Page 50 of The Seven Year Slip

I couldn’t image him here at all.

And maybe that was for the best.

“Speakingof Falcon House,” Juliette went on, after Drew mentioned that Ann Nichols had a ghostwriter as well, “I heard that the executive editor over in their romance list now oversees theirentireimprint—fiction and nonfiction.”

Fiona gave a low whistle. “Are they single?”

Everyone gave her a look.

“What? For Clementine!”

“He has a fiancée,” I replied absently, just to show that I was, in fact, listening. I snagged another slice of cheddar—my favorite, it never failed me—and added, “Besides, you know me. I don’t have time to fall in love.”

21

Broken Doors

The next afternoon, drewtold me the news. The terrible, awful, infuriating news.

“We didn’t make it,” she whispered, sitting at the high-top table in the communal kitchen, absently stirring her black coffee, and I knew exactly what she meant—

James and his agent had rejected our offer.

My vision turned red almost immediately. “What?But—”

“I know,” she cut me off with a heavy sigh. “There’s no way we bid lower than Estrange Books, and I heard from Tonya that they are in the next round. He must’ve just not liked us.”

Which was a lie because Drew was impossible to hate, and we had pulled together a hell of a plan to send with our offer. “Well, he’s wrong, and he’s going to regret it.”

“Thanks,” she replied, and slipped off the stool at the table. She was trying to act like the decision hadn’t gutted her—she was an editor, after all, and she was used to disappointment. But this felt a little different because shehadgone after James Ashton. She’dpursued him. And under any other circumstances, she would’ve been the only editor to do so. It was just bad timing, and worse luck. “I think I’m going to go for a walk around the block. Tell Fiona if she comes looking?”

“Sure,” I said, a little helplessly, as she left for the elevator lobby. This didn’t make any sense. I thought for sure we’d atleastget to the next round. I paced the kitchen, trying to recall what Drew could’ve said, what tells there could’ve been during the meeting yesterday, but she was perfect. Her presentation of Strauss & Adder was spot-on, and her passion for the project had been almosttangible. The only other possibility was—

I froze in my footsteps.

Me.

He remembered me, and he didn’t want to work with me, andIwas the reason why he had rejected our offer. A sick feeling settled in my stomach because that was the only possible explanation.

I sank this acquisition. The second I knew it was Iwan, I should’ve recused myself, but I’d been so hungry toseehim, and to prove myself to Rhonda that I could handle it...

“Shit,” I muttered, raking my fingers through my hair.“Shit.”

I wished I couldsay the bad luck stopped there, but Rhonda found out that the chef passed on us, and to say she was a little disappointed was an understatement.

She stood by my cubicle, going over his proposal, our plans, and Drew’s declined offer with a shake of her head. “It must have been something said in the room. The offer is good—the royalties are ridiculously generous.” She shook her head, and instead of handing his proposal back to me, she tossed it right into my trash can. “Rubbish—all of it.”

“The agent assured us that everyone would more than likely get into the next round, too.”

“Obviously Lauren lied. Back to the drawing board, then. Let’s take this as a learning opportunity and move forward.”

Then she turned and left for her office, and I resisted the urge to bury my face in my hands. Alearningopportunity after I’d already been here seven years. This preliminary meeting should have been a cakewalk, and instead it had sealed our fate. I felt humiliated, mostly because I’d been so confident that wewouldmake it to the next round.

And I had been the one to blow it up, and that left us without a major player to fill the role of Basil Ray. Fuck Basil Ray, seriously. Did hehaveto go to Faux?

“Learning opportunity,” I reminded myself, pulling up Instagram and browsing some of the bigger foodgrammers, ruling out every good-looking guy who came across my feed. They couldn’t be trusted.

By the time five o’clock rolled around, I’d plotted four different ways to kill James Ashton and make it look like an accident. I even had a spot on the Hudson saved in my phone as the perfect place to dump his body—not that I would. But thinking about it made me feel better as I gathered my purse to leave.

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