by Mia Faye
“So sorry to bother you again,” I said, teeth gritted. “But do you guys live in the building?”
“I do,” the man said. He did look vaguely familiar. I must have seen him around while visiting Yvette.
“Do you know Yvette Matthews? She lives in 23.”
The man laughed, to my surprise. He exchanged a knowing look with his partner. There was definitely a story there.“You mean the fed?” he asked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Jen and I have a theory about her. She’s rarely at home, only pops in once or twice a week, never has any visitors. And one time, there was this guy in a suit watching the building for like two hours. We think she’s a federal agent of some sort.”
I couldn’t help grinning at that.
“It’s nowhere near as exciting as that, I’m afraid. She works in the editorial department of a publishing firm.”
The head of it, in fact. A flicker of hope sprang up in my chest. I hadn’t thought about that; Yvette had just been promoted at work. That meant she had to come back, right?
“But you know her, right?” I asked again.
“Sure,” the man said. “As well as you can know a neighbor you never see, I guess.”
“Have you seen her today? This morning, maybe?”
“I don’t think so…” the man started to say, and then his voice trailed off.
“Actually, we did,” the woman said, speaking up for the first time.
Two pairs of eyes turned simultaneously to her.
“When we were coming up here?” she said, frowning at her partner.
“Oh, yes!” he said, slapping his forehead lightly. “She was heading out, I think. Big bag and everything. We passed her on our way up here.”
My heart leaped.“What time was that?”
“About 40 minutes ago? Yeah. An hour tops.”
“Wait, did you say she had a bag with her?”
“Yeah. Looked like she was traveling.”
My heart sank.“Okay,” I said slowly. “Thanks, man. Sorry again for interrupting.”And I turned and made my way off the rooftop and back down the building.
Where would she go? Clearly, the plan was to get away from me, but she didn’t have any friends in the city that I knew of. Unless…
I stopped, the realization hit me like a slap across the face. Of course. She did have a friend, just not in the city. I had met him, too. What was his name…? The gentleman who had helped her move in. But that meant she was going back home!
I glanced at my watch, a feeling of urgency settling over me. It was just after one. With any hope, her flight hadn’t boarded, and I could still catch her.
I raced down the stairs, taking them three at a time. I rushed to my car and jumped in. The airport was about 20minutes away. Less, if I flouted some traffic rules.
As soon as I got on the highway, though, I realized I had not accounted for traffic. It wasn’t exactly gridlocked; there was a seemingly endless stream of cars in front of me, but they were moving. Even so, it felt like I sat there, bouncing in my seat, for hours. I kept looking at my watch. I kept muttering, ‘Come on, come on’ under my breath. I kept checking my phone in the wild hope that Yvette had called me back.
When the snarl-up cleared, I floored the gas pedal. I heard the angry hoots of other drivers as I shot past them, and the curse words flung at me, most of them snatched by the wind. I resigned myself to the fact that I was probably going to get a ticket, and once that caution was out the window, I could finally make it to the airport in good time.
I started the search right outside. It was weird because I had no idea what I was looking for. It would be impossible to pick Yvette out of a crowd like that. I went in and made my way to the nearest service desk.
“Hi…” My eyes darted down to the name on the lapel of the lady behind the desk. “Margaret. How are you doing today?”
Margaret smiled. “I’m very well, thank you. How can I help you?”
“What time does the flight to Rockford leave?”
“Are you traveling?”
“Me? No. But my… uh… someone I know is, and I was kind of hoping to speak with her before she does.”
Margaret nodded, her slight smile telling me she knew exactly what I meant. She must have seen a few airport chase scenes, working here. She clacked away at her computer and looked back up at me with a frown.
“I’m afraid the flight is just about to board.”
“But it hasn’t boarded yet, right?” I asked hopefully.
“It will, in the next few minutes. I don’t think you can…”
“Margaret?” I interrupted, leaning forward and treating her to my most charming smile. She blushed slightly, and her eyes were wide as she met my gaze. “I know you understand what I’m trying to do here. The love of my life is about to get on that plane, and I’m afraid if I don’t tell her how I feel before she does, then I could lose her forever. Please.”
The love of my life. It was the first time I was saying it out loud, admitting it to myself. But I realized as I said it, that I had known all along. Mother had been right. I was never going to get there without a little push. But here I was, terrified and vulnerable, yet the conviction I felt was incredibly strong.
“I think that’s beautiful,” Margaret said. “And I really wish I could help you out, but no one is allowed past the gate before boarding. I’m sorry.”
“What do I need to do, buy a ticket?”
“That wouldn’t help, as the flight is already boarding.”
What if I made a run for it? I didn’t ask that one out loud, but Margaret was watching me, and it’s almost like she read my mind.
“You can’t get past the guards over there,” she pointed at a couple of beefy, menacing-looking gentlemen a few feet away.
I sighed, finally defeated. No big, romantic gesture, it appeared. No sprinting through the airport, dodging guards, and shouting Yvette’s name as I ran. I was going to miss her by mere seconds, just like the day before. And I only had myself to blame. Why did I wait so long?
