The Salinger Brothers Books #1-3

Chapter 1

CHAPTER

ONE

AVA

Why can’t people just be nice to each other?

I don’t understand it, because nice is good, right?

Nice means helping old people across the road and spending hours searching for a lost puppy. It’s holding the door open for somebody and getting rewarded with a smile from a stressed mother juggling kids and grocery bags.

Yet people say it with a wrinkle on their nose, holding the vowel sound for a bit too long.

We should bring nice back. We need it more than ever.

I’m standing outside the brownstone building that houses my nice job, working for the funny and nice boss who’s been the chief editor at Smith and Carson publishing since the 1970s.

I’ve worked here for thirteen years myself.

It was my first job after finishing college and I took it with a plan to save up enough money to move to New York and rise up the publishing ladder.

And yet here I am, at the age of thirty-six, still working in the warm, leafy city of Charleston. Not even that Charleston. This one is in West Virginia. And I grew up here.

It’s only when I walk through the heavy wooden front door, shuffling sideways so I don’t dent the box of donuts I’m carrying, that I realize something is slightly off. A grin pulls at my lips when I start to greet Sammy, the security guard come receptionist who’s worked here since… well, forever.

Except Sammy isn’t sitting behind the long glass reception desk that he’s always buffing to a shine. In his place is a thin, bespectacled young man who keeps tapping at the keyboard in front of him and huffing.

“Hi,” I say brightly because this little chink in my nice day is not going to spoil my post-vacation bliss.

He looks up and his eyes flicker over me and the donut box before he looks back down at his computer. “We open at nine,” he says, his voice strangled. He’s still jabbing at a key like he’s trying to make a point.

“It’s okay, I work here,” I tell him. “Is Sammy all right? I was expecting to see him today.”

He looks up, brows pulled tight. “Sammy?”

“The security guard,” I say. “Security Sammy.” I smile because this guy’s bad mood isn’t going to defeat me. “I don’t think he’s ever taken a day off before.”

“I’ve no idea.” The man blinks. “It’s my first day. I was sent over by the agency. I don’t suppose you know how to book a meeting room, do you?”

I patiently lean across the counter to show him how to use our ancient booking system.

It’s one of the many things I’ve nagged Richard – my boss – about.

But he has an aversion to anything digital and an even bigger aversion to listening to me describe how much easier all our lives would be if we upgraded our systems. If he had his way, we’d still be using a calendar in the center of the office to bag the best rooms.

Not that I mind. He makes up for it in so many other ways. He’s a good boss. He lets all of us do our own things while standing up for us when we need it.

He’s one of the reasons I’m still working here rather than pursuing my original career plan.

“Thank you…” he trails off as I finish his booking for him.

“Ava,” I tell him helpfully. “Ava Quinn. I’m the Commissioning Editor at Smith and Carson.

” And also the sometimes-assistant to the chief editor, the lead for technology integration, the event planner, and chief cheerer-upper.

In a small children’s publisher like Smith and Carson, our roles tend to be completely different from our job descriptions.

That’s why it’s so difficult to recruit the right person when somebody leaves. But also why people stay here so long. No day is ever the same, and you can build your job into whatever you want it to be.

“Matthew,” he mumbles. “Here for one day and then out of here, I hope.”

I nod sagely. “These systems aren’t for everybody. Do you know if Mr. Austin is in yet?”

Matthew blinks. “Who’s he?”

“Richard Austin. The chief editor. The guy in charge.”

It’s interesting how the blood drains from Matthew’s face. “Oh him. Yes, he’s definitely in. He’s the one I’m booking the boardroom for.”

“Great.” I smile because even if Matthew is only here for one day, he still deserves to feel welcome. “Oh, would you like a donut?”

I hold out the box. I picked the sweet breakfast treats from the Camelia Bakery, owned by my friend, Lauren.

It’s on my way to work. Another reason I love living here – my pretty townhouse is a fifteen-minute walk from Smith and Carson.

It’s in the historic district and I get to wave at Lauren and smell the sweet fragrance of the locust trees, their blooms hanging like white flowery grapes from their leafy boughs and casting dappled shadows on the sidewalk, as I make my way to the office.

