Maisie
. . .
TWO
“Sit,” Pam barks as I enter her office.
Two red leather chairs sit perched in front of her desk. I take my chances with the one on the right, plopping down so my body is angled closest to the door for an easy escape. Apparently, my ‘meeting’ was a ploy to get me in her office.
Her feet are propped up on her rich mahogany desk while she casually lounges in her Louis Vuitton chair—of course the woman needs everyone to know how rich and fancy she is.
I clear my throat, attempting to lessen the tension.
It could be that I’m still slightly shaking from my previous endeavor before being thrown right into the lion's den, aka my boss’ lair from hell.
I just know whatever is about to come out of her mouth is going to be worse than finding my boyfriend's dick accidentally in someone else's vagina.
Pam chomps her gum, ignoring me for whatever seems to be so important on her phone. She furiously types away on her screen, blowing her bubble gum so big, I lose sight of her face before it pops. The sound cracks through the silent room, and it takes everything in me to stay calm.
She finishes on her phone, silently setting it back on her desk, and it’s then that she spots me. “Oh, right, I forgot you were here.”
I grind my teeth, refraining from gouging my nails into her perfect leather chair. I’m sure my entire last paycheck wouldn’t even cover the price to replace it.
My voice is docile when I respond. “You asked to talk to me?”
Her heavy sigh is telling enough of the bomb she’s about to drop on me. She drops her feet, her stilettos cracking against the tile. “I’m afraid I don’t bear good news, sweetie.”
God, I hate when she calls me that. There’s no endearment behind it. It’s an insult to cut me down and make sure I know who wears the shoes here. I wouldn’t want to wear her uncomfortable, ugly cheetah heels anyway.
“And that news being?” I try to push the conversation along, ready to get it all out in the open so I can assess how bad this day is going to get.
“Don’t shoot the messenger, but the higher ups aren’t satisfied with your last submission. You promised the publisher something raw. We were expecting a big, sexy western romance of the year, and right now, it’s giving the Temu version of the Thunder From Down Under show on the Vegas strip.”
“Excuse me?” I can’t help but recoil into my seat.
She throws up placating hands. “Like I said, I’m just the messenger.
We’ve loved your previous work, obviously, so we know it's in you to create greatness. Very deep down in there,” she whispers to herself.
“Anyways, I’m afraid your cowboy romance novel is regrettably slipping through the cracks.
The publisher is gracious enough to give you one final extended deadline to bring a fresh story.
They want this to be immersive. Spin a tale to the reader and make them feel as if they are the love interest in the epic western love story of the year.
In my personal opinion, I would recommend scrapping the whole story and going back to the drawing board.
” She smacks her hand on her desk. “Better yet, I think some research first would do you some good. We need this story to be believable. Make the reader fall in love with the wild, wild west so hard, they want to move there to find their own cowboy.”
“Wild, wild west,” I mutter under my breath, attempting to track the word vomit being thrown at me.
Her smile is blinding. “Exactly, sweetie. I’m glad we’re on the same page. Well, that conversation went better than expected.” She stands, straightening her pencil skirt before gesturing for me to follow her.
I follow her like an obedient dog, still confused on exactly what just happened. The conversation was over as fast as it started. We both exit her office before I halt my feet, turning to face her. “When is my new deadline?”
She gives me a pity smile. “Three months to have a fresh story sitting on their desk. Not completed, of course, but the meat and potatoes need to be there. Do you understand?”
I nod, not loving the time frame, but I’m trying to remain optimistic. “And how exactly do you recommend I research for this new story?”
She pats my shoulder before strutting back into her office. “You’re a smart girl, Maisie. Figure it out. It’s both our asses on the line, so I expect your best work to date.” And, with that, she slams her door in my face.
It’s not my proudest moment, but I stomp my foot and let out a silent scream.
Not only am I not good enough for my boyfriend, but, apparently, now all I’m good for is writing a western-themed glorified Magic Mike story.
What I wouldn’t give for one of those showmen to be thrusting their hips in front of me right now.
I stomp back to my desk, deciding I can’t take one more second under the same roof as that dream-crushing monster.
I’m no stranger to criticism, but in no way, shape, or form is my story as bad as she made it out to be.
I’m half-wondering if she even passed along my story, or if she just wanted to fuck with me and make my life more miserable for her own enjoyment.
I gather all my things from my desk, deciding to take the day off for a little TLC.
God knows I could use it right now, and it’s not like I'm required to be here. I can write from wherever I choose, but it’s still a nice escape to write here when I need a change of scenery.
I have become quite the recluse as of late.
I got an internship with this agency straight out of college and worked from this very desk.
After many late nights, I worked my way up the ranks, learning the literary agent and publishing world while using all my free time to work on my own novel.
At the time, it was more of a passion project, not having enough faith in myself to ever get it published.
I let one of my coworkers read it after a drunken night out, and she was so enamored with it, she wouldn’t give it back.
One thing led to another, and next thing I know, Pam was begrudgingly at my desk asking for my full manuscript.
Honestly, I think she offered to be my agent just to spite her coworkers and beat them to the punch.
Even she could admit my spicy little Christmas book would be a hit, and, after the publishing deal she got me, I proved her right.
She may not love me, but she loves the money I bring her.
My book hit the New York Times bestseller list right after release day, and the rest is history.
I’ve written two books since then, all having great sales.
Both of those books were genres forced upon me, though.
This cowboy romance book was something I fought heavily for, a passion project I was excited about since writing my first novel.
To have the backlash I’m getting feels like a sucker punch to the gut.
I want this dream so badly, I would quite literally do anything to see it through, to make my parents proud. And that’s exactly what I do when an idea pops into my head. My phone is in my hand before I’ve even left the office.
Three rings is all it takes before his gruff voice rings out on the other line. “Mais?”
His voice brings a much needed smile to my face. “Hey, Ches. Think you got room for one more?”
His deep chuckle is answer enough. “Anything for you. I’ll see ya soon.”