“Well, thanks anyway.”
“I’m sorry,” Margaret said, and she looked like she meant it. “For what it’s worth, I’m sure she knows.”
If only.
Chapter 28
Yvette
“Have you read the book, Miss Matthews?” Cavill asked, sitting back in his chair and turning his piercing gaze on me.
He looked nothing like I thought he would. When I thought of a fantasy novelist, I pictured a mousy, nerdy guy in his thirties; skinny, with glasses and a wild mane of hair. Cavill was the exact opposite. He was large, with a shiny scalp but a thick beard, and he was closer to polished intelligence than geekiness.
He looked like a Literature professor with tenure. Calm, confident, and assured, quietly assessing everything around him and listening raptly before speaking himself. He was decidedly impressive.
“I have, yes,” I said. I grabbed my glass of lemonade and took a sip.“I kinda had to, seeing as I was editing it.”
“Oh, I thought you were simply digitizing it?” Cavill asked.
“I am. We are, I should say. But it’s not just about changing it from one medium to another. It’s about making sure the message translates. I had to go over it from an editorial perspective, see if there was anything that needed updating.”
“I’m not sure how I feel about that,” Cavill said. He stroked his beard thoughtfully, but his eyes remained on me. “Maintaining the integrity of the work and all that.”
“How do you mean?”
“Obviously, the book as it is now… that’s not 100 percent the way I wrote it. As every writer knows, the finished product is a marriage between author and editor. The author’s job is to bring forth his vision, and the editor’s to amplify it, clarify. When I finished the manuscript for King and Country, I was worried it would get streamlined into this standard text, that editorial intervention would interfere with my voice. I don’t think you would know the t
eam that worked on my manuscript; it was a long time ago. Editors want to edit, as you can imagine. My point is, I barely survived that editing process. I’m not sure I can go through another one.”
“I get it,” I told him. “Of course, the most important thing is the writer’s voice. I didn’t mean I was going to edit it afresh. Only touching it up here and there, where necessary. And I won’t be doing it on my own, of course. I want to create a dialogue with you. It’s why I called this meeting. You’ll have final say over everything I do.”
Cavill nodded, seemingly satisfied.“Have you done this for all the writers whose books you’re digitizing?” he asked.
“Only the stubborn ones,” I said. That got a laugh out of him.
I finished my lemonade and looked at my watch.
“Would you excuse me, Mr. Cavill?”
“Of course.”
I grabbed my bag and ducked out of the main seating area of the restaurant. One of the waiters gave me a funny look as I walked past her in the direction of the bathroom. I didn’t blame him. It was my third trip there in the time I had been there.
I got into the farthest stall from the door and locked it. I was so pressed my bladder was threatening to burst open. I hurriedly opened my bag and rummaged in it for the kit. I fumbled with some wipes, cleaned the seat, and plopped heavily onto it. I got the little bottle I had thrown into the bag as well, and when I was almost done, I shifted and positioned it between my legs.
It was the third time I was doing this. I didn’t feel any less nervous; if anything, it made me more anxious each time. Even though I already knew what to expect.
The waiting was the worst. It was agonizing, that lull, the deafening silence between taking the test and waiting to see the result. I knew it was only five minutes, but it felt much, much longer. Each of those seconds was an endless passage of time, during which I found myself drawing up scenarios in my head for how this would work out. If it would work out. The pacing didn’t help. Deep breaths didn’t do anything. There was apparently nothing to do but stare at that strip and wait. Even when I looked away, I found myself still looking at it.
Finally, I saw the screen start to change color. The tiny plus sign morphed slowly into view, as I had known it would, and it was still disappointing and shocking.
You can’t deny it anymore, Vee.
Three out of three tests. Three of three positive results. At this point, I was deluding myself. There was no chance all three were faulty. Hell, there was very little chance even one was faulty.
I stared at the test until my vision started to blur. A single tear dropped onto my hand. I hadn’t even realized I was crying. I wiped it away with an angry swipe of my arm. No, I was done crying. It was about time I thought about the next step.
But not just yet. First, I had a meeting to finish. And then I could contemplate my life falling apart.
I hurriedly retouched my make-up and patted down my hair. There wasn’t much I could do about my eyes, though, which were slightly bloodshot from crying.
The waiter gave me another suspicious look as I walked out. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him walk into the restroom. What did he think I had been doing, I wondered?
“Is everything okay?” Cavill asked me as I settled back into my seat. Somehow, he managed to walk the line between aloof and concerned quite well. Or maybe he was just being civil.
“Yes. Sorry to keep you.”I had to. I had tried taking the test when I got to the restaurant, thirty minutes before he did, and then again fifteen minutes later, but my bladder had either been empty or uncooperative on both occasions.
“It’s not a problem,” he said.
“Are we in agreement, then?” I asked him. “About the book?”
“One question,” he said, putting up a long finger. “I understand the idea of digitizing books. I get the purpose. But tell me, honestly. Does this benefit me at all, or is this purely about your publishing company?”
