Professor Feelgood

by Leisa Rayven

  I go over to the thick carpet in the middle of the space and lie down. Without thinking, I put my hands on my stomach and cross my ankles; our default pose for stargazing. I close my eyes and pretend none of this is happening. I’m in a faraway land, dozing under a starry sky, not a care in the world apart from juice boxes.

  Below me, I can hear the low rumble of Jake talking on the phone, and by his volume and tone, I can tell he’s fighting hard. After a while, I hear the ladder creak, and then I feel the warmth of him lying beside me.

  “Well?” I say, opening my eyes.

  He gazes at the lights. “She’s pissed, understandably. As far as she’s concerned, the book is dead, but I convinced her to set up a meeting with her and Robert in the morning to discuss it further. If they delay the release date by a few months, I can deliver a totally new book.”

  “Changing release dates is a major issue, Jake. Especially this far into the production schedule. I’ll go with you to the meeting.”

  He turns to me. “No. This isn’t your screw up. It’s mine. And I’m going to fix it or die trying. I’m not failing you, Ash.”

  He’s adamant enough that I believe he’s going to try, but I’m not confident enough to think he’ll succeed.

  He goes back to looking at the lights, and I join him. It’s clear we’re both tense, but we’re hoping our old sanctuary will lend us some much-needed magic.

  “So, you never thought you should mention to me that I’m your soul mate?” I ask.

  “It’s not something that came up naturally in conversation. You didn’t tell me I was yours, either, even though I know damn well I am.”

  “True.”

  There’s a pause, then he says, “So many times during high school I almost told you how I felt. I almost knocked on your door in the middle of the night. Thought about climbing through your window. I almost gave you one of the dozens of letters I wrote in which I declared how stupidly and irrevocably in love with you I was. So many ‘almosts.’”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  He turns to look at me “Because I was almost positive you’d reject me, and no matter how much it hurt to suspect you didn’t have those kinds of feelings, it would have killed me to know for sure.”

  He continues gazing at me, and dammit, I can’t help but stare back. I should still be angry, but it’s almost impossible to block out our connection when he’s so close. It’s like all the good times we had here are infusing us with nostalgia, inviting old secrets to be confessed.

  “I wish you had knocked on my door,” I say. “So many nights, I’d lay awake, knowing you were just a few yards away.”

  He moves his arm so his hand is right next to mine. “Do you remember the night you and Jeremy had a huge fight about how flirty Shelley was with him? You barged into my room and slammed the door in his face.”

  I remember it well. “I was so furious he couldn’t see why it was a problem, I had to get away from him.”

  “And you knew running to me would piss him off.”

  I blink, surprised he was so far off about my motivation. “That’s not why I came to your room.”

  “Then why?”

  “Because … I missed you. And I knew I’d screwed everything up between us and I hated it. And because I knew …” I link my pinky finger over his. “I knew that if I’d chosen you, I would have never been treated like that.”

  He gets the faintest hint of a smile “You didn’t say a word to me. You just climbed into bed beside me, turned your face to the wall, and closed your eyes.”

  “And you ignored me.”

  He makes a noise. “I can assure you, I didn’t ignore you. The moment you stepped into my room, everything else ceased to exist.”

  “You didn’t talk to me. Or comfort me.”

  He slides his fingers between mine. “I couldn’t. If I’d touched you, I wouldn’t have wanted to stop. If I’d talked to you, I would have confessed everything.”

  “Maybe if you had, I wouldn’t have gone back to Jeremy.”

  “And maybe you would have. And I wasn’t brave enough to take that risk.”

  We stare at each other for a few more moments, then go back to looking at the ceiling, our hands still linked.

  “I’m sorry I screwed everything up,” Jake says. “But I promise, I’m going to fix it. I used to be okay with being alone. I’ve had plenty of practice. But finally getting to have you and then losing you? Not going to happen.”

