Page 3 of Player For Hire

I walked down the narrow hall to the dresser beside my bed, grabbing my standard uniform for the night.

My boss kept it easy, just black T-shirts over black jeans. The shirts had a small Celtic tree of life on the front and Lonegan’s logo along the back. For a little flair, I paired it with my favorite octopus buckle for my leather belt.

Thursday nights were usually wild, and I’d probably wish for a few extra arms by the time the night was through.

CHAPTER 2

NAOMI

I set my new laptop bag on my bed. The lemon yellow made me happy, as did the small stitched daisies that an inventive artist had added to it. I’d picked it up in a small shop called Every Line A Story when I’d gone out exploring. Nearby Crescent Cove was super adorable, and I’d spent a lovely afternoon walking their Main Street, but the little shop had taken a hold of me.

At first, I’d thought it was just a bookstore. Two hours later, I’d bought a notebook and a fountain pen I definitely hadn’t needed. The whole place was made for readers and writers, as well as crafters. I was trying desperately not to spend unnecessarily, but I’d needed a bit of retail therapy.

Which made me feel even more guilty about avoiding these particular boxes. I toed one of the two white banker’s boxes as well as nearly stubbed a toe on one hefty tub. My life’s work lived in these three containers.

I flipped the top off the larger tub and stared down at copies of all the books I’d written. The boring covers in varying shades of white or navy with very staid serif fonts proclaimed my greatest hits: Standard Operating Procedures of Real Estate in Ohio, or the equally scintillating How to Use Outlook manual I’d written in 2021, 2022, and 2023.

“Stop staring in those boxes.”

I glanced over my shoulder at my college best friend, Iona. She was leaning against the doorjamb of my bedroom. Her short blond hair was slicked back today, the ends flipped up in sharp edges. Big, gold hoops gave a playful edge to her severe hair and full face of makeup. Shrewd amber eyes winged with a dark liner that echoed her edgy hair made me feel frumpy and frizzy.

“They aren’t going to unpack themselves.”

She entered, her heels clicking on the hardwood. Poppy red slacks with a knife edge crease down the center of each leg made her seem far taller than she actually was. The black bustier showed off her chest and a neck full of chains in various lengths. A large center medal of Medusa hung from the choker laying perfectly in the middle of the tangle of other necklaces.

It was damp as hell outside, and she still looked as if she’d just walked off a runway.

I moved aside as she seemed to be on a mission.

“You’re not going to sit in here and pout about your job any longer.” Iona lifted the biggest box and carried it to my closet. “We’re putting these away and you can think all about job hunting on Monday.”

“But it’s only Thursday.” I twisted my fingers together as she picked up the next box and stacked it beside all my carefully arranged shoes.

Then she shoved the two boxes to the very back of the closet and shut the door soundly. “You’re on sabbatical.”

“I was fired. Very different.”

Iona swung around and crossed her arms under her stupendous breasts. “No, you’re on sabbatical. You got two months severance from that stupid company.”

“Two months to use the severance as a cushion while I look for a new job.” I folded my arms over my much less spectacular chest.

“Nope. You’re not going to worry about finding a job yet because you are not going to do another technical job like you were doing for Webster Press.” She stood in front of me and laid gentle hands on my upper arms. “Because that’s not what you should be doing, and you know it.”

My heart kicked up at the thought. “It’s good work, Iona.”

“I know it. But it’s boring and it’s getting outsourced left and right these days. No one needs creativity to write a textbook—especially the kind you were writing.”

She was right. I hated that she was right, but she was right. The tech industry was rapidly getting replaced by AI-generated writing, which horrified me on a level that I couldn’t explain. It wasn’t my dream writing, but the idea that a computer could replace people to that level was staggering. I’d put my name in for a half dozen jobs already and they either wanted entry-level people who were little better than data entry drones, or editors who were willing to hack away at said shit AI writing.

I was a writer, dammit, not an editor. Not that the editors were getting paid a living wage, either.

I had to find a new way to make a living and it was making me question everything. When Iona’s sister had gotten a new job in California, it had seemed like the perfect solution. I could save money by splitting rent with her, and it would make my surprisingly generous severance last a little bit longer.

Chicago was a beautiful city, but it was hella expensive. I’d spent the last four years there, climbing the corporate ladder at Webster Press, only to get fired with the first set of layoffs.

And now, I was back in New York, with my tail between my legs at the first sign of trouble.

“You are going to write that book.”

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