Page 7 of Mocha Kisses

My gaze travels to the nightstand, my heart dropping to my stomach as I stare at the massive amount of paper I pulled from my bag last night. Job applications and old letters from creditors are scattered across the surface, neither of which I want to deal with right now.

The life I wanted to lead has completely unraveled because of one god-awful man—one man that I’ve never even met.

My father.

A buzz under my pillow tells me that my day has started as I fish out my phone and press answer once I see ‘boss’ roll across the screen.

“Yeah?” I clear my throat, embarrassed at how that came out. “Yeah, what’s up Max?”

“Still sleeping, I see. Of course, you were,” He says playfully but there’s a hint of urgency in his tone.

“You never told me what time I had to come into the office and checkout is at eleven.” We spoke briefly last night after he checked me into the hotel, letting me know that I had the rest of the day off. The only reason I’m awake at 7 am is because I caught one of the suited goons sitting in the lobby last night when I ran down there for coffee. He’s not one of the same ones I saw yesterday. This one was a bit terrifying with a stocky build and a glare that could kill.

“Plans have changed, Luna baby.”

I’m not sure why but I trust Max’s direction for what he needs from me. “Yeah, okay. Whatever. I’ll get dressed.”

“Pack your bags too.”

“What?” He’s never asked me to change cities before. I do that on my own time based on how close the suited goons are. Or how spooked I am. Or how high my anxiety is at that point. Since I spend my time split between my car, coffee shops, and a motel occasionally, I’m not tied down like a lot of the other editors. Max mentioned a new project yesterday but I didn’t think it would include moving.

“I’ll explain more at the office. You said you’re always down to travel. So… you’re traveling. Hurry up. I’ll have coffee for you. The good stuff that you like.”

He hangs up on me, leaving me to shove myself in the jeans I discarded last night and a shirt that smells mostly clean. It’s cleaner than some of the other editors have been in their entire lives so I’ll take it. I finger the motley crew of curls on my head and pull it into a ponytail before stuffing my other items into my bag. I avoid staring in the mirror for too long, afraid to see the toll that yesterday took on me.

No doubt my eyes are still sunken in and that cut from yesterday is starting to throb. There’s no reason to dwell on what I look like. At least last night’s shower was a present sent from heaven and I no longer smell like a sweaty back alley.

Leaving my key card on the bed, I slip out the back entrance which puts me right next to my car. I finger along some of the newer scrapes, chuckling out of pure panic as I remember the times I sped away from the suited goons. I’m in a movie of my father’s own making and I hope I get to dole out the same pain and terror I’ve dealt with all these years right back to him.

Ten minutes later I’m strolling into Max’s office with a freshly brewed mocha cappuccino from the lounge, ignoring the stares from my coworkers who believe in coming into the building every day. KJ, a long-time employee, has had more than one conversation during those 9 am meetings about the importance of coming into the office and working alongside others. Thank god Max said that was all bullshit.

“What was so urgent?” I belt out, grimacing when I see a frazzled Casey standing there. Her head is bowed, hands fisted at her side as she turns to look at me. Other than looking a little embarrassed, she’s the same Barbie doll-looking individual I know her to be. Max hired a bunch of them, thinking that it might boost the morale in the office. They are good editors and even better with social media, promoting the writers that we take on well.

Their social media presence brings a lot of attention, which is the reason Max hasn’t fired any of them of late.

Casey narrows her gaze at me, pointing in my direction as if I’ve done something. “What is she here for? It is not my fault that-”

Max shakes his head and stands up. “Casey, you were sent there to help him edit his manuscript. A manuscript that has to be ready to promote in less than a month. The release date hasn’t been set but it will be in the next two months or so. And yet, in four days, I’ve been informed that you’ve done nothing but hang out.” His voice is steady, devoid of the playfulness I know it for.

“But-” She tries again.

“No.I don’t care what rumors are flying around about him. You were not sent there for that. Did you know that his lawyer threatened to sue if you didn’t leave? Well, the other one in that house relayed the message. I get them all confused. It doesn’t matter. Casey, I thought you were different from the last editors we sent.” He throws out a bitter laugh, running both hands through his hair. Max hasn’t acknowledged me yet but I think it’s because I was meant to see this. “He’s hard to work with. I get that. Several editors have come back refusing to work with him. His style is… different. However, this isn’t the kind of press the company needs right now.”

Casey smirks, leaning back on one foot as if whatever she’s about to say is going to make the situation turn in her favor. I doubt it. “No. You don’t get to do that. You pumped him up to be this tattooed god that writes books and now we get in trouble for leaning into that personality only to find that it’s bullshit? Did you even know he was gay?”

Silence filters into the office as I realize who they’re talking about. I’m usually absent from all the big changes as I just speak with Max and whatever writer I’m working with most days. However, I’m not deaf and the rumors about this tattooed writer have crossed my lap a few times. He’s supposedly this brooding, hunk of a man that will sleep with anything that has two legs and a hole. A horrible description but with the many tabloid rumors running through the office, I can see why Casey believed she’d get a free ride.

I just didn’t think she was stupid enough to do itinsteadof her job.

I also had no idea Max was still sending that guy editors when the current agreement clearly isn’t working.

“Max, what is going on?” I ask, finally inserting myself into the conversation

My boss clears his throat. “For one or two of our higher profile writers, we’ve had editors working with them directly as an added benefit and because timelines are usually a bit shorter what with all of the PR that’s in their contracts. Unfortunately, the last few sent out to him specifically decided to play into a persona that Yana built him rather than do their job.Thatwill be dealt with. Casey, you’re dismissed.” We wait for her to leave the office and she slams the door behind her before Max continues. “He’s not as problematic as he seems. There’s just a few… issues he’s dealing with that hamper his ability to write. He needs coaxing and direction that an editor or writing coach can provide.”

I snort, knowing that Max is trying to be nice. What he really means is that this writer doesn’t meet deadlines and our PR manager–Yana–likes creating personas for our more popular writers so that people have something to talk about in between books. It’s a terrible tactic but it does sell more books, even if her wild ideas are a little outlandish for a publishing company.

A sigh leaves my lips as I place my hands on my hips, turning my attention back to the problem at hand. “So, you’re sending me out there? What the fuck do you think I’m going to be able to do? I’m not all that agreeable either.” I chuckle at the memory of receiving a manuscript, reading the author’s name and immediately sending it back to Max. I told him I refused to make that wonderful woman cry with how much I was going to make her work bleed. It wasn’t bad but her style wasn’t going to vibe with mine.

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