Professor Feelgood

by Leisa Rayven

  FIVE

  ____________________

  Nailed It

  THE CONFERENCE ROOM AT Whiplash Publishing is nicknamed ‘The Fishbowl’ for good reason. It’s in the center of the office and made of glass. I’ve read dozens of romance novels in which couples screw on giant mahogany conference tables, but if someone tried that in here, they could make a tidy profit from selling tickets. The whole office would have ringside seats.

  Now, as I try to ignore my hammering pulse and give a killer presentation, I’ve never been more aware of how often people check out what’s happening in the fishbowl. I keep getting distracted by faces appearing over the tops of their low-walled gray cubicles, as if they’re a colony of meerkats on the lookout for hungry predators.

  I swallow and click to the next screen in my PowerPoint presentation. “Here are just a few examples of Professor Feelgood’s work. I think you’ll agree his style is quite … stimulating.”

  I keep talking as I watch the faces seated around the table. When Serena asked about what I was presenting, I told her I wanted it to be a surprise, and judging by her expression, I succeeded. Her gaze moves across the screen, and I don’t miss the way she leans forward slightly. By the time she’s read the second and third screenshot, her mouth has dropped open.

  Excellent.

  Having her on board is half the battle, and I can tell she’s excited about the concept in more ways than one.

  Mr. Whip doesn’t have quite the same reaction, but then I wouldn’t expect him to. He’s a guy. This book is going to live and die based on the incredible purchasing power of women. I’ve been through the Professor’s follower list, and I know that there are only a few lonely dicks out there in a sea of devoted vaginas.

  As I go through the breakdown of projected sales, I see our marketing manager, Sidney, mirror Serena’s reaction. His chocolate skin makes it hard to see if his cheeks are showing extra color, but knowing Sid’s taste in men, I’m sure the Professor is right up his alley: dark, rough around the edges, and rocking a six-pack.

  Next, I glance at Devin, who’s watching me carefully as he leans against the side of his cubicle just outside the conference room. If looks could kill, he’d be melting my body with acid in a bathtub right about now.

  Not so cocky now, are you, sport?

  Despite the positive feeling in the room, I’m not stupid enough to think I have this thing in the bag. I spied on Devin’s presentation earlier, and it pains me to admit he did an amazing job. His graphics were slick, elegant, and enticing, and let’s face it, if he were able to land a sequel to Rageheart, it could be written in crayon and barely legible, and people would still buy it. His proposal equals money in the bank. But mine has edge, and that’s going to be our big point of difference. Does Mr. Whip want something that’s traditional and safe, or risky and exciting? I’m hoping it’s the second option.

  I click my controller again, and the profit graph flashes on the screen. “As you can see, these projections are conservative. If only ten percent of his followers buy the book, we’re still looking at having a major hit on our hands. But to be honest, I’d expect the sales numbers to be significantly higher. I think word of mouth is going to make this book a viral sensation, and the professor’s style would appeal to a broad cross-section of readers.”

  I can hear my voice trembling as I speak, but I think it’s more from excitement than nerves. I haven’t stumbled over any words or accidentally flashed anyone, so overall, I’m calling it a win.

  I glance at the screen as I bring up a final montage, featuring some of the professor’s most striking photos superimposed with his powerful words.

  Okay, girl, bring it home.

  “There are certain defining moments in the history of publishing. Those in which the right book comes along at the right time and speaks to the hearts and minds of a generation. I truly believe this is that book. And I would be honored to be given the opportunity to make it the new flagship in the armada of Whiplash success stories. Thank you.”

  I let out a shaky breath as I finish and then stand there as I wait for feedback. Serena is practically beaming at me, and Sidney gives me a subtle thumbs-up.

  Mr. Whip takes his time before he says anything. He flicks through the hard copy of my presentation once more, and then stares at me for a few seconds before giving a small nod. “Well done, Asha. A very creative idea. We have a few more presentations to see before we make our decision, but I think it’s safe to say you’ve impressed us.”

  My smile is so big, it hurts my face. “Thank you, Mr. Whip. I appreciate that.”

  “Please send in the next candidate.”

  I quickly gather my materials and hustle out to where Kandace, one of our veteran editorial assistants, is nervously waiting. “They’re ready for you. Knock ‘em dead.”

  She gives me a tremulous smile before heading into the lion’s den.

  When I get back to my desk, I collapse into my chair. God, this promotion is so close, I can taste it. Everything just feels right, like I should email our office manager and tell her to order my new business cards.

  My phone buzzes with a text from Joanna.

  I text back a range of happy/nervous emojis, and then look up to find Devin standing in front of me.

  “Not bad, Tate,” he says as he shoves his hands into his pockets. “There were a couple of moments there I thought you were going to ralph on your notes, but you managed to keep it together.”

  “I just kept thinking about how much I wanted to beat you, Devin, and my stomach was more than happy to cooperate.”

  He smoothes down his tie. “It’s a big risk, gambling everything on a guy who isn’t even an author.”

  “I think there’s a small leap from being a writer to being an author, and this guy is definitely a writer. Not much of a gamble in my mind when he can describe emotions so well. People are going to lose their minds over him.”

