Her cheeks reddened with shame.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Richard casually visit with Gillian as he walked her down the corridor to the conference room where Mr. Fortescue waited.
He didn’t even glance at her. This couldn’t be processing. This had to be anger. Her heart constricted at the idea of his being angry with her.
She’d only known him for a day, but it was like she’d just lost her best friend.
Cindy made the arrangements quickly, grateful to find that the performance was not sold-out as she had feared. Margaret would have demanded her to put pressure on the box office until she managed to find tickets that were suitable. She also made a reservation for a cozy café not that far from the theater.
As she worked, she noticed the clock on her computer. Gillian had been in her interview for over twenty minutes already. She looked over at the conference room, surprised to find Richard Prince sitting beside her and more engaged in Gillian’s animated dialogue than Mr. Fortescue, who just sat and watched Gillian with dark, thoughtful brown eyes.
She swallowed down emotion as she returned to her work. Normally, they would begin inviting someone to come down for the next interview, but she wasn’t sure if that would really be the best course of action. What if this one ran long?
Through the glass, she heard Richard’s voice grow louder. Gillian interrupted him, a decision that shocked Cindy, with equal volume.
Mr. Fortescue, now no-longer content to sit and listen, put his hands up to try and deescalate the situation. Richard stood, and Gillian followed suit, nodding respectfully to Mr. Fortescue.
Then, the conference door opened, and they emerged.
Richard walked past her and straight to the men’s restroom at the end of the hall. Gillian, whose face was red with frustration, made a beeline for her office in the opposite direction.
Cindy glanced down at the phones and at her laptop before she let her concerns about angering Margaret further fall away. She followed Gillian, hearing the woman mutter under her breath, “Stupid, stupid, stupid! What was I thinking?”
“Gillian, what’s wrong?” Cindy closed the door behind her.
Gillian smacked her hands on her desk. “I don’t know what I was thinking. It’s just that Mr. Prince and I were talking about what I like about my job as we walked to the interview, and then Mr. Fortescue asked me what I envisioned when I thought about the company’s future.”
Gillian rapped her knuckles against her head. “Stupid, stupid, stupid! I go in for a normal interview, and I turn it into a pitch session!” She leaned her elbows on her desk and rested her head in her hands. “Margaret’s going to kill me if she finds out!”
Cindy offered her friend a sympathetic smile. She knew exactly what had happened next.
Gillian’s words started tumbling out of her mouth. “It all just came tumbling out. How I think we should recruit some indie authors to join our pool of writers.”
“And Richard Prince didn’t like your idea?” Cindy handed her friend the box of tissues she kept on her desk.
“That was all right,” she said with a shrug. “I mean, it’s something that we’d need to research some more before implementing. His concerns are all valid, but Mr. Fortescue just sat there.”
Cindy sat down in the chair across from her friend as Gillian blew her nose into the tissue.
Gillian threw the tissue in the trash can. “Mr. Fortescue only spoke when he said we should table the discussion and talk about it later. I have no idea what he thinks about the idea.”
She sniffled. “He probably thinks I’m an idiot.”
Cindy’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not an idiot. I doubt that he even thinks that you are. Your idea is innovative and good. I’m sure even Richard Prince will like it once he gets a chance to think it through.”
“I just think it would be a great way to set us apart from some of the bigger publishers. If we were to help partner with independent authors, we might build some really good, lasting relationships in the industry as it continues to change.”
Gillian rolled her eyes. “Even Margaret knows that.”
Cindy nodded. “That’s true.”
If Margaret thought you could do something for her, she was very good at treating you with every good favor she could imagine. The only problem was that the only useful people in Margaret’s life were the people who were ahead of her in her career or in society. Everyone else was of little consequence.
Cindy eyed her friend for a moment. “You really like Mr. Fortescue, don’t you?”
Gillian’s face reddened in a blush. “I hardly know him.”
That was precisely what had Cindy worried. You’re one to talk, the voice in the back of her head seemed to whisper.
Oh, shut up, she shot back to herself as she felt her own face flush.
Gillian shrugged. “I’ve had a chance to see him here and there. I mean, the other day, I asked him about his lunch order, and he was really friendly. He was looking for the bathroom, and I was able to point him toward the men’s room.”
Gillian bit her lip. “I know that doesn’t sound promising, but when I brought him his lunch, we talked for a few minutes. Do you know he lifts weights every morning before work?”
Cindy’s brow furrowed. “No, I didn’t, but I guess he’s just trying to be healthy.”
“Probably. I just mean that when it’s just him and another person, he has a lot more to say.”
“You mean, when it’s just him and you.” She didn’t want to press the girl too hard, but she had spent the odd minute alone with Alastair Fortescue, and she could honestly say it had been nothing like that for her.
Gillian turned to her computer to get to work. “He’s leaving soon, so nothing’s going to happen. It just bothered me that he let Richard Prince do so much of the talking in that interview.”
