Page 19 of Kill Your Darlings

She was a short, big-boned woman of about fifty.Her brown eyes were wide set and her wiry black hair had a dramatic, natural streak of silver through it.She still favored red lipstick, chunky jewelry, big scarves, and stylish flats.The uniform of NYC legacy publishing lady editors.

She did not look at me.She was staring down at her phone, frowning.

“Good morning,” I said.

She jumped, exclaimed, “Oh!Keiran.I’ve been texting you all morning.”

That sounded all too familiar.Before I could respond, she peered at me doubtfully, taking in my wet hair and the damp towel over my shoulders.“Were youswimming?”

“Every morning.”It was barely eight o’clock, so when had she started texting?I asked pleasantly, “What’s up?”

Besides Lila, who, three cups of coffee in—assuming I remembered her work habits correctly—was already bouncing off the elevator ceiling.

“I don’t remember you being a fitness nut.”

“Just a nut?”I inquired, deadpan.

“Ha.That, yes.Listen, I thought we should have breakfast together.”

I blinked.That would have been an unappetizing idea even if I’d had a good night’s sleep.I could already feel the heartburn.

Not that I disliked Lila.We had never been friends, but we went way back and I respected her.She was smart, hardworking, and very good at her job.Also, very ambitious.She had not been easy to work for, but we got along fine once I was promoted to editor and we became equals.In fact, we were almost friendly during Steven Krass’s tenure at Wheaton & Woodhouse.Lila and I were the ones who coined the nickname Satan.We’d hated Krass’s guts.

I said regretfully, “I’m meeting someone for breakfast, but we could have coffee afterwards?”

Her scarlet mouth turned down.She looked troubled.“Is it with an author?Because that’s really why I wanted to get together.”

Was she serious?OfcourseI was having breakfast with an author.That’s what meals at conferences were for.Did she think I was so far gone I planned on eating for my own pleasure?

In fairness to Lila, meeting with this particular author was a little problematical, given that Christopher Holmes was not yet, technically, on my editorial roster.However, if I knew Rachel Ving (and I did) that detail would be rectified before the conference ended on Sunday afternoon.

If, in the meantime, a little hand-holding was required, well, that was part of my job description: making authors feel seen and valued—and well-fed.

I said, “You want to get together to discuss having breakfast with authors?”

“Well… Well, yes!I think it’s important that we’re all working from the same script.There’s bound to be anxiety over the merger, and we want to be sure we’re delivering the right message.We don’t want to worry anyone with the transmission of negative information.We need—it’simperative—we retain the right talent.”

I said mildly, “That’s a lot of corporate-speak to digest before coffee.”

Her eyes narrowed.“Same old Keiran.”

“They say no one ever really changes.”I studied her.“Unless you know something I don’t, we’re working from the same script.It’s as important to me as it is to you that Millbrook retains our top talent.”

In fact, it was a hell of a lot more important to me than to her, given that my job security undoubtedly relied on it.I’d already taken one body blow that morning, losing Finn Scott from my list.I couldn’t afford any more poaching.

Had she already spoken to Finn?Was that what this was about?

“Right,” Lila said, although her tone sounded more likewrong!“Yes.Iknow you understand that.However, I feel it would project a more unified picture if we met with your authors together.As a team.”

I absorbed that, weighed and considered my immediate response, then considered and weighed my alternative response.

When I thought I could answer without choking, I said mildly, “I see.And are we meeting with your authors together?As a team?”

Her cheeks turned pink.I’d rarely seen Lila miss a beat, but she seemed flustered as she replied, “What!Why?What sense does that make?”

The problem was, for all my telling myself that Finn’s decision to work with another editor was, formanyreasons, the right choice and the best thing for both of us, that wasn’t how it felt.It hurt like hell on every possible level.I was still too raw, too upset, after our poolside chat, to be as diplomatic as I should’ve been.

I laughed none too nicely, and said, “I see.”

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