  He gives me a condescending smile. “Did you see my presentation? Sandra Larson. She’s a pretty big deal, right?”

  “Absolutely. Your presentation was excellent.”

  “But you think you have me beat?”

  I shrug. “I think Whiplash is ready to showcase an author they’ve discovered. It’s beyond overdue. Professor Feelgood could be their guy.”

  Devin’s face twitches. “You keep telling yourself that when I’m sending you to get my coffee.”

  He slinks away, and I marvel that all I had to do to get him to stop flirting with me was compete for the job he wants. So simple, and yet, so effective.

  I stand so I can spy on what’s happening in the fish bowl. Poor Kandace looks like she’s about to pass out.

  After sitting back down, I wake up my computer and try to concentrate on work for a while, but the second I hear people emerging from the conference room, I stand to see Serena coming back to her office.

  She gestures for me to follow her. “Pretend we’re chatting about the Delaney book, and keep your face neutral,” she says in a low voice.

  I nod as she hands me a file. “Okay.”

  She shuffles papers around her desk as she talks, barely looking at me. “I can’t say anything officially, but you blew us away, Asha. Your presentation was excellent, and I think you convinced Robert that you’re the right person for the job. I’m talking with finance about what sort of offer we can put together for the professor, and I’ll contact him tomorrow to get the process started. Do you have a number for him?”

  I nod. “I’ll text it to you. What about Devin and Sandra Larson?”

  “Robert doesn’t want the hassle of getting her out of her current contract; it could take months. Plus, we can’t afford her. It would blow our entire budget for next year. She’ll no doubt go with one of the big five.”

  I keep my face neutral, but I can’t help the edge of excitement that creeps into my voice. “My God, Serena, I’m really going to be an editor?”

>   She scribbles something on her day planner and flashes me the briefest of smiles. “Looks like it, sweetheart. Are you ready to publish a bestseller?”

  “Hell, yes!”

  “Good. Now, get out of here and act like I didn’t say anything. Don’t even tell Joanna. Once I’ve locked down the professor, Robert will make the formal announcement. Oh, and be prepared to help me find someone to replace you. You’re a pretty hard act to follow, young lady.” She shoots me another look, and I pull down the corners of my mouth as I nod and head back out to my desk.

  Acting as natural as I can, I shoot off a text to the professor’s number.

 

  As I send the message, I can feel a giant smile threatening to reveal itself, but at the last second I press my lips together and head it off at the pass.

  Across the office, I see Devin leaning against the doorway to the break room, staring at me. I’m positive I’m not giving anything away, but I don’t miss the slight frown he gives me before he salutes with his coffee cup and goes back to his desk.

  Wow, I’m really not going to miss having him drop by every day. Soon I’ll have a real office with a real door, and Devin is going to have to get used to it slamming in his face.

  SIX

  ____________________

  It’s All Good, Eventually

  THE NEXT MORNING AS I stroll down the bustling streets of Brooklyn on a particularly glorious autumn day, I swear I can hear the strains of “Walking on Sunshine” following me around. I’m having one of those days; the kind where you have the world on a string, and it feels like nothing can derail your positive momentum.

  Today is going to be kickass. To quote Joanna, I can feel it in my boobs.

  “Morning, Asha!”

  “Hey, Mrs. Eidleman!” My octogenarian neighbor is power-walking her two Shih Tzus wearing bright pink sweats with the word JUICY emblazoned across the ass in large silver letters. “Looking good.”

  “Don’t I know it? You too, honey.”

  I give her a humble smile, but I know my outfit is working it. I may feel self-conscious naked, but wearing the right clothes, I feel like a queen. Today’s ensemble is a cherry-print blouse, tight black pencil skirt with a thick black belt, all topped off with a vintage Burberry trench I found at the Brooklyn Flea for just twenty-five bucks. Even my hair is on point. My usual auburn mess has been blow dried smooth, and it swishes around my face as I walk. I couldn’t appear more editorial if I tried. Now, I just need to practice my surprised face for when they offer me the promotion.

  “Asha, hey! Beautiful day, right?”

  “Sure is, Randy.” My favorite barista hangs out the fast service window of my local coffee house and holds out my regular order, right on time.

  “Large green tea and a no flour, low-carb spinach cake.”

  I hand him a ten and grab the cup and bag without stopping. “You’re the best, Randy. Thanks!”

  “You’re welcome. And have a great day.”

  I sigh happily as I head down into the subway. Life is good.

  There were times in the past when I felt like I had to fight tooth and nail for every decent thing I got. Being poor and having dreams of going to college were mutually exclusive concepts in our neighborhood, but both Eden and I worked our asses off in high school to secure scholarships. And now, even though we’re not doing much more than scraping by, at least we have good jobs. And with the pay raise I’ll get as an editor, I may even be able to start paying back Nannabeth for the innumerable loans she’s given me over the years. I know she couldn’t care less about the money, but for me, it’s the principle of the thing.