  Maybe it’s the attic, or the lights, or the optimistic child in me, but this time when he says it, I believe him.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  ____________________

  The Impossible Dream

  I KNOW I PROMISED JAKE I’d stay away from Whiplash this morning, but how could I? There’s more than just the book or my job on the line; the future of the whole company is in jeopardy. Everyone here has been working their asses off to ensure the launch for the Feelgood book would be as massive as possible. Hundreds of bloggers are ready and waiting, the press has been foaming at the mouth to release excerpts and previews, millions of fans are literally screaming for it, and retailers are already talking up exclusive in-store promotions. I feel sick when I contemplate them all finding out that the book’s not coming. Even delaying it for a few days would cause a massive cascading meltdown that would put the final nail in Whiplash’s financially-strapped coffin.

  That’s why I need to be here. If this situation explodes, and I know it’s going to, I have to take my share of the fallout.

  The smart choice would be to keep my head down in my cubicle until the final verdict comes down, but I’m too nervous for that. Instead, I’m pacing, all the while keeping an eye on the elevators. Jake and Serena went up to Mr. Whip’s office over an hour ago. Is the fact they didn’t throw him out on his ass after five minutes a good sign? Or should I be concerned that all they’re doing is talking in circles? Not preventing the inevitable crash but simply delaying it.

  “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Whiskey? Horse tranquilizer?” I turn and see Joanna standing a short distance away, watching me wear a path in the carpet.

  “You heard?”

  “Everyone has. Devin made sure of that. He was almost gleeful about it.”

  “I’m sure he’s loving seeing me fail, considering I ‘stole’ his promotion.”

  “Yeah, maybe that’s part of it. But I think he’s even happier to see Whiplash fail.” She gives me a look that implies she knows something I don’t.

  “My curiosity is officially piqued. Spill.”

  She comes over and looks around to make sure no one can overhear us. “He got smashed at the Excellence in Publishing awards. Went home with a friend of mine from Little Brown. After he completely failed to get her off and blew his load in record time, he started dropping hints that his days at Whiplash were numbered. When she prodded him, he admitted that he and his brother, who works at Random House, have been planning on starting their own company. Devin is furious his uncle hasn’t recognized him for the rock star he considers himself to be, and he’s sick of being a soldier instead of a general. Of course, if they set up their own shop while Whiplash is still in the picture, there’d be all sorts of family drama. But if it goes under …”

  She doesn’t need to finish the thought. I used to suspect Devin was sabotaging the Professor Feelgood deal, and now I’m sure of it. Taking away the life preserver that’s keeping his uncle’s company afloat is a great strategy to clear the way for his own publishing house. Asshole.

  “Anyway,” Jo says, “I’ll let you know if I hear anything else. Right now, I need to head out.”

  “Where are you going?”

  She presses the elevator call button. “To fetch Devin his favorite double mocha latte. After all, he’s not going to ingest these high-potency laxatives I just happen to have in my pocket of his own free will.” She gives me an innocent smile. “Can I get you anything? Apart from bowel-exploding vengeance, of course.”

  I smile as sh
e gets into the elevator. “Nah, I’m good. See you when you get back.”

  She waves as the doors close, and after she’s gone, I lean against the wall and sigh. Stressing this much is exhausting. I wish I could crawl under my desk and sleep for a week.

  As I’m standing there, the strangely comforting strains of Fergus swearing at the photocopier echo down the hallway, and it makes a lump form in my throat. Whiplash is more than a company. We’re a family. And if we’re forced to all go our separate ways, a lot of people are going to be hurt.

  I step away from the wall when I hear the elevator arrive, but when I stand in front the door expecting to see Jake, I’m confronted with a stern-faced Serena instead.

  “He’s still talking to Robert,” she says as she passes. “My office. Now.”

  I’ve never seen her like this, and knowing I’m partly to blame makes sweat prickle my spine.

  I follow her into her office and close the door before sitting in the chair opposite her desk and waiting as she works on her computer. From her expression, I can tell she’s not getting the answers she’s looking for.

  “Do you know why we have deadlines, Asha?”

