Chapter 28 Madison
Chapter twenty-eight
Madison
My heart races when I see an email from Elizabeth in my inbox. I sent the marked-up manuscript back to her a few days ago, and I’ve been holding my breath waiting for a response. I hope she thinks I did a great job, and I hope she’ll be willing to write a positive testimonial for my website.
My inner voice of doubt grew each day that passed with no response.
You aren’t anything special, Madison. She probably thinks she overpaid you. She’s probably had better experiences with other editors. You never should have tried this editing venture in the first place.
I blow out a long breath as I hover the mouse over the unread email. I wish Liam was here for moral support. To celebrate with me if it’s a positive response or rage rant with me if it’s negative.
Over the past three weeks, Liam has slowly become as close of a friend as Clara in a lot of ways.
I mean, there are some very key differences—the making out being a major one.
Liam also stokes my energy in reverse proportion to Clara’s calming effect.
So it’s probably a good thing I have both of them in my life, evening me out.
But his intensity somehow soothes me just like Clara’s gentleness does.
He’s cheered me on every time I land a new client, and he’s talked me out of lowering my prices or giving up altogether when the clients haven’t come in as frequently as I’d like.
When I told him about a rude comment I received on social media, he was saddled up and ready to ride at dawn in vengeance.
Who knows what he’d be ready to do if Elizabeth’s response is negative?
I’m probably putting too much stock in Elizabeth’s opinion, but something about this email feels like it could either be the true beginning or the beginning of the end for Madison Joy Editorial’s future. I can’t put off the inevitable, so I click on the email.
Madison,
Wow, this is by far the most thorough editing job I’ve seen.
The fact that you went to the effort to research standard terminology in medical journals AND approved collegiate Greek life lingo blew my mind.
Thank you for correcting those mistakes before this book went out into the world!
I would have been so embarrassed if a reader pointed them out after the fact.
With this being my first crossover to nonfiction, my mind was still used to some of the stylistic freedom of the fiction genre. Thank you for explaining the editing guidelines behind those corrections you made—it will certainly help me avoid repeating those mistakes in the future.
I will absolutely be enlisting your services again with any future books. I’ll also pass along your information with a resounding recommendation to all of my author friends.
Thanks again,
Elizabeth
“Yes!” I yell, slamming my hands on the desk.
Hamlet screeches and bolts out from his place under my Christmas tree.
However, his paws get caught on the tree skirt in his haste, and he trips, which scares him even further, if his possessed race around the room is any indication.
He pounces on my bed but spooks when a throw pillow moves, so he leaps onto the dresser.
Liam must include dressers in the “no counters or tables” rule, because Hamlet abruptly leaps back off the dresser, looking guilty and frightened.
Finally, he finds the door to escape from my room, and I chase after him as he scampers across the house to Liam’s room.
“Hammie, I’m sorry I scared you. I didn’t mean it,” I say as I approach him.
He’s hiding under the bed and hisses when I come close.
“I was just excited. I shouldn’t have made that loud noise.
I’m sorry,” I say, trying to coax him to come out.
He mewls pitifully from the darkness.
When my repeated apologies do nothing to lure Hamlet out from under the bed, I trot back to my room to retrieve my phone. As I reenter Liam’s room, Hamlet is still whining. I hit the call icon next to Liam’s contact and plop down on the floor.
My call is interrupted by an auto-text message coming through.
HOT brITISH BOYFRIEND
I’ll call you right back.
Liam massively rolled his eyes when he discovered his new contact name. “I’m not only British. I’m also Korean and American,” he’d pointed out.
But “Hot British-Korean-American Boyfriend” would be an absurdly long contact name. Besides, I think of him calling me “love” in that sexy British accent every time I see his name pop up on my phone. So “Hot British Boyfriend” stays.
I flip to my stomach on the floor, continuing my efforts to reconcile with Hamlet. “Come on, Hammie. Don’t hold it against me. I won’t do it again. I swear,” I say. I try to reach a hand under the bed, but I’m met with a swift swat to the fingers.
“Hamlet. Don’t make me take back all the nice things I’ve said about you recently,” I chide. My phone starts ringing, so I roll to my back and answer it.
“You okay? What’s wrong?” Liam immediately asks.
“Oh. Yes. I’m fine!” I reply.
