Page 25 of Point of Contention
As I returned her smile, I sat up straighter, her compliment reminding me that Ididhave something to offer.
“I’d love to hear what you learned during your time at Reed Romance, if you feel comfortable sharing that with me.”
My stomach twisted at the mention of the internship, but I nodded and forced a smile, then began explaining the various things I did with Blanca Arroyo in editorial, and the way Cabot and I would dissect manuscripts together—
After a few minutes, she raised her hand. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but…” She watched me, eyes thoughtful as she considered her words. “I understand how personal this whole situation must be for you, but I have to ask.”
I swallowed hard, bracing myself for whatever she was about to say.
“I’ve seen what they’re saying about you.”
I nodded as anxiety traced a cold finger down my spine.
“I’m not sure how to ask this, so I’m just going to spit it out. What made you leave your internship? Is it because you’re engaged to the CEO? A conflict of interest, perhaps?”
I hadn’t prepared for this, but I should have. Of course she’d want to know why I was so publicly linked to Cabot Reed but no longer working for him. Anyone who interviewed me would want to know the same thing.
I breathed deeply and answered as honestly as I could without giving too much away. “I think that the most important thing is that I am no longer involved with Cabot Reed or Reed Publishing.”
She nodded, considering my response—and its vagueness—and I prayed she’d leave it at that. I wasn’t ready for anyone to dig too deeply into my personal life.
“We are a small press, Rylan,” she continued, motioning to her surroundings. “Are you truly interested in working for someone like me after spending time at a behemoth like Reed Romance? After learning directly from someone like Mr. Reed?” Her eyes searched mine. “Or… are you settling?”
I exhaled the breath I’d been holding and nearly laughed with relief. I’d braced myself for her to dive deeper, delve into my affair with the CEO of Reed Publishing—or worse, ask me something invasive about our sex life—but she’d kept the question professional, and honestly, it was a valid concern.
A person didn’t just leave the glitz and glam of Reed Tower and end up in Greenwich Village by accident.
“Truthfully,” I began, “my dream is to work in publishing, whatever that looks like. I want to learn everything there is to know about the industry; I don’t really care where I start.”
She nodded, but the skin around her eyes tightened and I realized how that might have sounded.
I grimaced and gave my head a quick shake. “I’m sorry. “I’m very nervous.” I gave a breathy laugh. “May I back track?”
Ms. Matthews inclined her head as she motioned for me to proceed. “Yes, of course.”
“Working at Turn the Paige isn’t settling. You publish quality work, and from what I gathered while researching your house, your authors are happy.”
“They are,” she agreed. “We are a family here. We work as a team, alongside the author from start to finish.”
I smiled and nodded. “That’s what I’m looking for, that hands on experience from the first words on the page to the final book in hand.”
Ms. Matthews nodded slowly. “And you understand that this would be an entry-level position as my assistant, correct? Minimum wage, no benefits…”
I nodded. Anything was better than nothing at this point. My savings had just about run out, and without my evening shifts at White Rabbit, I had no income to speak of.
“The hands-on experience you desire might look like fetching coffee and entering notes into a spreadsheet. For now, anyway. Is that something you’re willing to do?”
Disappointment settled in my gut, but I nodded again.
“Okay, Rylan, thank you for coming in today. I have a few other interviews scheduled throughout the rest of the week and into next, but I will call if you if I’d like you to come in for a second interview with my partner.”
I stood, trying to fight the feeling of failure pressing down on my shoulders.
I’d expected to get the job today.
Embarrassment heated my cheeks and chest. It hadn’t evenoccurredto me that there might be other applicants. Possibly even some who were more qualified than I was—without a nationwide scandal hanging over their heads.
As I reached the lobby and stepped outside, the first tear fell.