  “Yes. Because there are a thousand moving pieces that need to fall into place before a book can be published.”

  “Exactly. And now I’m forced to put unprecedented pressure on our staff and suppliers in order to try to save this company. But if Jacob can’t deliver what he’s just promised, I can’t guarantee anyone that our doors will still be open this time next month.”

  “What has he promised?”

  Her printer starts up, and she turns to look at me. “An alternative book in seven days. One which completely eliminates the Ingrid narrative.”

  I stare at her for a few seconds, my face hot with disbelief. “Serena, that’s impossible. Ingrid was all through that book. Trying to remove her sections and still salvage anything worthwhile would take weeks of rewrites, at best.”

  “I know that, and you know that, but apparently Mr. Stone doesn’t. He’s insisting that if we put our trust in him, he won’t let us down. Both Robert and I would love nothing more than to cancel his contract and move on, but we don’t have the financial luxury of flushing the vast amount of time and money we’ve already invested in him down the toilet. Like it or not, he’s committed to pulling off a minor miracle to salvage this situation, and we have no option but to support his efforts.”

  “What can I do to help?”

  “Nothing. We’ve all agreed that it would be best for me to take over as his editor.”

  “Jake agreed to that?”

  “It was his idea.” She drops a heavy manuscript onto the desk in front of me. “Besides, you’ll be busy with this. On the slight chance we don’t go out of business, this is our next book. I want your first round of edits next week.”

  I can feel how angry and disappointed she is right now, and I hate it. She’s always been in my corner, and I betrayed her trust.

  “Serena, I’m sorry. This was my project, and I have to take responsibility for it blowing up like this.”

  “Mr. Stone was adamant in his defense of you this morning. He takes full responsibility for the Ingrid deception and the consequences.” He gaze softens. “But you chose to not inform me that the two of you had a history, or that you’d become involved. I expected more from you, Asha. I’ve always been your most ardent supporter. That you didn’t trust me enough to be completely honest … it hurts.”

  For the first time, I can see that despite Serena’s Ice Queen image, she’s just as vulnerable as anybody else.

  “Serena … I’m so sorry. You’re my mentor, and I should have come to you but I didn’t, and I will always regret that. You have given me everything, and I let you down. If we get through this, I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

  She take off her glasses and rubs her eyes. “I hope you’re given the chance. Make no mistake, the margin of error on this alternate book is zero. If Jacob is even an hour late delivering that completed manuscript, it’s all over, for all of us.”

  “I understand.” I pick up the book she wants me to work on and stand. “I’ll get you my edits by Monday.” Making comprehensive notes on this seven-hundred-page beast might mean working around the clock, but right now I’ll do whatever it takes to redeem myself. Even if I end up losing my job, I need her to know she wasn’t wrong to see potential in me.

  When I get back to my desk, I slump into my chair. I have no idea what Jake was thinking promising a new book in a week, but apart from having a magical time-spinner, I don’t see how he’s going to pull it off.

  “Shouldn’t you be updating your resume?” I look up to see Devin leaning against my cubicle. “If you hurry, you may be able to run off some copies on the company dime before they come to repossess all the office equipment. How bad are you feeling about that? Super guilty? Or crushingly, mind-numbingly guilty?”

  “I feel horrible. But I guess you wouldn’t understand guilt, considering you’re willing to screw over your own uncle to soothe your poor, fragile ego.”

  The grin slides off his face. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I think you know. Careful about what you admit to women you fail to sexually satisfy, Devin. They have no qualms about confirming that you’re a dickless wonder.”

  His surprise at me talking back for once quickly transforms into anger. “If I do start my own house, don’t humiliate yourself by applying for a job. I’ll only be taking on editors who don’t fuck their authors. I honestly didn’t think you had the balls to do something so incredibly unprofessional, but it seems I was wrong.”

  I stand with my hands on my hips, determined to take him down several thousand pegs. “So, you frown on me sleeping with a coworker? Is that why you relentlessly hit on me for the past couple of years? Or are you just pissed I slept with someone who wasn’t you?”

