Chapter 19
“Is his car here?” I hissed from the passenger seat, my head between my knees. The place it had been for the last several turns.
“What’s his car look like again?” Sloane asked.
“A black BMW.”
“He drives a Beamer?”
“Yes, is it here?”
“Rob’s car is not anywhere in the vicinity.”
I took a relieved breath and sat up, pushing my hair back and letting the blood return to its normal places in my body. I made Sloane drive so he wouldn’t recognize my car if he happened to be at the office on a Sunday morning. Rare, but not unheard of.
Sloane shifted her car into park and turned off the ignition. “What if they changed the locks or the alarm code?”
“It’s only been two days.” I unbuckled my seat belt. “Wait, do you think they did?”
“Probably not. It’s not like you threatened to destroy the place… did you?”
“No!”
“Just checking. I wasn’t sure how much badassery you released on Friday.”
We got out of the car and headed toward the back entrance to the office. Both my key and code worked to admit us.
“What do you even leave at work?” Sloane asked. “I’m trying to picture my desk and I don’t think there’s anything I would save in a fire.”
“For someone who’s been at her job for three years, it sounds like you haven’t committed,” I said.
“There’s only one person with a fear of commitment here and it’s not me.”
“Whatever,” I mumbled. “I signed a one-year lease with you. How’s that for commitment.”
Sloane laughed, then spun a circle as we came to the lobby and my desk. “It’s been forever since I’ve been here.” She walked to the bookcases while I beelined to my space. “Can I take some books?” she asked. “I want some books.” Before I answered, she pulled one off the shelf.
I plopped the empty box I’d brought on my desk and looked around.
Was Sloane right? What did I really want or need from my life here?
I had a single framed picture of my family from the last vacation we’d gone on together—a posh cabin by a lake paid for by my sister.
I’d recently graduated from college, and in between swimming and paddleboarding I’d spent half that vacation recording videos of my sister for her channel and the other half poring through English major–related job opportunities in the Los Angeles area.
“I thought you wanted to be an editor,” my sister had said when I found the assistant-to-a-literary-agent job. “Agents are sharks.”
I set the picture, along with the memory, in the box, then placed my potted heartleaf philodendron on top, as if to hold it there.
The middle desk drawer had a few snacks: a couple KIND bars and a half-empty bag of Goldfish crackers.
I added them to the box. The other drawers were mainly pens and stationery, envelopes and stamps.
I took it all to aid in my justification for coming here.
Then I sat in my high-backed, ergonomically correct rolling chair that I would miss more than anything (and knew I could never afford to replace) and picked up the office phone.
I’d tried calling Kari Cross twice from my cell phone but she hadn’t answered.
I was going to send her an email, the main way we communicated, but thought I’d try here first so I could explain things in a more personal way.
She picked up on the second ring. “Working on a Sunday?” was how she answered. “That’s dedication.”
“No, I’m cleaning out my desk.”
“Cleaning out your desk? Are you moving?”
“I wanted to call and tell you how much I enjoyed the latest fifty pages you sent me. Amazing. The AI government is creepy but also I can completely understand why the community trusts it.”
“Thank you. What about the setting? Was it better?”
“It was better,” I said.
She sighed. “Don’t bullshit me, Margot.”
“It could still use some work.”
“I was afraid you’d say that. Have you made any headway with Rob? Has he read any pages?”
“That’s what I’m calling to tell you.” I paused, squared my shoulders, then finished with, “I quit.”
“You quit? Did you get a job somewhere else?”
“No, I’m starting my own agency.”
“Oh.” She sounded less than pleased with this development. “I guess it makes sense. Your timing couldn’t be worse.”
“I’m sorry about that. I tried to convince him about your book. He wasn’t open to discussing it with me,” I said, remembering how he was only open to kissing me at the time. My anger reignited in my chest.
“Guess I’ll have to convince him myself. You quitting doesn’t have to do with my book, does it?”
“No. Nothing like that. He didn’t see the same future for me that I saw for myself.”
“That sounds like a theme for him.”
“I’d love to read the rest of your book,” I said. “if you still want feedback. And”—I gave a nervous chuckle—“if Rob ever retires or croaks or something and you find yourself in need of an agent, think of me.”
