Chapter 3
“He said ‘an ode,’ Phil—an effing ode!” Ellery rubbed her temples and wondered whether a jump from her managing editor’s third-story window would be enough to kill her.
“I know it seems like a challenge—”
“A challenge! An undercover piece on Colombian drug trafficking would be a challenge. A first-person report on sexual discrimination aboard the Space Station would be a challenge. This is…”
“A chance to really show your range?”
“An intellectual impossibility. What the hell was going on in there?”
Phil made a slightly embarrassed cough. “I’m not absolutely sure, but a good guess is that Black is bedding Bettina Moore.”
“Oh, crap.” Now her head really started to ring. Why did sex have to get in the way of good writing? “Really? Bettina Moore?” A vision of Jack Sprat and his wife sprang into her head and—thankfully—raced out again. “I can’t think of two people less suited for one another.”
Peck shrugged.
Eight years of increasingly challenging roles in the magazine world.
Two years of strong work as literary editor at Vanity Place.
Ellery’s goal, to run her own literary-themed monthly by age thirty, was within reach, and in fact, she knew she was one of two candidates being considered for just such a role with Lark & Ives Publishing, one of Buhl Martin Black’s biggest competitors—big in the bottom-line sense, for of course no one could outdo Black in the girth department.
Lark & Ives was the most literary-minded magazine publisher around, and all that remained was for them to review each candidate’s body of work and get final approval from the board, an effort they said they would finish in a matter of weeks—just long enough for an article on romance novels to sink her helium-fueled dreams like a shot from Cupid’s BB gun.
“My reputation’s on the line here.”
Peck inclined his head sadly toward Black’s office. “Your job might be, too.”
She weighed her choices: potential unemployment versus a potential job offer. Peck had been a great boss and had taught her a lot. She owed him the truth. She got up, closed the door, and turned to face him. “There’s something I should tell you.”
He gazed at her over his reading glasses. “You’re in line to launch your own magazine at Lark & Ives?” He smiled.
“But—”
“Don’t be surprised. Who do you think they called after you interviewed? You’ll be great, and you’re ready.”
“Thank you.” His approval meant everything to her.
“Who are you up against?”
“Barry Steinberg.”
Peck made a quiet whistle. “Tough one.”
“Tell me about it.”
“But you’re better.”
“Phil, this article will sink me. John Irving was going to be my blaze of glory.”
“I know. It’s a bad time to have gotten your foot caught in a clandestine affair.”
Getting any part of her body caught in a clandestine affair would have been a nice change of pace, had the affair been hers.
Too bad the only spank she’d be getting out of this one was to her professional ego.
The whole thing was infuriating. She bit her lip.
“I’m not sure I can write that article, Phil—at least, not the way Black wants me to.
The last thing I want to do is go down in history as the Pied Piper of Romance. ”
He nodded. “I know. Write it the best way you can. I’ll fight for you.”
She hoped she wouldn’t be congratulating herself on her impeccable principles in the unemployment line.