  He gives my body a long hard ogle, then sneers at me –– the evergreen fallback for a guy like him realizing a woman he’s used to objectifying is no longer willing to take one more ounce of his shit. “I wouldn’t waste my time with you, Tate. Your tits aren’t bad, but other than that, you’re not much to look at.”

  “Ow,” I say, deadpan. “I’m crushed to be held in such low regard by a knuckle-dragging one-pump chump.”

  He lets out a disgusted noise and leans close. “Say whatever you like, but I’m not the one whose author-wannabe boyfriend fucked this company. That’s all on you. And it’s proof that Uncle Robert was incompetent in deciding to promote you over me. Did you sleep with him, too? Because if so, good job killing your remaining credibility, Tate.”

  When he says those final words, he makes the mistake of dropping his slimy hand onto my shoulder. The combination of his uninvited contact, a couple of years of Tae Kwon Do training, and my tolerance levels being at an all-time low, makes me act before I think. Quick as a flash, I grab his fingers and twist them back until he falls to his knees.

  He makes a noise, like a cat when you step on its tail, and I lean over so he can hear me over the sound of his pathetic whimpering.

  “Devin, I’ve put up with you being a disgusting pig for too long, so listen up. Maybe Whiplash will go under, and maybe it won’t. But until it does, I’m your superior in every way. So, you will speak to me with respect, you will never again gawk at my breasts, and you will not lay one goddamn finger on me unless you want it broken in several places. Are we clear?”

  “Fuck, yes! Let go, let go!”

  I drop his hand and he climbs to his feet, rubbing his fingers. Then he takes a step forward as if he’s building up steam to retaliate, and when I step back in response, I feel a hard body behind me.

  “Take another step toward her, asshole, and I’ll throw you across the room.” Even before I turn to see Jake staring at Devin like he wants to tear his arms out of their sockets, I can hear the fury in his voice. He steps in front of me, and Devin shrinks back. Standing next to Jake, who seems even taller
than usual in this moment, Devin looks exactly like the cowardly weed he is.

  “If you hit me,” Devin says, tipping his chin like a petulant child. “I’ll sue.”

  “If I hit you,” Jake says, his voice dark. “Your first call will be to your dentist, not your lawyer.”

  When I put my hand on Jake’s back, I can feel his muscles bunched, ready for action. Thankfully, before the situation can escalate, the elevator doors open, and Joanna steps out carrying a full tray of lidded coffee cups and inserts herself between the two men.

  “Hey, guys, what’s up?” She completely ignores the tension in the air and acts like we’re just all standing around having a polite chat. “Devin. Wow, you look pale. You know what’ll make you feel better? This tasty double-mocha latte I just bought for you.” She hands him the drink and shoots Jake and I a wink as she herds him toward the break room. “No need to thank me. My treat.”

  When they’re gone, Jake rolls his neck. “Too bad. I would have enjoyed hitting him.”

  “From what I understand,” I say, taking his hand and pulling him into the side hallway, “you have zero time to pick fights. Serena just told me what you offered, and it’s insane. It can’t be done.”

  “It can, and it will. I was thinking about it all last night. I know exactly what I want to write and can salvage a little of the more general stuff from the existing book.”

  “Even so, you’re used to writing two-thousand words a day, not ten. And Serena said you don’t want my help.”

  He takes my hands. “It’s not that I don’t want it, it’s that … when we’re together, it’s impossible to concentrate on anything but you, so if I’m going to have any chance of getting this done …” He sighs and looks down as he strokes my fingers. “I need to lock myself away for the next seven days and have zero contact with you. It’s the only way. If I know I’m not going to be with you until I’m finished, that’s all the motivation I’ll need.” He looks into my eyes. “I’m aware of what’s on the line here, Ash, and failure isn’t an option. If it’s going to take writing a bestseller in record time to make this right, that’s what I’m going to do.”