Page 4 of We Met Like This
Sloane would make me put five dollars in the Bad Decisions jar if she saw me right now, too many buttons undone on my shirt, my dark hair curled into beachy waves, my plum-colored lipstick on, leaning into my boss’s office at just the right angle for a cleavage view.
After my terrible date last night and the walk of shame back into the dating apps, I needed some excitement, but Rob was too preoccupied with his computer to give me much of anything. “An email is fine. I’m doing lunch today with Kathy Green, so—”
“The editor?” I asked, taking a step forward and straightening my shoulders. Los Angeles was not New York. It was rarethat he met face-to-face with editors here. Like me, he usually pitched over emails or phone calls or, unlike me, on his quarterly New York trips.
“Yes, I’m pitching her Sarah’s book. She’d be a good fit, yes?”
“She’d be a great fit.” I’d worked hard on Sarah’s book. I was the one who’d found it in the slush pile of emails that came into Rob’s inbox from authors hoping he’d represent them. It was my job to comb through those emails, pick out the promising ones, and sometimes… most of the time… pass them on to Rob. But not before giving him my notes for story improvements.
Occasionally, Rob let me junior-agent on authors I personally found. Share most of the responsibilities in exchange for a small cut of the commissions. But Sarah was not one of those cases. He thought she was going to be big. He handled clients he saw the most potential in.
For the last three years, Rob had promised me thatsoon, very soon, I could be a full-fledged agent. It was beyond frustrating that I hadn’t been promoted yet, because my clients did decently well, they earned royalties, they made best-of lists.
“What time is the meeting?” I asked. My eyes went to the clock on the wall in his office. It was ten. “Should we walk over together?” He had promised me the last time he had a local meeting that I could comenexttime so I could meet more editors in person. Face-to-face was so important to build rapport.
He finally looked over at me from where he’d been typing who-knows-what on his keyboard. His eyes lingered on my blouse, then jumped to my lips. “Just me this time. I’ll take you along next time. It would be good for you to see the master at work.” With those words he gave me a flirty wink.
He was handsome, really handsome, with dark hair, piercingblue eyes, and a strong nose. Plus, he was charming, always saying just the right things at just the right time. That was how I’d gotten into trouble before. But today I wasn’t going to let him charm his way out of a promise. I crossed my arms over my chest, suddenly wishing I’d buttoned my shirt all the way up to my chin. “That’s what you said last time.” I sounded like a petulant child. I kind of felt like one.
“Did I?” he asked. “Well, this meeting is more just old friends catching up with a pitch thrown in the mix. I wouldn’t want you to feel like a third wheel.”
I mentally pulled up the list my sister, Audrey, had given me years ago about the art of negotiation. She was the most successful person I knew in real life, so she often became my internal compass.
Common interests.That was one of the C’s. “I’d be a great second opinion on Sarah’s book. Two people excited about a project is better than one.”
“I have this one.” He picked up a stack of papers from his desk and held them out. “Will you file these with the rest of the contracts?”
Rob wasn’t about compromise (one of the other C’s) because he had all the power. He was dismissing me now. Redirecting me. And I was letting him—walking forward, taking those papers, and leaving his office. I pulled his office door shut behind me even though it had been open when I arrived. It was my passive-aggressive form of rebellion. I quickly filed his contract in the agency file room and went back to my desk in the lobby, where I’d been stationed for the last six months. Ever since the office’s receptionist had taken a better job across town. Rob had promised they were still looking for a replacement. That it would happensoon, very soon.
I seethed while answering phones, responding to emails and receiving packages, because it was better to be angry than hurt. I hated that Rob still had the power to hurt me.
As he was leaving the office at eleven forty-five, Rob said, “While I’m gone, will you reach out to Kari and see if you can schedule a phone appointment for later this week?” as if he hadn’t rejected me that morning.
I clenched my jaw and nodded. Kari was his top client and I enjoyed talking to her, hearing about her latest projects or ideas or her struggles and blocks. But not even the thought of talking to Kari could loosen my jaw.
“Great,” he said. On his way out the door he turned back. “Oh, and I probably won’t be back in today. Why don’t you treat yourself and leave at four instead of five.” He took two steps backward and the door swung shut between us. He stood for a moment, staring at me through the glass like I should mouth athank youor blow a kiss. He was obviously expectingsomething. When I did nothing, he looked down at his phone and walked away.
I let out a frustrated grunt, sent an email to Kari, then did what I often did when I was dissatisfied with my job: typed in the address for my dream agency in New York—Mesner & Lloyd Lit. Getting a job there as an agent was a pipe dream without more stats on my résumé and as long as the wordjuniorwas still in my title.
I took my phone out of my purse that was tucked under my desk and shot off a text to Sloane:I thought sleeping with your boss was supposed to get you ahead in your career.
I stared at my phone, waiting for her to chime in with some empathetic frustration that would make me feel better, but she was obviously actually working today.
She was a film agent. It was how we met four years ago. One of Rob’s clients was working with her to sell their film rights. Sloane and I were on the phone weekly trying to iron out the details. She had thoughtIwas the lit agent, because of how little she had talked to Rob. Eventually, she and I were having weekly lunches. Then, when we found out our leases were ending at the same time, we decided to become roommates. One of the best decisions I’d made in the last several years. Theonlygood decision? No. I shook my head. There were others, even though I couldn’t think of any at the moment.
I was starting to put my phone away when I saw a little red notification next to one of my dating apps. Ugh. I’d matched with a couple guys the night before, under Sloane’s watchful direction. But I’d avoided looking at the apps ever since.
The message waiting now read:Should we just start by exchanging full body pics, save ourselves some time.
I rolled my eyes.
Phase one of dating-app swiping consisted of collecting a wide array of potentials. I tried to match with as many people as possible to give myself a fighting chance. This was my least favorite phase because I’d end up chatting with a handful of guys, most of whom didn’t want to have conversations at all. Even the conversations that had promise still felt forced, and I loathed that with all my romance-loving soul.
It was the opposite of a meet-cute. The opposite of a chance encounter or eyes meeting across a crowded room or hands accidentally touching on a handrail. I wanted a mixed-up coffee order or a fighting over the same taxi or reserving the same book at the library and both getting called to come pick it up and then both realizing we had the exact same taste in books. I wanted a knocking someone over inWarrior 2 pose and him not turning out to be a conspiracy theorist… Stupid Lance.
As I unmatched Mr. Picture Swap and swiped through a few more possibilities, my finger paused on the next screen and I chuckled. The photo was a familiar face.
Oliver.