Cindy chewed on her bottom lip. Yes, that did seem a bit odd.
CHAPTER NINE
Richard closed the door behind Cindy as she entered the empty break room. “Did you and your friend plan this?”
Cindy stepped back in surprise. “Plan what?”
“You said that if you could choose, you’d ask Charlotte LaRoche back.” His voice was louder than she’d ever heard, angrier still.
She wondered to herself whether the staff had heard his outburst or not. Even if they hadn’t, they wouldn’t take too kindly to them roping off the break room.
“Say that louder. I don’t think they heard you in Venezuela.”
Richard threw her a look that clearly communicated how little he was interested in hearing her explanation.
She reached into the staff refrigerator and pulled out one of her water bottles. She handed it to him, hoping that just the cold surface of the bottle would calm him down somewhat. She felt so grateful that she’d gotten a chance to talk to Gillian first. She’d been more prepared for Richard’s agitation than she might have been otherwise. “You asked me for my opinion. I gave it to you. As for Gillian...”
“Oh, yes!” he snapped. “That was an excellent idea. Follow up with an idiotic idea about spending resources to try and entice authors who have complete control over their work to give some of that up for a smaller percentage of the profits.”
Cindy refused to let him get a rise out of her. “Gillian has research to back up her idea. You and Mr. Fortescue asked her what she would change about this company, and she gave a fair answer. I think you’d recognize that if you weren’t still hot under the collar about this Charlotte idea. You might even give her a chance to show you what she’s learned from her time as an editor.”
He crossed his arms over his chest as she sat down at the lone table in the corner.
She tapped the seat beside her. “Are you ready to try and discuss this more reasonably?”
He exhaled long and slow before he twisted the cap on the water bottle and drank from it.
Even better, Cindy thought as she watched him. Now, maybe we can get somewhere.
She had to admit, however, that she really hoped he’d hash out the indie author recruiting with Gillian, and she’d say so if he continued down that line of questioning. Gillian would be better at answering his questions than she would.
“Why Charlotte?”
Cindy blinked at him. “Excuse me?”
“I know she’s your mentor, but humor me. I never asked the question I should have. Why Charlotte?”
Cindy swallowed, a thousand memories racing through her mind. “Charlotte was like the favorite aunt of everyone on staff here.”
The words took a moment to form, but then they began escaping as if they’d required no thought. “I don’t mean that she was the fun aunt, even though she could be fun at parties and other events. She was like the aunt who could get you to try harder in school because you didn’t want to disappoint her.”
Richard studied her for a moment. “Her leadership style used inspiration and respect as motivators, not punishments and demerits. No wonder you would rather see her at the helm.”
Cindy looked down at her hands. “It’s not just about the staff though. Honestly, Charlotte was the best editor I’ve ever worked with, and while I haven’t been an author here, I’ve seen a lot of the editors’ work. They’re great, but Charlotte was in a class to herself. She could completely rework what you wrote without ever once making you feel like you had been eviscerated, and yet it stayed true to your intent.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“My first paper I got back from her—honestly, I was afraid that her pen had exploded all over my work—but then I saw the note to see her after class. When I did, she took an hour to walk me through all of her suggestions. With every single one, I had to admit she was right.”
Cindy remembered the look on Charlotte’s face, how maternal and nurturing it had been. “When we were nearly finished, she asked me a question I’d never heard from anyone in my life. Why aren’t you writing a book right now?”
Richard turned his head to the side as he listened.
“Maybe it sounds stupid, but when I was a kid, that was my biggest dream. It’s still my dream, actually.”
She blushed as she realized she’d just borne the most secret, personal part of herself to him with whoever was listening behind the break room door. “The only person who ever believed in me the way she did was my dad.”
She leaned forward and reached for his hands, surprised when he didn’t pull them away. “Richard, we need someone who can do that. We need someone who can remind people of their dreams, someone who can give them the help and polish that I think only she can.”
She bit her lip as she withdrew her hands from his. “I know you’re going to hate this, but the only other person I can think of who could even pretend to inspire our writers that much is Gillian.”
Richard was quiet, thoughtful, and she wondered for a moment if he was just going to get up and leave without another word.
He looked down at his watch before he looked up at her. “You’re right. I overreacted to Gillian’s idea because I was angry about your suggestion.” His voice was so low she had difficulty hearing him at first. “I think I was angry with your suggestion about Charlotte because of my own stuff. I guess hearing she’d been accused of having an affair with a superior reminded me of my own suspicions with my dad.”
Cindy exhaled slowly. That explained a few things. “I guess that’s fair.”
“It’s really not.” The wry smile playing on his lips brought her eyes up to look at his.
She offered him a tentative smile of peace which he accepted with one of his own gratitude.
He caught one of her hands in his. “Listen, Mr. Fortescue is sending me on an errand. Before I go, I’d like to see if you’d go to dinner with me.”
Cindy’s eyebrows shot up. If she could have predicted his next words, those would never have been the ones she would have chosen. “What? Why?”