Across the room, Sloane’s eyes went wide, like she didn’t think I’d ever have the guts to say that to Kari Cross, queen of romance.
Kari gave a sharp laugh. “Call me in a few years when you’ve gotten your feet wet and we’ll see if Rob is still screwing me over.”
My stomach clenched with her words. The words I was afraid every potential client was going to say. I had relationships with editors, had sold a couple books myself, even, but I’d done it all under the supervision of Rob. “Yes, of course.”
“But I might take you up on the reading,” she said.
“Please do. I’ll send you my personal email.”
“Sounds good. Talk to you later, Margot.”
I hung up.
“What did she say?” Sloane asked, her arms full of books.
“That I don’t have enough experience.”
Sloane rolled her eyes. “What does she call the last four years?”
“She calls them me being a glorified intern,” I said, remembering my sister’s words.
“Maybe she’s not as smart as I thought,” Sloane said, adding her pilfered books to my box.
“No, she’s smarter.”
Sloane put a finger under my chin. “Buck up. You got this. Don’t let one author rejection bring you down.”
I slapped her hand away. “It’s a little bit more than one rejection that’s bringing me down.”
“I know. But we’re going to solve all your problems at our business brainstorming session with Oliver after this.”
With Sloane’s books, the box was heavier than I’d anticipated. I lifted it and my groan turned into a grunt. “Let’s go. And by the way, I’m not sure you made it clear that a brainstorming session was what you were inviting Oliver to. From what I recall, you invited him to judge his worthiness.”
“I said that? Huh. Even when I’m hungover, I’m still so witty.”
“Is that what we’re calling annoying these days?” I said, moving the box to my hip to reset the alarm.
“Maybe a good grilling is more important than the brainstorming sesh after this whole friendship nonsense thing he initiated.”
“Don’t, Sloane. If we need to be friends so we stop touching each other and actually get to know each other, it’s not a bad thing.” At least that was the logic I’d been talking myself into for the last twenty-four hours.
The alarm beeped with its activation and I relocked the door.
She sighed. “Whatever. I think the real problem is that he’s not the meet-cute you’ve been attempting to manifest so you’re keeping him at arm’s length.”
“Not true.” When I whirled around to walk to the car, Rob’s BMW was pulling into the parking lot.
“Shit,” I said. “Just keep walking.”
“What?” Sloane hadn’t noticed, but as soon as she did, her fists clenched into balls.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” I said.
“But I want to really bad. Do you think there are cameras in the office? Is that how he knew you were here?”
There were cameras in the main lobby of the office, but I didn’t think he sat there and monitored them.
Rob stepped out of the car. He was wearing workout shorts and a fitted blue tee. He must’ve been at the gym, which was literally three blocks from here.
“Just cleaning out my desk,” I said.
He joined us just as we reached the trunk. His eyes went to the box and the handful of books Sloane had stolen. I shot her a look and she had the decency to appear penitent.
I thought Rob would beg me to stay again or maybe even say he’d been wrong and that he’d talked to the other agents and they all agreed I deserved a chance. He didn’t. He said, “I need your key.”
“You really are an ass,” Sloane said, and I wasn’t mad about it. She must’ve thought I was, though, because she sucked in her lips and then got in the car and shut the door.
I placed the box in the trunk and then struggled to free the office key from my key ring.
“It doesn’t have to be like this,” Rob said as I finally got the head of the key wedged beneath the first layer of metal.
I twisted it around the circle. Everything in me wanted to say, You’re right, it doesn’t.
We can figure something out. I need this job.
I need you to help me succeed at the next stage of my career.
My life. But I swallowed down that fear and that anxiety and accepted the truth.
“I think we both know it does.” I held the key out to him.
He took it from me. “Thanks for not…” His words trailed off.
Not what? I almost screamed. Not telling the other agents that we slept together? Not making a scene? Not demanding better? Not slapping you right now? Thanks for not about covered everything, didn’t it?
“Yeah,” I said. “The Margot that doesn’t is over. I’m ready to.”
“To what?” he said, obviously confused.
“To everything.”