2. Saylor
Saylor
I get off the tube from the London Underground as I step out onto the street, leaving the subterranean lair behind me with a shiver.
I am not a fan of the Underground; I am not a fan of small, enclosed spaces or being confined in general.
And I am definitely not a fan of being inside a tiny, cramped train. It’s just a shame that my meeting at FatedBond Press’s London Office was scheduled at rush hour.
Now, I have found myself lost amongst a sea of Londoners. I only just departed the train from Manchester an hour ago; I thought it would be a good idea to make the change towards London Central via the Underground.
Wrong.
At least at rush hour.
The streets are jam-packed, but even in a city filled with people, I have never felt so alone, so insignificant.
Every person for themselves out here.
But I suppose that is the story of my life.
Worst of all, I have no idea where I’m going. So, I decide to ask for directions. That was probably my first mistake because the Beta with the pods inside his ears doesn’t even acknowledge me.
He just blanks me, pretending he didn’t see me, and I really hope he isn’t listening to an audiobook about being a better listener…
Because he should really consider getting his money back.
Okay, then. So, no asking for directions.
Things really are different down South. I’m so used to Northern hospitality, so the cold indifference of London truly does take me by surprise.
Everyone is just so busy.
But you can’t make friends with everybody, I guess.
So, I look onto my phone’s app, putting the address of the publishing house into the search bar.
It takes me a while, but after I ask for more directions from a friendly cab driver, I soon find myself at the publishing house.
Now I stare at its shiny glass doors, swallowing hard.
Well, here goes nothing.
I push through the revolving doors, staring around at the marble-and-wood interior of the building.
The polished floor gleams beneath my shoes, so spotless that I hesitate before taking another step.
Wow. This place is sublime, and I have never felt so out of my depth.
Every person who passes through the foyer looks so important, so purposeful, as they carry various manuscripts, disappearing into the lifts.
This is a place where dreams are quietly made after all.
I tighten my grip on my leather satchel. Maybe, just maybe… one of those dreams is about to become mine.
When I give my name at the reception desk, the woman hardly glances my way. She just keeps to herself as she directs me to a seating area.
At least I can peruse the titles.
My eyes pop when I spy the name Daisy Rose-Thorn.
I went to school with Daisy. As well as her brothers—the same Alphas who rejected me.
I haven’t thought about them in a long time, and that’s just what I need right now before my interview with the Editor-in-Chief.
“Ms. Merrick will see you now, Ms. Murphy,” the receptionist calls out my name next.
Ms. Murphy.
That’s me.
Taking a deep breath, I rise to my feet, following the receptionist inside the back office. At least the place smells nice, of lavender, mint, and satsuma.
Scents to put an Omega at ease.
Omegas like me.
We arrive at the door. As soon as they open, my eyes land on a middle-aged woman. She’s just gazing out of the window as I step inside the room.
When she turns, I finally relax. Her friendly face puts me at ease. She’s an Omega, like me, yet she is Editor-in-Chief at a London Publishing House.
I find that rather impressive.
“Please, sit down, Ms. Murphy,” she says, her voice soft and gentle.
I take my seat at her offer, and now we sit in silence as she pores over my manuscript. She smiles up at me after she takes a read. “This is quite the story idea you have, Saylor. Sorry, can I call you Saylor?”
I nod. “Of course.”
Even though I never cared for the name. I can still hear all the old taunts at Silver Grove High.
“Drunk as a Saylor…”
“Saylor mouth.”
Nothing too original, but it still hurt all the same.
She grins, placing my manuscript down gently onto her desk. She brushes her hands reverently over the paper, as if she has found something precious.
I’m not sure why. I whipped that story up in a matter of weeks, but I suppose the idea just flowed.
Because I write from experience.
“My uncle in New York loved your story when I proposed it to him.”
My heart thumps. Is she talking about Nicholas Merrick? Editor-in-Chief at FatedBond Press NYC?
