Page 54 of Point of Contention

“What?”

“It’s a long story. We are no longer romantically involved.” I sighed as the words left my lips, speaking a painful truth into existence. “She has seven weeks remaining in her internship.”

“Hm.” The sound of his fingers clicking across the keyboard filled the silence. “I’ve made a note of that in her file.”

“You’d be lucky to have her,” I finally said. “She’s incredibly gifted.”

“She applied for an entry-level assistant job, Cabot. I don’t thinkgiftedreally makes a difference.”

Shaking my head, I rubbed my hand over the back of my neck and stared out the window at the brightening sky. “She’d be better suited in editorial.”

“Even so, I cannot, in good faith, hire her for an editorial position without experience. You understand that.”

“Fine.” I waved my hand in the air. He was right, of course, but I didn’t like it. “Start her at the bottom and see how quickly she rises to the top. She’s going to make a name for herself in publishing; mark my words.”

“Seems she already has.”

My jaw tightened.

“Apologies, friend, that was inappropriate.” He paused, then added, “I’ll see to it that there is a position available for her when she has completed her time at Reed Romance. It won’t be much, pencil-pushing and general clerical duties, I imagine, but if she’s as good as you claim, I’m sure we’ll find a suitable place for her within the editing department in no time.”

“You won’t regret it.”

“No,” he said on a laugh, “I imagine I won’t. Nothing like having a favor from the great Cabot Reed in my back pocket.”

Rolling my eyes, I said, “Try not to piss off any more romance authors, Marcellus.”

“Too soon, Cabot.” He ended the call and I laughed.

One of my recent New York Times’ bestsellers was someone who’d left Marcellus’ company after they couldn’t come to an agreement on contract terms for her latest series. It was a mistake he likely wouldn’t allow to happen again on his watch, and I had no doubt someone on his editing team had paid for the blunder with their job.

Leaning back in the seat, I closed my eyes and smiled. At least, if I couldn’t oversee Rylan’s rise to the top of the publishing world, I could have some hand in ensuring she worked her way there under the care of someone I respected in the industry.

Chapter Twenty

Rylan

Standing in the lobby of Hilltop Publishing Saturday afternoon, I breathed deeply and tried not to fidget. I’d applied before Cabot had shown up on my doorstep and convinced me to return to the internship, but when they called to invite me to participate in the hiring fair, the woman on the phone didn’t seem to mind that I was still almost two months away from being able to start work if I was hired.

The hiring fair was intimidating in and of itself, what with all the hopeful applicants in the room, but the curious looks added a layer of discomfort to the waiting. Not a chair was empty, and not only was everyone seated around me my direct competition, but they likely knew who I was and how my life had unraveled in recent weeks.

As I tried not to meet their questioning gazes, I couldn’t help but wonder what they all had that might push me right out of the running for an entry-level position at this company.

Maybe they’d already done the time at another publishing house. Maybe they hadn’t made headlines for a sordid affair with a man twice their age.

Even as doubt crept in and tried to suffocate me, I clung tightly to the fact that I’d already made it through one phone interview with someone in Human Resources. That had to be a good sign. Plus, I’d recently returned to my internship, so I would have that hands-on training under my belt—which the other hopefuls didn’t have.

I fought to ignore the curious stares, focusing instead on the screen of my cell phone as I texted with Greer. If I looked up, met their gazes, I knew what I’d see. Everyone knew who I was. They’d read the stories, heard the whispers. There was no avoiding my public shaming.

Had we been anyone else… no, hadhebeen anyone else, we wouldn’t have even made the news.

Life wasn’t fair.

Instead of lingering around the edge of the room like a wallflower, I stood tall, proud, with my shoulders back. I was a woman someone like Cabot Reed took seriously.

I wasn’t a mistress. I wasn’t some dumb girl he took advantage of.

Regardless of what these people—and anyone else—might think, I deserved that internship, and I deserved a seat at the table in any publishing house smart enough to hire me.

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