“Then what’s up? You’ve never called me at work before,” Liam observes.
“Sorry, did I interrupt something important? Hang up on me if you need to,” I say, although I might be the teensiest bit mad if he really does hang up.
“No, I have a minute. I just had to leave the production floor to call you from my office. It’s too loud in there to have a phone conversation,” Liam says.
“I’ll try to make this quick. I accidentally startled Hamlet, and now he’s sulking under your bed. I thought maybe you’d be able to coax him out of his cocoon of resentment,” I explain.
Liam chuckles. “I mean, I can try. I can hear him yowling in the background, though. Sounds like a serious offense. I may not be able to mend this bridge for you.”
“Well, I’m going to put you on speaker so you can give it a shot,” I say. I hold the phone closer to the bed. “Come on, Hammie. Your super-hot daddy is on the phone.”
A snort comes through the phone. “I’m just not even going to address . . . any of that,” he says, and I grin. He clears his throat and says, “Hamlet, why are you hiding, my friend? I know Madison can be scary sometimes.”
“Hey!” I cut in, fake annoyed.
I hear the grin in Liam’s voice as he continues, “But she’s mostly harmless. Come back out and keep her company so she doesn’t go off the rails.”
The tone of Hamlet’s meow changes slightly, and I try to peek under the bed without moving too abruptly.
“Come on, I hear you, Hamlet. You don’t have to be scared,” Liam continues in a soothing voice. Hamlet has crept a few inches closer to the edge of the bed but is still hesitating.
I suggest, “Maybe you should try the British accent.”
“That works on you, not Hamlet,” Liam says. Geez, I wish he were here to kiss me senseless right now.
“Has he come out yet?” Liam asks.
“No. He’s a little closer but still hiding,” I say.
“You might just have to give him space and wait him out then,” Liam says. “Hamlet is in a dark place right now. Whatever did you do to offend him so egregiously?”
“I was excited and slammed my hands on the desk. He did not appreciate the sudden loud noise,” I explain, rolling to my back again.
“What were you excited about?” Liam asks.
I fill him in on the email from Elizabeth and what it could mean for the future of MJE. I can’t stop myself from grinning ear to ear as I talk.
“MJ, that’s incredible!” Liam says. “That’s it—we’re celebrating tonight.”
“Celebrating how?” I ask.
“You’ll find out when I pick you up at five-thirty,” Liam teases.
I groan. “You know exactly how much I hate surprises!”
“One hundred percent. Which is why it will be even more fun to not tell you where we’re going,” he replies, mischief in his voice.
Hamlet emerges from under the bed and stands on my stomach.
Meow.
“Hammie has forgiven me, it seems,” I say, and Hamlet meows again loudly enough for Liam to hear. “He says that you should tell me where we’re going so I know what to wear.”
Liam tsks. “I’ll be wearing the suit I wore to work today. Match accordingly.”
He left this morning in his charcoal gray suit and black dress shirt. I remember because that particular combination is my personal kryptonite.
“Fine, fine,” I sigh. “Now go back to being all important and stuff.”
“See you in a few hours, love,” Liam says.
It’s a good thing I’m already lying on the floor, so there’s no damage done when I melt.
I don’t have a full-length mirror in my room, so I drag a chair into my bathroom and stand on top of it to get a view of myself in the mirror. The deprecating inner voice that typically nitpicks everything about my appearance is oddly silent as I consider my reflection.
When Liam refused to tell me where we were going, I briefly considered raiding his closet to steal a hoodie as payback. You’re not going to let me mentally prepare and dress appropriately for the situation? Fine, I’ll wear your clothes on our date then, just to irk you.
But we’ve been taking our list of rules very seriously, so there’s no way I would actually break the “no stealing his clothes” rule.
I haven’t needed to worry about what to wear with him since we haven’t gone on any real dates—considering we see each other any time we’re both at home.
And the fact that there aren’t a whole lot of date-worthy locations in Noel.
Also, there’s the fact that we haven’t really publicized our relationship.
Naturally, Clara told Clark, but it’s not like he’s the hub of the rumor mill.
Otherwise, our official relationship is still under wraps.
I don’t think either of us consciously feels like it’s something to hide, but it also feels a little odd to widely report to a town that isn’t exactly home for either of us.