I don’t know what to say.
Ms. Merrick’s smile is infectious next as she says, “It’s okay. You can take a few moments.”
Good, because I’m going to need them. My head is swimming right now. That’s the same publishing house that took a chance on Noelle Wynter-Hale.
I can’t believe this is happening to me. She’s actually considering my manuscript, but I suppose it makes sense.
Why would she have asked to see me in person all the way in London?
A part of me had thought she had invited me just so she could reject me to my face. Now that would have been a real kick in the teeth.
“So, Saylor… how would you feel if we published your story?”
My jaw hinges loose. She laughs. “I… I would be elated! Noelle… Noelle Wynter-Hale is one of my favorite authors. And I knew Daisy Rose-Thorn back at school for a while.”
Her eyes widen at that. Yet I fail to mention her younger brothers.
The ones who left me brokenhearted.
“Well, it really is a small world indeed,” she remarks with a smile.
Yeah, very, very small.
She continues. “So, will you take up my offer?”
Startled, I meet her kind brown eyes. “Yes. A hundred times yes. Thank you, Ms. Merrick.”
Wow. I sound like I am back in school, and that she’s my teacher or something.
Ms. Merrick beams as she reaches her manicured hand across the table. “Please, call me Nicola.”
I take her hand. “Thank you, Nicola. I… I can’t thank you enough for this opportunity,” I blabber.
I still can’t believe this is happening. My arms are shaking.
She is still smiling when she reaches into her drawer, pulling out some leaflets.
I spy a picturesque country lodge on the front page.
“As one of our new, up-and-coming authors at FatedBond Press, I would love to give you the chance to join a few of our other Omega authors at a writing retreat in Vermont this summer. Run by Noelle Wynter-Hale.”
I almost fall out of my chair, the blood rushing hot through my head.
Nicola regards me with a look of concern for a moment as I’ve been silent for far too long. “Do you need another moment?”
I shake my dazed head, returning to earth. “I will take it!”
She laughs at my enthusiasm, handing me the flyer. “The retreat starts in two weeks. Our travel coordinator will email your itinerary over to you in the next few days," Nicola continues. "Don't worry—we'll make sure everyone has clear instructions before they travel."
My hands are still trembling as I stare down at the leaflets. A sprawling timber lodge overlooks a sparkling lake surrounded by endless pine trees, the sort of place I have only ever seen in movies.
Vermont.
It really is beautiful.
Until this moment, it had always existed on the other side of a screen or inside the pages of a romance novel.
Now someone is asking me to go there for real.
My mind races ahead of itself next.
Passport. Flights. Suitcase. I've never flown that far before. I'd barely traveled farther than Scotland, yet somehow, I'm supposed to cross an entire ocean.
It feels terrifying... but terrifying in the best way possible.
I can’t believe this. I am being given this amazing opportunity to go to Noelle’s lodge.
She has been my idol these past few years. She got her happy ever after in the end, as did Daisy after she was signed by FatedBond Press, too.
Maybe the third time truly is the charm; I just hope my happy ending doesn’t involve Alphas.
Quite frankly, I have been hurt by far too many Alphas in my life. But what are the chances that I would run into River, Trent, and Zale, anyway?
America is a pretty big place.
Nicola rises from her leather seat. “Well, then, we will see you there in two weeks.”
I take a few moments to rise from my own chair. Well, it looks like I am going to the States.
My dream ever since I was a little girl.
I’m finally like one of the characters I write about in my books.
Who needs Alphas, hey, when you can make your own happy ever after.
Outside, London feels different somehow.
The city is exactly the same as it was an hour ago, yet my entire future has shifted beneath my very feet.
For years, writing had been something I squeezed into evenings after work, convincing myself that publishing belonged to other people. People who were cleverer, braver, or luckier than me.
Yet someone has just looked me in the eyes and told me that my stories are worth telling.
And it’s time I finally started to believe in them too.