6. Gray #3
The line cuts off, leaving me in silence, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning. I close my eyes for a moment, trying to settle the mess of thoughts swirling around in my head.
Vandermeer, Samuel, Emma, Jameson, and now Beth with the coffee parade—it’s going to be a circus.
And yet, somewhere in the chaos of planning how to handle Vandermeer’s overinflated sense of self, another image flashes in my mind.
Avery. Her bare skin, the way her breasts bounced up and down when...
No, no, no. Stop it this instant Gray!
Knock-knock.
“Yes.”
Beth steps inside, a tray of coffees balanced in her hands. She places it down on the desk, her movements quick and efficient. “Here we are. Five coffees, just as you requested.”
“Perfect timing.”
She glances over her shoulder, gesturing to someone in the hall. “Mr. Vandermeer, you can step in now.”
Alaric Vandermeer strides in like he’s just walked off a runway, sleek leather laptop case in hand and an expression that practically screams entitlement.
I stand, extending my hand. “Alaric, good to see you. Please, take a seat.”
He ignores the gesture completely. “Grayson, before we begin, I just want to make it clear—I have some very specific expectations for the editor working on my manuscript. Some sections are absolutely untouchable, and I don’t want any—”
I hold up my hands, cutting him off with a small, sharp smile. “Slow down, Alaric. Some of our editorial team will be joining us shortly. We can discuss all of this with them.”
He glares, clearly annoyed at being interrupted, but finally drops into the chair across from me. Beth leaves the room with a polite nod, shutting the door behind her.
I grab one of the coffees and slide it toward him. “Have some caffeine.”
“Thanks,” he mutters, picking it up and taking a sip. His face twists as he nearly burns his mouth.
“Careful.” My voice is flat. “It’s fresh. Wouldn’t want to lose that golden tongue of yours before the meeting even starts.”
He forces out a tight laugh, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. “So, Grayson, how’ve you been? Still keeping the publishing world on its toes, I imagine.”
I take a slow sip of my own coffee, savoring the pause before responding. “Always. And you? Still dazzling everyone with your brilliance?”
“Of course.” He leans back in his chair like he owns the room. “My reviews for my last book with Stella Publishing were incredible. Not that I’m surprised. I’ve got a knack for these things, you know.”
Before I can respond, another knock sounds at the door. I glance toward it. “Yes, enter.”
The door swings open, and Samuel walks in first, all sharp lines and business, followed by Emma, whose eyes scan the room like she’s already dissecting the situation. Jameson trails in last, fumbling slightly with a stack of papers that nearly tumble to the floor.
“Ah, here we go,” I motion to the empty seats. “Everyone, come in. Let’s get started.”
Samuel takes the chair closest to Vandermeer, offering a polite nod. Emma settles across from him, her gaze flicking toward me briefly before locking on Vandermeer. Jameson hesitates, shifting his stack of papers until he finally gets himself situated at the end of the table.
I gesture to Vandermeer. “Alaric, this is Samuel Prescott, our editorial manager. Emma Kingsley, senior editor. And Jameson Kingsly, the development and line editor who’ll be working directly on your manuscript.”
Vandermeer barely looks at them, his lips curving into what might be a smile, though it’s dripping with condescension. “So, you’re the one handling my work? Interesting.”
Jameson straightens, his tone almost syrupy. “Interesting is one word for it. I prefer exciting.”
Emma hides a smirk behind her hand, and Samuel’s lips twitch as he fights off a grin.
I lean back, my arms crossing. “Well, now that introductions are out of the way, let’s talk business.”
Vandermeer leans forward, his elbows on the desk, exuding the same overconfidence he probably uses to charm his fans.
“Right, business. As I mentioned earlier, there are specific parts of my manuscript that I don’t want tampered with.
The tone, the pacing—it’s all very intentional. I’ve crafted it to perfection.”
Samuel raises a brow. “Perfection is subjective, Mr. Vandermeer. What reads as perfect to one person might need refinement for the broader audience.”
Vandermeer’s jaw tightens, but before he can respond, Jameson cuts in. “I’ve read the first thirty pages. And while I can see where you’re going with it, there are… opportunities for improvement.”
Vandermeer narrows his eyes. “Opportunities for improvement?”
