Page 8 of You & I, Rewritten

He’s standing at the sink with his back—his wide, muscular back—to me, meticulously hand washing a solid black mug in our communal sink. “Have I done something to offend you, Graham?” I ask, crossing my arms in the doorway.

Nothing.

His attention is turned toward washing his mug, but there is absolutely no chance he didn’t hear me. He just continues scrubbing. At this rate, he’s going to strip the mug of all color.

“Because I don’t know if we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot, or if you just aren’t a people person but…”

He stills. The sound of the streaming tap water overwhelms the space between us as he slowly reaches for a dish rag and begins towel-drying the mug in his large hands.

“What gives you the impression I’m not a people person?” he asks, his tone just as cold as before but now laced with a hint of something I can’t quite put my finger on.Intrigue?

It looks like I struck a nerve.Good.Graham’s back is still toward me, so I take a sidestep to my right ever so slightly so I can at least be adjacent to his line of sight.

“Oh, I don’t know…maybe the fact that three times now within my first week working here, you’ve either quickly dismissed me or seemed painfully bothered by me speaking in your presence or whatever the hell that team building exercise was, and…”

Placing his mug down gently on the counter, he turns to face me. “I don’t think that’s…”

“No, no…” I interject, taking a step toward him. “That’sexactlyhow you’ve made mefeel—unwelcome.”

His eyes snap to mine at the bluntness and honesty of my words. For the first time since meeting Graham Austin, I see concern flash behind the calm and unbothered demeanor I’d been introduced to.

I take another step toward him, invading the space he seemingly works so hard to put between himself and the rest of the world. “You do realize people around here think you’re a dick, right?”

Shock. Surprise.Amusement?Graham’s face goes through a wide array of emotions. He opens his mouth to say something but then quickly closes it, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.Ugh, that mouth.

I pat him on the arm as I turn to leave, both as a sign of potential friendship and as a warning. “Which is such a shame because I came herespecificallyto work for and with people like you…” I pause in the entryway, noticing his gaze now following my every move. Locking my eyes with his, I pray he takes my words to heart. “But no one wants or deserves to work in a toxic environment.

“And quite frankly, I refuse to,” I say, turning my back to him as I exit the break-room not giving a damn about whatever professional consequences may come from addressing him like this.

CHAPTERFOUR

“Yup,I’ve got your contact information jotted down right here and will get back to you if there’s any update…Okay…Mhmm…Bye.” I hang up the phone a little too aggressively because when I do, Klair lifts her head up from the manuscript she’s reading and appears annoyed.

“I’m sorry!” I groan. “I’ve been pitched cheesy rom-com after cheesy rom-com and I think my brain might actually be bleeding. Is it possible to die from too much fake romance?” I throw myself dramatically over our shared table and melt onto all of Klair’s belongings. “Klaaaaaair...pay attention to me! Your best friend is dying!”

She slams the pages she’s been trying to focus on down on the table and bolts up from her chair. Clearly, webothwoke up and wanted to cause a scene in the office today. “Oh my GOD…will youpleaseshut that cute little mouth of yours?Youare killingme!” she says while shaking her head and laughing. She walks over to her desk and grabs a large, thick envelope that she unexpectedly and rather forcefully throws at me.

“Here,” she says like an overly-annoyed parent dealing with a frustrating toddler. “This was delivered for you this morning.”

Partially confused, I begin opening the mailer when she adds, “Take it and let the adults get back to work.” She blows me a kiss as she returns her attention back to her work so I know she’s joking.

I remove a thick manuscript bound with a deep navy cover page in thick cardstock from the envelope, the titleI Should Have Told You Thenwritten in plain, gold script centered on the front. Inside, I find a notecard.

She’s listed her contact information below in the neatest, most precise penmanship. I turn the card over and over in my hands. Mutual acquaintance? She could have listed who, right?That’s odd.I glance back up at Klair, clearly immersed in whatever story she’s reading, and wonder if she has any idea who Lana could be referencing. I grab the manuscript and turn to the first page, deciding I can inquire with Klair later about this mystery acquaintance and what she knows.

From Lana’s very first sentence, I’m instantly captivated. Her voice cuts through the pages, demanding every ounce of my attention while transporting me to moments in my own life. Everything I love about the written word and an author’s ability to grab their reader is all right here. Sure, there are technical errors and a greenness that is expected of an inexperienced author, but from the very first page, there is something unteachable about Lana’s writing that most authors would kill for—a voice of truth mixed with the brutal honesty of loss.

It’s clear that Lana is no stranger to pain. I have no idea who she is or what she’s been through, but there is a rawness to her writing that tells me she knows what it feels like to be hurt by a loved one, that she is no stranger to the complexities of grief.

Reading her words crack open my chest, threatening to open my own wounds that I’ve deluded myself into thinking have been healed for years. It’s then that I know I’m going to work with her. I have to. Stories like this—more importantly, authors like Lana—are what made me fall in love with writing in the first place. To be able to move someone so deeply by weaving together a specific set of words is something I find so impressive and beautiful.And daunting.

I sit, devouring her words and the intricacies of her storylines, and for the first time since joining APH, I feel inspired. I fly through her pages, filling the margins with notes and edits only I can decipher, and I begin planning my pitch to Graham and the rest of the team because books like thisneedto be out in the world. I feel it in my gut: Like me, readers will find themselves tangled in the web she’s woven, drowning in the cascading words of her prose and only coming up for air when she allows them to.

Klair still has her head in whatever it is she’s reading, but I know she’ll want to see this. “Psssst.” She ignores me. “Hey Klair…psssssssst.” I can feel the weight of her eye roll as she looks up at me, even more annoyed than earlier. Is it bad that I secretly enjoy getting under her skin?

“Yes, my child?” Her attempt at hiding any frustration is feeble. “What could you possibly need now?

“Well that package you handed me earlier? It’s a manuscript.” I get up, bringing Lana’s book with me and head over to her desk.

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