell of a lot of input from her side for very little in return.
She missed the sweet girls in matching dresses and plaits who were compliant and glad to see her when she came home. It was no fun going back every evening to the two scowling, sarcastic, often monosyllabic teens who seemed irritated by her very existence.
Through her office door she could see Ross pacing around the conference room, talking furiously into his phone.
He looked extremely stressed. What was he up to?
No one seemed to know exactly what Ross was doing.
He claimed to be working on connections, ‘leaning in’ to the TV and movie rights business, and schmoozing potential authors, but so far nothing concrete had come of anything.
It was early days, to be fair, but Melanie was beginning to wonder if he was all hot air.
She’d discreetly asked around the industry and the feedback was that Ross had not been very popular at the publishing house in London, but that he was extremely hard-working.
While his strong personality put off a lot of authors, those with big egos and swagger liked his direct style of doing business and his big promises – on which he did not always deliver.
Melanie’s phone buzzed. Sloane was downstairs. She’d have to go to the building’s reception area and meet her author. Sloane didn’t walk in anywhere alone. She was an extreme introvert and just getting her to come to the office was a big feat.
Sloane was wrapped in a dark, oversized coat and a beanie hat pulled low over her forehead, even though the autumn weather was still quite warm. Black was Sloane’s go-to colour. Sometimes she broke out and wore charcoal grey, but that was as bright as she got.
Melanie had dressed in a navy trouser suit and plain white shirt.
Sloane hated bright colours. Melanie would have worn a hazmat suit if it made Sloane happy.
Her beautiful novel, boosted by the shortlisting for the Goldstone award, had had another big jump in sales and Jamie was bringing in even more translation rights.
Royalties would soon be pouring in from all over the world.
Jamie privately called her Melanie’s cash-cow, not a term Melanie loved, but it was true.
Melanie gave Sloane a light hug – it was something they had in common: Melanie wasn’t a fan of big hugs either – and ushered her star author straight through to her dimly lit office.
Sloane sank into the chair opposite Melanie, pulled off her hat and exhaled.
Rubbing her forehead, she said, ‘It’s so nice to be in here, in the quiet.
Dublin is so busy, full of people and noise. My head is churning.’
Melanie handed Sloane a glass of room-temperature water. She drank thirstily and sighed happily. She sniffed. ‘You lit my candle.’
Melanie smiled. ‘Of course. I love the smell.’
‘I’m so glad. It’s my favourite.’
In all honesty, Melanie hated scented candles – they gave her a headache.
But she’d suffer it for her percentage of the large bonus cheque that had just come through for Sloane from the publisher.
Melanie had negotiated into the publishing contract that if Sloane were to be shortlisted for the Goldstone or the Booker she would get a large bonus.
Melanie handed Sloane a fake cheque with the pending bank-transfer amount on it.
The author’s eyes widened. ‘Seriously?’
Melanie grinned. ‘Yes! And if you win the Goldstone prize, there’s a lot more to come.’
Sloane’s eyes shone. ‘You are the best agent in the world!’ She stared at the figure.
‘To think two years ago I celebrated my twenty-fourth birthday in a mouldy bedsit, on a mattress on the floor, wearing my coat because I couldn’t pay the heating bill.
And now I have my beautiful little cottage on the edge of the world in Connemara, with heating and dry walls and a cosy fireplace, and it’s all because of the deal you negotiated for me and now … now this too. I’m overcome.’
Melanie shook her head. ‘It’s your beautiful prose that got you all those things. I’m just a conduit. Your talent is phenomenal, Sloane. I’m just so pleased and proud that it’s being recognized.’
Sloane blushed. Melanie hoped she’d stay the same quirky, shy, beautiful young woman that she was.
She’d seen a lot of authors change with success.
When they received accolades, recognition and prizes they became more demanding and dissatisfied.
