Page 48 of A Billion Dollar Romance
“A pen edit,” Margaret whistled low under her breath. “Old school.”
I shrugged, looking up from the double-spaced manuscript I was going over. “I heard retro is in. Have we ever thought about getting a turntable for the lounge? And maybe a bar cart?”
“Yeah, we’ll begreatproofreaders after a couple martinis at lunch,” Margaret laughed. “What is it that it’s worth the printer ink? Or were your eyes just swimming staring at the screen? You know what I recommend for eye fatigue–”
“Coffee?” I guessed.
Margaret held a hand to her chest, her expression scandalized. “No, certainly not. I don’t know where you would have gotten such an idea.” She smiled. “Blue light glasses, Edie.Blue light glasses.So, what is it?”
I lowered my voice conspiratorially. “It’s the romance.”
“Theromance,” Margaret said, eyebrows up at her hairline. “You’ve finally squeezed a perk out of your CEO? Early reading rights to the hottest new debut to come out of Verity Publishing in…” she grimaced. “Too long.”
I nodded. “Pretty much, yeah. I’m not giving real edits, just…” How did I say this without sounding…ugh. “Mr. Martin asked me to look over it. He’s not much of a romance reader.”
“Mr. Martin,” she teased, and I rolled my eyes. “And, well, that is the least surprising thing I’ve heard in quite some time.He doesn’t read romance.” She scoffed. “No offense intended, of course. You know what he’s like.”
I nodded. “Literary.”
“Ah,” Margaret said, her lip twitching. “Yes. That’s exactly what I meant.”
Oh. Somehow in all my worry about what my colleagues would think of me for dating the boss, I’d forgotten they’d spent a much longer time judginghim.
“Waslike,” I said, neutrally. “Yes, I do know what hewaslike.”
“Sorry, of course,” Margaret said, and looked away. “Sometimes I forget that you’re… Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said, but I turned back to my desk, my heart thumping. “I should…”
“Don’t let me keep you,” she said, and disappeared toward the break room. I closed my eyes. Was this worse? The casual implication? The sudden deference when she realized what she’d said?
The pity she’d feel when we inevitably “broke up”?
The breakup itself.
The coffee I’d drank too much of soured in my stomach, and despite my attempts to read the romance novel, I just couldn’t focus on the words. I shoved it aside without marking my page, and turned back to my real work on my screen, blinking a few times to clear my vision.
Margaret was right.
I would order some blue light glasses tonight.
* * *
“You’re sure I can’t convince you to come back to mine?” James asked, leaning across the gear stick of his car to nose against my jaw. “Miss Taylor?” I put one hand on his shoulder, shoving him lightly into his own seat.
“Not tonight,professor,” I said, holding up the romance manuscript. “I havehomework.”
“Ah, right,” he grimaced. “You’re doing me a favor.”
“Not at all. I’m making a night of it, like you said. Bathtub, candle…”
“Edie…” he growled. “That’s not a convincing argument for me to leave, you know that?”
I pushed open the car door, closing it behind me and wiggling my fingers at him through the dark glass of the window. “Bye, James,” I said, sing-song. I blew him a kiss for good measure, then turned.
The car window lowered with a smooth mechanical whir. “Tomorrow, Edie, shopping,” he called. I held my hand up in a wave without looking back.
* * *
