Page 66 of The Fiancée Farce
The ice rattled against her glass when she set it back on the table. “Who, pray tell, has deemed me unworthy?”
Besides, you know, the obvious.
Ronnie looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “Youareaware that you’ve been name-dropped more frequently by gossip sites likeDeuxMoiandPerez HiltonthanFortuneorForbes, aren’t you?”
“What can I say?” She shrugged. “I don’t google myself. That way madness lies.”
If Gemma had learned anything over the years, it was that name-searching yourself? Never a good idea. Especially not when her exploits were immortalized in gossip rags and social media posts, pictures from nights out Gemma could barely remember, mistakes that no one would let her forget.
Gemma was plenty of things—tawdrythings, clearly—but a masochist wasn’t among them.
“You didn’t graduate from college,” Ronnie continued, really trying to twist that knife. “You have no work experience to speakof, none within the print media industry—excuse me, none within thenewspaperpublishing industry. I’d be remiss if I forgot about your illustrious career as a romance novel cover model.”
Her voice dripped with disdain.
Tansy’s teacup rattled against its saucer as she set it down. “I don’t think I like your tone.”
Her blue eyes had gone flinty, her jaw clenched. Beneath her ear was the slightest hint of a bruise in the shape of Gemma’s teeth.
The warmth in Gemma’s chest had nothing to do with the whiskey. “Tansy, you don’t need to—”
“She’s being rude.” Tansy’s knuckles turned white around the edge of the table. She turned to Ronnie. “You’re being rude.”
Ronnie had the gall to look amused. “I’m sorry?”
“You should be.” Tansy’s nostrils flared delicately, making her look like an adorable, indignant bull. “A lack of formal education is never something someone should be made to feel ashamed of. And neither is any kind of honest work, even if you yourself wouldn’t personally deign to do it.”
Tansy didn’t have to do this, whateverthiswas. Sticking up for Gemma. Protecting her. She could take care of herself. She’d been doing it most of her life; why stop now? “Tansy—”
“Those novels Gemma’s been on the cover of?” Tansy was on a roll. “They belong to a genre that generates over a billion dollars of revenue annually and whose authors frequently top the bestseller lists. Beyond that, those books give readers hope, which is sorely needed right now and somethingelseno one should be made to feel ashamed of.”
Gemma couldn’t breathe.
Eyes flashing, tendrils of hair escaping the claw clip at the crown of her head and curling around her ears, jaw clenched with thatbruise beneath, Tansy looked so beautiful that Gemma—Gemmaached.
“And while you were busy judging a book by its cover, you should’ve been checking your facts, because Gemmadidgraduate from college. Summa cum laude, in fact.”
Who could say what part of Tansy’s tirade had done the trick, but Ronnie had the decency to look abashed, alabaster cheeks ruddy, lips flattened into a burgundy slash. “I was unaware that you had graduated from...?”
“NYU.”
Ronnie wrote that down. “I apologize for not knowing you had a degree.”
Tansy crossed her arms and scoffed as she slumped back against the booth. “If that’s all you took away from what I said, the only thing you’re sorry for, I think we’re done here.”
“Tansy.” Oh God, Gemma sounded fond. She sounded fond because shewasfond. Ridiculously, stupidly fond of the girl with untamable hair, more integrity in her pinky than most people possessed in their whole bodies, and the absolutely breathtaking ability to say the wrong thing at the right time. Or was it the right thing at the wrong time? Fuck if Gemma knew; she’d never felt this way before. Probably because she’d never met anyone like Tansy. “It’s okay.”
Gemma faced Ronnie. “For the record, I was actually the managing editor of NYU’s student newspaper, and later I worked at theNew York News Dailyas a marketing assistant. And before you ask whether it was nepotism that got me the job, my answer is that your guess is as good as mine. What Idoknow is that those six years were some of the best of life and I loved working there. I learned a lot, not only about print journalism, but about myself, too. What I’m capable of, my limits. I learned enough to knowthat I have plenty more to learn and that anyone who thinks they know it all is either an egotistical son of a bitch or a dumbass.” She shrugged. “Most likely both. Feel free to write that down. Do I think I’m qualified for this job? Honestly? Probably not. Are people right to be pissed that my grandfather named me his successor? Maybe. I’d tell you to take it up with him, but unfortunately, he’s dead.”
Ronnie averted her gaze, cheeks growing ruddier by the second.
Tansy’s hand dropped to Gemma’s thigh, squeezing. Gemma covered Tansy’s hand with hers and laced their fingers together.
“What I can tell you is that my great-grandfather Wilhelm van Dalen founded this company with a single principle in mind: the preservation and circulation of the truth.Notthe preservation of his ego. I intend to do my best, accept my shortcomings, do what I can to bridge the gap, and try my damndest to do my grandfather’s—and mygreat-grandfather’s—legacy justice.”
At the end of the day, she would much rather under-promise and over-deliver than do the opposite.
Ronnie nodded. “That’s actually a really refreshing answer. I’ve got a friend who works atNYND. I had no idea you worked there.”