  I bounce through the rest of my trip to the office, and when I step into the elevator and find Devin there, I try to keep a lid on my smile.

  He eyes me warily. “You look smug this morning, Tate. What’s going on?”

  “Nothing. What’s going on with you?”

  His confidence all but explodes out of him. “Oh, I’m getting a promotion today. Count on it.”

  I clench my teeth to stifle a laugh. “You don’t say? Well, good for you.”

  He turns to me, his face too close and his aftershave too strong. “You really think you have this in the bag, don’t you? Do you honestly think they’re dumb enough to gamble on some social media poser when they have a literary phenom like Sandra Larson waiting in the wings?”

  I shrug. “I think they have a lot of factors to consider. You might be surprised.”

  He snorts. “Yeah. Right. I think one us will be surprised today, but it won’t be me.”

  The elevator opens on our floor, and we split up to head to our respective desks. I look over to see Serena already in her office, which is unusual considering I’m always here at least a half an hour before she is. She’s on the phone with the door closed, which is another rarity. I frown as I slip off my coat and hang it on the nearby rack. When I reach my desk, Serena flashes me an irritated look before facing the window as she continues her conversation.

  Okay. This doesn’t look good. Maybe the professor had a change of heart.

  Please, God, no.

  As I’m about to sit down, Joanna appears right behind me, a concerned expression twisting her flawless face.

  “It’s not my fault, I swear.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I didn’t tell anyone about the professor. Well, okay, I told my manicurist, but that’s it, and she mainly speaks Vietnamese, so I doubt if she had anything to do with what’s going on.”

  “Okaaaay. What’s going on?”

  Before Joanna gets a chance to tell me, I hear Serena’s door open and turn to catch her walking toward me.

  “Come with me,” she says, gesturing for me to follow. “We need to talk.”

  I glance at Joanna as Serena and I head toward the elevators. When we pass Devin, he gives me a casual wave.

  “Where are we going?”

  Serena pushes the call button with more gusto than usual. “Up to see Robert.” The tone of her voice makes my panic prick up its ears.

  “What’s wrong?”

  The elevator arrives, and we step inside. As soon as the doors close, she turns to me. “Asha, I hate having to ask you this, but we have a situation, so it’s imperative you’re honest with me, okay?”

  “I’m always honest with you.”

  “I know that, but …” She sighs. “There’s been an accusation that Professor Feelgood book wasn’t your idea.”

  My mouth drops open. “What?”

  “Apparently, Robert went to an industry event last night and someone said they’d heard about your presentation and that the professor is already in negotiations with another publishing house. Understandably, Robert was furious. He was impressed with your presentation, but now with the possibility you didn’t come up with it on your own … well ––“

  I say try to stay calm even as my face flushes hot. I’m horrified that my integrity would even be questioned. “I contacted the professor myself. When we spoke, it seemed as though he’d never even considered publishing before.” I think back over our conversations to make sure I hadn’t missed something. I guess it’s possible someone else saw the potential in him, but surely he would have mentioned it. “He didn’t say anything about already having a publisher.”

  “Do you have a record of your conversation?”

  “I have some Instagram messages, but our main communication was verbal.”

  “So you can’t prove he didn’t say he was with another publisher?”

  “No, but I wouldn’t lie to you, Serena. Or Mr. Whip.”

  When the elevator doors open onto the executive floor, I look out to the short corridor leading to Mr. Whip’s office. Right now, it’s as horrifying as something out of The Shining.

  “Asha, Robe
rt thinks your ambition got the better of you,” she says in hushed tones. “That you would rather cheat than lose out on the promotion.”

  “Well, he’s wrong,” I whisper back. “We’ll just contact the professor and get his side of the story. He’ll tell you the idea was mine.”

  “I called the phone number you gave me and received no response. Robert’s assistant is on the case now, trying him every five minutes.”

  “What about talking to someone from the alleged other house?”

  “Done that, too. They said they won’t comment on something that might affect ongoing contract negotiations, which does nothing to disprove the story.”

  “This is crazy. I did nothing wrong. I found a great lead and worked my ass off on my presentation. What you saw in that conference room was all my work, no one else’s.”

  “I believe you. But Robert is furious, and I’m working overtime right now just to convince him not to fire you.”

  I shake my head and scramble to organize my thoughts. I can’t believe how quickly this day has gone to crap.

  Devin’s words in the elevator float back to me. “I think one of us will be surprised today, but it won’t be me.”

  “Devin,” I say quietly. “He did this.”

  Serena raises an eyebrow. “That’s a serious accusation.”

  “Well, think about it. Who stands to gain the most if this falls through? And who has family members working at other publishers? It wouldn’t take much to set this up.”

  Serena looks past me toward the office doors. “Well, perhaps you’d better keep your suspicions to yourself, until we can find out more. The only thing Robert will take worse than one of his staff borrowing ideas from someone else is unfounded allegations against his nephew.”

  I nod, and we continue down the hallway toward Mr. Whip’s office. I’m so shocked and angry, my hands are shaking.

  I always knew Devin was a douche, but to actually sabotage my career? That’s a level of low I hadn’t expected.