Page 65 of We Met Like This
“Thank you. What about the setting? Was it better?”
“It was better,” I said.
She sighed. “Don’t bullshit me, Margot.”
“It could still use some work.”
“I was afraid you’d say that. Have you made any headway with Rob? Has he read any pages?”
“That’s what I’m calling to tell you.” I paused, squared my shoulders, then finished with, “I quit.”
“You quit? Did you get a job somewhere else?”
“No, I’m starting my own agency.”
“Oh.” She sounded less than pleased with this development. “I guess it makes sense. Your timing couldn’t be worse.”
“I’m sorry about that. I tried to convince him about your book. He wasn’t open to discussing it with me,” I said, remembering how he was only open to kissing me at the time. My anger reignited in my chest.
“Guess I’ll have to convince him myself. You quitting doesn’t have to do with my book, does it?”
“No. Nothing like that. He didn’t see the same future for me that I saw for myself.”
“That sounds like a theme for him.”
“I’d love to read the rest of your book,” I said. “if you still want feedback. And”—I gave a nervous chuckle—“if Rob ever retires or croaks or something and you find yourself in need of an agent, think of me.”
Across the room, Sloane’s eyes went wide, like she didn’t think I’d ever have the guts to say that to Kari Cross, queen of romance.
Kari gave a sharp laugh. “Call me in a few years when you’ve gotten your feet wet and we’ll see if Rob is still screwing me over.”
My stomach clenched with her words. The words I was afraid every potential client was going to say. I had relationships with editors, had sold a couple books myself, even, but I’d done it all under the supervision of Rob. “Yes, of course.”
“But I might take you up on the reading,” she said.
“Please do. I’ll send you my personal email.”
“Sounds good. Talk to you later, Margot.”
I hung up.
“What did she say?” Sloane asked, her arms full of books.
“That I don’t have enough experience.”
Sloane rolled her eyes. “What does she call the last four years?”
“She calls them me being a glorified intern,” I said, remembering my sister’s words.
“Maybe she’s not as smart as I thought,” Sloane said, adding her pilfered books to my box.
“No, she’s smarter.”
Sloane put a finger under my chin. “Buck up. You got this. Don’t let one author rejection bring you down.”
I slapped her hand away. “It’s a little bit more than one rejection that’s bringing me down.”
“I know. But we’re going to solve all your problems at our business brainstorming session with Oliver after this.”
