Page 3 of A Very Titan Christmas
The Uber driver pulled over in front of the office building. Her heartbeat picked up. She was about to make a big request to her editor. Rachel had been withThe American Staymagazine for years. It was time. She could do this.
She shoved the phone into her oversized bag and ignored her nerves. The building loomed over her, high and mighty and important, reminding her that it had been here for years and would stay long after she moved on. She pulled out her employee badge and proceeded through security, greeting the woman in charge of the metal detector with a quick hello.
Rachel dropped her bag onto the conveyor belt and heard her phone buzz as it disappeared into the x-ray. It was going to beone of those days. She loved her mother. Eloise was sweet and funny, but also a blizzard-level force to be reckoned with. Eloise never took no for an answer. It could be draining.
The text messages stopped, and the phone rang. She boarded the elevator and answered, “Mom, I can’t talk now.”
“You didn’t answer my texts,” Eloise said. “It’s not too late to come home for Thanksgiving. I’ll even make sure you have your favorite cabin.”
That was the thing about her parents owning a small family resort. They were always up for visitors, and semi offended when Rachel visited other places. Seeing as her job involved traveling around the country, they often had this aggravating conversation.
“I already have plans, Mom.”
“When are you coming home for Christmas?” Eloise drawled out as though raised in the deep south. Her pseudo-southern accent only appeared whenever she thought it necessary to cajole Rachel. “I have such big plans for how we can spend the holidays at home.”
If all went smoothly with her editor, Rachel wouldn’t make it home, and she’d have a winter wonderland of work to take her through the new year. “I’ll have to check my schedule, but I don’t think I can come home any earlier than Christmas Eve or maybe even New Year’s.” Or maybe not at all. But Rachel wouldn’t start that fight before meeting with her editor.
“I’ll ask you again in a couple of days. See if you can come home earlier.” Eloise hummed. “What happened to the man you were seeing?”
“It fizzled out.” The elevator dinged as they arrived on her floor. “I have to go—”
“Dating anyone else?”
The doors opened. Her floor was empty of the usual hustle and bustle. “No.”
“That’s a shame. There’s someone I’d like you to meet—”
“I don’t have a pressing need to date someone. Okay? If it happens, it happens.” Rachel walked into the reception area. The front desk was empty. A little sign announced deliveries in need of signatures and noted that visitors without appointments should call the office. “I have to go.”
“You won’t find a husband with that attitude.”
“Good thing I’m not husband hunting.” Rachel threaded through the quiet hallways. “Gotta go. Love you.”
Rachel passed the empty bullpen of cubicles until she collapsed onto the tiny couch outside of her editor’s office. Holiday music was played from hidden speakers. She tried to relax. She didn’t need a husband. Writing forThe American Stayfilled her with a sense of purpose. With every assignment, she gained clout and responsibility. No, she didn’t need a husband. She needed to take her career to the next level.
A glass wall separated her editor’s office from the posh waiting area. Rachel watched her editor disconnect a phone call. Her heartbeat picked up.
Kimberly Nashe,The American Stay’seditor at large, beckoned Rachel through the glass office door with such enthusiasm that she almost stepped back. “I’m so excited to hear about—”
Rachel’s phone buzzed and jackhammered against the metal water bottle in her purse. “Oh, sorry.” It buzzed and buzzed again. Why hadn’t she silenced the damn thing? “Sorry, sorry.” She couldn’t immediately find her phone at the bottom of her purse. How much crap did she have in this thing? She dug through the bag and swiped the settings to silent. “My mom takes ignored texts and voicemails as a personal attack. She won’t be ignored.”
“Doesn’t bother me.” Kimberly waved the interruption away as if she weren’t swamped and had only penciled in five minutesfor Rachel’s pitch. “I have a mom who hates to be sent to voicemail, also.”
Kimberly had no idea what level of persistence Eloise Porter could muster. Rachel tucked her bag under her chair and hoped for the best. “Thanks for squeezing me in.”
“It’s nice to have the company for a few minutes. Almost all of my meetings are calls or on Zoom.” She shut the glass door and gestured to the seat before her sleek desk. “Tell me about your big idea.”
Butterflies rioted in her stomach as if they’d mainlined twice as many lattes as Rachel had. “I know it’s short notice and different from what I’ve been working on, but—”
Kimberly raised her hand to stop her. “A word to the wise: That’s not how to start your pitch.”
Rachel wiped the palms of her hands over her skirt and struggled to remember the lines she had rehearsed. Something about not being ungrateful for the bylines she’d earned at one of the top travel magazines and wanting to take her career to the next level. A cover story forThe American Staywould do that. “I’d like to do a holiday article.”
“Yes! You’ve read my mind. I have just the idea for you.” Kimberly raised her hands as if to display her words on an imaginary billboard. “Top ten quirkiest cities in New England to find the perfect Christmas stockings.”
Rachel’s heart sank. A cutesy and quick story was more of a sidebar than a main feature. In her opinion, she had already been doing those kinds of pieces very successfully. Rachel was creeping toward forty and hadn’t had a cover story yet. This was a cutthroat industry, even in the travel niche. She had to go after what she wanted. This was why she’d practiced her pitch in the mirror. Rachel squared her shoulders. “I hoped to write a cover article.”
“Hoped” wasn’t what she’d rehearsed. Her planned lines had been bolder and more direct. She swallowed her nerves. “Thecover article for next year.” Her voice trembled. Rachel pretended she couldn’t hear its shake and clarified, “For the Christmas holidays.”