They wanted more money, bigger marketing spends, better placement in bookshops, more publicity, more nominations, more prizes …
more everything. They’d threaten to move agents if you didn’t get them what they wanted.
She’d lost two authors to their egos, although both had been unhappy with their new agents and had come back to her.
She had taken one of them, but the other she had let go.
That author had never been satisfied with anything, and Melanie was successful enough to be choosy about whom she signed.
She had chosen to become a literary agent because she genuinely loved books, authors and the world of words.
But she was also a businesswoman who wanted to be successful and make money.
She knew whose back needed the most scratching.
Sloane reached into her battered leather satchel and pulled out a pile of typed papers. They were covered with coffee stains and scribbled notes in the margins. Melanie held her breath.
‘It’s only a first draft, but I think it’s got something,’ Sloane said modestly.
Melanie wanted to rip the manuscript out of her hands and read it there and then.
‘I wanted to hand-deliver it. I know you’ve been keen to read it.’
‘ So keen. I cannot wait,’ Melanie admitted, laughing.
‘I really hope you like it. Genevieve is probably the best character I’ve ever written and … well … I want you to love her as much as I do.’ The author handed over the full manuscript to Melanie.
‘I know I will. I’ll read it this afternoon and get straight back to you.’
Sloane beamed. ‘That would be amazing because I won’t be able to sleep until I know what you think.’
Melanie held the manuscript to her chest. ‘Thank you. Now, have you got an outfit for the awards ceremony?’
Sloane bit her lip. ‘You know how much I loathe shopping. But I found out that one of the women in my knitting group is a seamstress. So I asked if she’d help me and she is making me a long black silk dress with wide sleeves.
It should be nice as she’s really talented, and the best part is that I can wear my boots.
’ Sloane was very attached to her thick black army boots.
Melanie sometimes wondered if she slept in them.
‘It sounds gorgeous. You’ll be stunning. I’ll email you all the details about the ceremony when I get them so you know exactly what’s happening at what time and where. Don’t worry. I’ll be there to hold your hand every step of the way.’
‘If … like, I know I won’t … but … if I did win, would I have to speak?’
‘Well, only if –’
The door burst open. Both women jumped.
‘Sloane, I presume,’ Ross bellowed. ‘I’m Ross.’ He shoved his big hand into her face.
Sloane was leaning back in her chair as far away from him as she could get.
‘Ross!’ Melanie snapped. ‘We are in the middle of a private meeting. What happened to knocking?’
Ross shrugged. ‘I was eager to say hello.’ Turning to Sloane he said, ‘Melanie likes to keep you hidden under her wing, but you are a valued member of this agency and it’s important for you to meet all of the senior people.
I’ve just moved back from London to manage the agency.
My mother had a bad fall a few weeks ago and is going to start winding down. She needs to look after her health.’
Melanie stared at him. What did he mean, manage the agency?
And when had Nancy said she was winding down?
She was still running the agency, even if she did occasionally work from home, these days.
Had Nancy said something to Ross? Was Melanie out of the loop?
Was Ross manipulating his mother into handing over the reins to him?
Melanie needed to talk to Jamie and figure this out.
There was no way in hell she was working for Ross. No way and no how.
Sloane said nothing. She was still unsettled from the sudden intrusion.
Ross’s beady eyes spotted the manuscript on Melanie’s desk. ‘Is that what I think it is?’ He beamed. He reached over to pick it up, but Melanie was too quick for him. She gathered it up and swept it out of his reach, onto her lap.
Sloane gasped. ‘NO! It’s only for Melanie’s eyes.’ She was clearly appalled at the thought of anyone else reading her work-in-progress.
Ross reluctantly pulled his arm back. ‘We’re a family here, Sloane. We are literally all related to each other. We work together and we share everything. As soon as Melanie has finished reading it, I’ll have a look and send on my feedback.’
Sloane looked panicked. Melanie had to do some serious damage control. Why was her brother-in-law such a total and utter dickhead?