He scoffed in self-deprecation. “I deserved that.”
Cindy glanced down at their hands locked together. “I just meant that I thought dinner was conditional on your having a good lunch.”
“It was.”
She peered up at him as if he had lost his mind. “Were you and I at the same lunch?”
He laughed, and for the first time in almost an hour, the tension between them had dissipated.
“We were, but I made it pretty awful, didn’t I?”
“Oh, no, I’m regularly given the silent treatment.” A hint of a smile grew on her lips.
“I deserved that,” he chuckled. “But you’re right. I asked you for your opinion. It would have been pretty rude of me to hold that against you.”
She scooted her chair closer to his. “Well I guess it’s a good thing that you just asked me why I had my opinion. You just bought yourself a second-chance.”
He looked at her with wonder in his eyes as he searched her face for something she couldn’t identify. “Did I?”
She nodded as her heart pounded in her chest. They were getting increasingly nearer. Was she leaning in? Was he leaning in? Her senses had never felt so alive as they did right at this moment.
“I guess I could meet you somewhere around seven.” They were so close now that her nose felt a prick at the spice of his aftershave.
“I could pick you up.” His eyes sparkled with relief at what he apparently took as a yes.
Fortunately, that was what she had intended.
She pondered that a moment before she bit her lip with a pang of concern. “You’re leaving in a couple of days. This is a bad idea.”
He sat back, his eyes dropping to his lap.
“I feel like I’ve had you on a yo-yo the number of times I’ve almost said yes,” she said with a frown. “But the truth is—”
“I’m not sure I’m going anywhere as quickly as you think I am,” he said so quietly she almost didn’t realize he’d interrupted her.
“What?” she asked as she stared at him.
“My dad still lives here. Honestly, life just feels too short these days. So, I’m going to spend more time with my dad. If Mr. Fortescue agrees, I’ll be here. If not, I guess maybe I’ll be looking for another job.”
Cindy blinked.
“And hopefully, if I’m still in town, you and I might bump into one another every now and again.”
Why was it that all of a sudden his announcement that he might not be leaving made her heart leap into her throat?
“So, if you’re about to tell me you don’t want to have dinner with me because you don’t want your heart broken when I get on a plane back to Heathrow, I think you’re going to want to at least take a moment to think, maybe see if that changes anything.”
Her brain was in a whirl when she looked up and offered him her most dazzling smile. “Where did you want to go?”
CHAPTER TEN
The walk out of the break room was excruciating. At least fourteen pairs of eyes scrambled for something else to do as the door opened. Though she had done nothing to be ashamed of, she couldn’t help but pray for the ground to open and swallow her whole. Anything would be preferable to walking past all of the people who thought they knew what had just happened in that room.
Their looks answered the question which had lingered in her mind about whether or not Richard had been overheard when he shared her private thoughts on the company’s leadership.
It might have been more bearable if Richard had stayed beside her, but he had claimed to need to make a phone call before he could leave. Coward, she couldn’t help but think to herself with an odd mixture of affection and irritation. In defense, he hadn’t been the one to close the door and see all of the staff members who had overheard him reveal her ideal candidate for the company’s leadership.
Mr. Fortescue stood at the entrance to the conference room, a clear look of displeasure creasing lines in his brow and at the corners of his lips directed at her.
She forced a thin, wobbly smile to her lips as she ducked behind her desk.
The phone rang, and Cindy was grateful for the reprieve from her thoughts. Richard walked toward the elevator and offered her a subtle wave goodbye. She merely nodded in his direction as the voice on the line said something about the catering for the office party. Apparently, Kansas City was completely out of fresh cranberries. Which would take the cranberry cocktails, cranberry sauce, and several other items off the predetermined menu.
“Miss Ash?”
The baritone voice caught Cindy’s attention after she had completed her phone call, and she turned in surprise toward the conference room. “Yes, Mr. Fortescue?”
“I believe you’re my next appointment.”
“Oh.” The color drained from her cheeks. “Of course. Right.”
Her heart thundered in her chest as she walked toward the door.
Alastair Fortescue’s smile was tight and mirthless as she slipped into the room.
“Please close the door.” His voice was devoid of even the holiday brightness she had heard in the background behind the panicked caterer just a moment before.
She swallowed as she complied with his request.
“How long have you been at Fortescue Publishing?” he asked as she sat across from him.
Apparently, this was a no-nonsense interview. No frills. Not even a “hi, how are you?” She could get behind that.
“Three and a half years.” She tried to keep her answer as brief as possible. She suspected that the man across from her would appreciate that.
He peeked over at a list of questions which he’d already written down. It surprised her that the questions were written down. She’d expected more of a conversation.“Have you worked for Margaret Stone that whole time?”
She shook her head. “No, I started here as a personal assistant for Charlotte LaRoche.”
He merely nodded as he jotted the note down. “Where do you see the future of this company?”
A Little Christmas Pretense Page 7
