Page 10 of Wolfish Player
“That they’re stealing from the less fortunate and fattening the rich by asking me to give it back.”
“Heather…”
“That I’m aware and I’m very sorry.” I utter her scripted words. “And that perhaps this could be a win-win because Ilovethe world of publishing and I could be an asset to the authors who are capable of turning their words in on time.”
“As long as you dial down the eye rolls in that, it’ll be perfect.” She unlocks the doors. “Now, go kill this interview.”
“Wait, question.” I open the door. “As my agent, who got like fifteen percent of my advance, shouldn’t you surrender that money, too? Aren’t we in this together?”
“Get the hell out of the car, Heather.”
“I’m just saying…”
“Now.”
I resist saying anything else and step out of the car. Thanks to Joanna’s connection, Human Resources fast-tracked me to an interview for junior editing executive, and from the other potential jobs I have on deck—this one is the best.
It also pays six figures.
Granted, I’ll have to save over forty percent of every check, but still…
They didn’t seem to ask anything about me being an author for them, and I didn’t offer it either.
As I approach the entrance, I stop at the massive wolf statue that’s guarding the doors. The beast is standing on its hind legs and baring its teeth. It’s also surrounded by sculpted dead sheep.
This might be an omen.
Stalling, I look over my shoulder and back at Joanna’s car.
She’s flicking her hand, mouthing, “GET INSIDE!”
I continue hesitating.
Ever since I signed my book deal with this place, I’ve remained in awe that the CEO never placed a picture of himself on the website.
There are only pictures of his “team” and a short bio that’s never been updated, but one that comes at the bottom of every monthly newsletter they send.
Adrian Wolfson has been an avid reader since he was three years old, and he was born to publish great books.
“Get in the goddamn building now!” Joanna screams from behind.
I brush away all my thoughts and head inside.
The moment my heels hit the marble floor, a woman in a cream-colored blouse and matching pencil skirt rushes toward me.
“Are you Heather B?” she asks. “Here for an interview?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
“Wow. You’re twenty minutes early, just like Mr. Wolfson likes.” She shakes my hand. “He’ll love you based on this fact alone.”
“Good to know.”
“Do you know what’s better than breathing, Heather?” She’s still shaking my hand. “The thing that keeps our hectic and crazy world spinning around and around?”
“Uh…” I blink. “Love?”
“Stories!” She beams, releasing her death grip. “It’s stories! Good, unputdownable, and in some cases—hot and sexy—stories. The ones about serial killers and murders are good, too, though.”