“Yes,” Jameson’s voice is cool. “For starters, the pacing is off. Your protagonist spends eight pages brooding about his lost love before anything happens. By page ten, the reader’s asleep or looking for the exit.”
I glance at Jameson, impressed despite myself. His bluntness is almost refreshing.
Vandermeer sputters. “The brooding is intentional. It sets the mood.”
Emma tilts her head, her voice dry. “If the mood you’re going for is existential boredom, you nailed it.”
Vandermeer glares at her, his jaw tightening, but Jameson doesn’t give him a chance to regroup. “And then there’s the dialogue. Some of it feels... dated. Like your protagonist stepped out of a noir film from the ’50s.”
“It’s called style,” Vandermeer snaps, his face reddening.
“Style is fine,” Jameson counters, “but when your romantic lead says, ‘Doll, you’re as swell as a martini in July,’ it’s hard to take him seriously.”
Samuel bites the inside of his cheek, clearly trying not to laugh. I let out a low hum of approval, enjoying this more than I probably should.
Vandermeer looks at me, his voice rising. “Grayson, is this how your editors treat all your authors? Tearing apart their work like this?”
I shrug, my tone even. “It’s called constructive feedback, Alaric. If you want a team that’ll just nod and tell you everything’s brilliant, you’ve come to the wrong place.”
Emma leans forward, clearly ready to defuse the situation.
“Mr. Vandermeer, we’re here to help make your book the best it can be.
And I’ve already liaised with the marketing department.
They’ve had a preliminary meeting about the book cover and would like to see you after this.
I’ll take you up to them once we’re done here. ”
Vandermeer exhales sharply, clearly trying to regain some composure. “Fine. But I expect my creative vision to be respected.”
“Of course,” Samuel cuts in smoothly. “Respect doesn’t mean we won’t challenge you. That’s why you signed Pacific Crest, isn’t it? To elevate your work.”
My phone buzzes on the desk, interrupting Vandermeer’s next tirade. I glance at the screen, and my chest tightens. An unknown Florida number. I’m already on edge.
“Excuse me,” I say, rising. “Carry on without me. Emma, take over.”
She nods, but Vandermeer’s protests follow me as I leave the room. I ignore him, stepping into the hallway. My hand is already shaking as I swipe to answer. “Grayson Hayes.”
“Mr. Hayes, this is Officer Reed from the Clearwater Police Department in Florida. Are you the brother of Nicole Hayes?”
Something cold clamps around my chest. “Yes, that’s right. Is she okay?”
A pause. Too long. “I’m very sorry to inform you that your sister was involved in a boating accident earlier today. She didn’t survive.”
The world tilts. I stumble, bracing myself against the wall. “What? No, that... that can’t be right. Are you sure?”
“I’m afraid so, Mr. Hayes. Witnesses confirmed it was her. I’m sorry, we need you to come to Florida to formally identify her body.”
My throat tightens. “Identify her body?” The words barely make it out. “No, this can’t—”
Officer Reed’s voice softens. “I know this is difficult, sir. Once the identification is made, you’ll also need to make arrangements to transport her remains if you wish to hold services in her hometown. Typically, this involves coordinating with a funeral home here and one in Westhaven.”
I can’t breathe. My sister. Nicole. The one constant in my life since Kat's death. “I don’t... I don’t even know where to start.”
“Take your time, Mr. Hayes. I’ll send you the details of where to go once you arrive. Clearwater General Hospital is handling the autopsy and holding her body for now.”
I nod, even though he can’t see me. “Okay. Thank you.”
The line clicks dead. My legs give out, and I slide down the wall, sitting on the cold floor. Somewhere in the distance, I hear the muffled shouting of Vandermeer arguing with Samuel and Jameson. For once, I couldn’t care less.
I lost Kat last year. Now Nicole. And Maddie... little Maddie. What the hell am I going to tell her? She’s only ten. How do you explain this to a child?
I don’t even know how long I sit there. Long enough for my body to ache and my thoughts to swirl into a mess of grief and panic.
Finally, I force myself to stand, wiping at my face. My steps feel heavy as I head for Beth’s office. I don’t knock. I just walk in and drop into the chair across from her desk.
Her eyes widen as she looks up from her computer. “Gray? Is everything alright?”
My voice cracks. “No, Beth. It’s not.”