“It’s a bit of both, Mr. Cavill. And that’s the truth. We get to modernize our library, maybe push sales a bit with the rereleased material. But we also put your book in the hands of new readers. At the very least, we introduce the world of King and Country to someone who wasn’t around fifteen years ago when it was first released. I’m no writer myself, but I know one thing about all writers. You want to be heard. No matter what happens with the book, this gives you a second chance at doing just that.”
Cavill grinned. I suddenly got the sense that there was more to the meeting than I had initially assumed.
“You know, Miss Matthews, you’re a very impressive young woman,” he said after a thoughtful pause. I couldn’t say for sure, but I thought his eyes were smiling, too.“I don’t say that about a lot of people, so in a way, it’s high praise indeed.”
“Uh, thank you, sir.”
“How would you like to come work for me?”
“What?”
“As I said earlier, I care a great deal about the integrity of the author’s work. In all the years I’ve dealt with publishing companies, I have learned that the business is always the priority. Even when they say it’s not. Now, I’ll give your firm credit; Penguin is better than most at the personal aspect. They at least try to understand their writers, instead of squeezing them into a box. And you’re proof of that. Any other editor would have gone ahead with the digitizing without bothering to contact me. But you did. You made the effort to get me on board. You wanted it to be a conversation.
“I have a confession to make, Miss Matthews. I wasn’t completely honest with you about my intentions. You see, this is a meeting, yes. But it was also an interview of sorts. I wanted to meet the woman who insisted on a sit down because she wanted to stay true to the spirit of a book written over a decade ago.”
“I still don’t understand,” I said, shaking my head.
Cavill grinned again. “And I thought you were so sharp.”
He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small case, from which he drew a card and slipped it across the table to me. It was a business card with his name and the words REAL written across in long, slanting letters.
“I’m starting a little publishing firm. Well, I have started a publishing firm. It’s still very young. I’m actually in the process of recruiting similar-minded individuals. The good news is, I think I just found the first.”
“You want me to work for you?” I asked, stunned.
“I’m glad you finally caught on. Yes, I do. But not for me. With me.”
“But… I work for Penguin.”
“Indeed. And you’ve been doing an excellent job there, from what I can see. I know the company is going through a bit of a shake-up, what with the tragic demise of the inimitable Mr. Banks. I have no doubt Penguin will remain in very good hands. What I’m offering you is a chance to start over, to be part of something new, to build something up from the ground.”
I slunk back in my chair, completely at a loss for words.
I was so close to canceling this meeting like I had been doing since Wyatt died. It had been the one thing stopping me from leaving right away, that last post-it on the corner of the computer at the end of the day. And now this?
There was some appeal to his offer now that I thought about it. A lot of appeals, actually, primarily the chance to get away from Cam. In a way, the job at Penguin had always been doomed, especially after I slept with him before I even reported. This could be a chance to start over, as Cavill was saying. The prospect of not having to work in constant proximity with Cam was a temptation I could not overlook.
He had a point about the work, too. I had always wanted to work with artists. The appeal of editorial work was just as he had described it, amplifying. Figuring out what the author was trying to say and helping them do exactly that. If he saw that in me, it meant he understood who I was, who I wanted to be professionally. The more I thought about it, the more I realized it was a gift, a golden opportunity.
There was only one problem. Well
, two problems, but one migraine at a time.
“The thing is, Mr. Cavill,” I said. “I am sort of dealing with something personal, and I’m heading out of town for a while.”
“Ah, so that comically large bag would be yours?”He pointed to the corner closest to us, where I had stashed my bag. The plan had been to leave the meeting and then the city.
“I don’t know about ‘comically large.’ That one only has my make-up.”
Cavill threw his head back and laughed. “A sharp tongue, too? You must come and work with me.”He held up a hand as I started to speak again.“It’s okay, Miss Matthews. I think I understand what you mean. Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to make this an open offer. You can take your time; think about it. Go on your trip, fight your demons. Then, when you get back, give me a call, and we’ll sit down again. Does that sound good?”
“Yes. That would be wonderful, thank you.”
“I hope you say yes, for what it’s worth. I think we could be part of something great, you and me.”
“You flatter me, Mr. Cavill.”
“Excellent. To the next meeting, then.” He held up his coffee cup, and I picked up my empty lemonade glass and clinked it against his.
“There is a gentleman over there who has been staring at you for a few minutes now,” Cavill said suddenly. “Do you know him?”
My stomach did its now-customary wobble whenever I thought about Cam. He couldn’t have found me here, surely? I looked in the direction Cavill indicated, and to my enormous relief, it was Tyler, sitting a few tables over.
“Oh!” I said, the relief oozing out of my voice. “Yes. That’s my best friend, Tyler. He’s here for me.”
Cavill nodded, got up, and gave me a final wink. Then he straightened his coat and walked briskly from the restaurant.
Tyler came rushing over. I got up and threw myself into his arms. I was so happy to see him; I didn’t even understand it.