“You bring donuts in for everybody?” he asks, looking suspiciously at the box I’m holding open.

“Only today,” I tell him. “It’s my first day back from vacation.”

He quickly snatches a pink iced donut and puts it on the shelf under the counter. “You really work for him?” he asks, pointing at the ceiling.

“Yes.” I smile patiently. “He’s a nice man when you get to know him.”

“If you say so,” Matthew mutters. “Good luck up there.”

I take the antiquated elevator up to the fourth floor.

It has a sliding black iron gate and whenever I step inside I feel like I’m taking my life into my own hands.

It shudders and shakes on its way up, passing the architecture company that sublets the first floor and the management consultancy firm on the second.

The third floor is empty –has been ever since we moved out last year in an effort to reduce our floor space and overhead.

I try not to feel wistful when I think of my old office overlooking the Allegheny Mountains.

When it reaches the fourth floor, I balance the donuts in one hand and yank at the gate with the other, sending up a quick prayer to the gods of elevators as I escape unscathed.

The open-plan office is quiet as I make my way down the hall.

There is still forty minutes until the office opens and will be bustling with employees and noise, but I want to catch up on my emails before things start to get manic.

Setting the donuts on the side of my desk, I sit down in my worn office chair and fire up my laptop.

It takes forever to boot up and is in dire need of replacing, like the rest of our technology.

Last year, I put in a proposal to have all of our laptops and computers updated, ready to introduce some new systems, but it got lost in the mess of the takeover.

Ah, the takeover. For a few months, it was all we talked about. Whether we’d end up getting our marching orders or if we’d be transitioned into Mediatech, New York’s biggest and brashest media conglomerate.

From the moment they bought us, all they wanted to talk about was our flagship series, Dandy the Lion.

You’ve probably heard of it. There aren’t many kids in America who’ve made it to adolescence without reading at least one Dandy book.

It was my first acquisition when I was promoted ten years ago, and Dandy took the children’s book world by storm.

Dandy’s an old-fashioned gentlemanly lion, written by the reclusive Naomi Acre. He’s funny and kind and unlike most of our other titles he makes a lot of money.

We always knew he was the only reason Mediatech bought us.

They’re a relative newcomer to the children’s publishing world, and although they have the shiny flagship office in New York along with the high-flying editors who don’t have time to buy donuts or do anything but frown at you, they don’t have the one thing that we have. Cachet.

Buying us gave them that. Within weeks of the acquisition there was talk of closing this office and moving all of our work to New York.

In the end, it turned out to be a storm in a teacup.

Richard went to New York for a week-long business trip, then came back and called an all-staff meeting, waving a piece of paper in his hand as though he’d just won a major battle, promising us that nothing would change even though we were now part of a larger organization.

And he was right. Nothing has changed. It’s like we’re not part of Mediatech at all.

And though Richard took the glory, I know it’s because I called Naomi and she called Jean-Baptiste Blanchet – the sixty-something owner of Mediatech – and told him that if we were moved to New York, she would take her Dandy franchise elsewhere.

One more reason why I love Naomi.

When my laptop notifies me that an update is urgently required, I click my mouse and sigh, because this is going to take some time.

Richard’s office door is closed – unusual for him – so I choose his favorite chocolate vanilla donut, slide it onto a napkin, and carry it to his door.

I can hear voices inside. A deep one and a lighter, more feminine one.

The deep one doesn’t sound like Richard at all.

It’s short and stilted and sounds pissed, which Richard never gets.

Unless…

I swallow because I know his wife, Eleanor, was having tests at the hospital before I left for vacation. What if they came back bad? My heart starts to speed because I hate bad news. Richard and Eleanor are like the grandparents I never had.

Ignoring the foreboding feeling wrapping around my chest like a boa constrictor, I rap on his door and am rewarded with a terse, “Come in.”

And because I’m also the chief mood enhancer at Smith and Carson, I put a smile on my face as I open the door, and cheerily say, “Hola amigo. I’m back from Spain. And along with a tan and a new sense of optimism, I also bring you donuts.”

But when the door opens, Richard isn’t there at all. Instead, my gaze clashes with the bluest, angriest pair of eyes I think I’ve ever seen.

And suddenly I don’t feel very nice at all.