Page 27 of Kill Your Darlings

“This weekend, you’re everyone’s PA Don’t worry.I’ve been doing this practically as long as you’ve been alive.I’ve got it down to a science.”

She spluttered another of those cute giggles.“How old do you think I am?”

“Twenty-three.”

“Oh.”

I laughed.“Any questions, any problems, come tome.”I checked my phone.“I’ve got to go.I’m taking the Dove sisters to lunch.”

“Ohhh.”She looked sympathetic.Whether on my behalf or the Dove sisters, I wasn’t sure.

I rose.“I’ll pay for our drinks at the bar—and I’ll see you tonight at the banquet.”

She nodded, hesitated, then said suddenly, urgently, “Keiran?”

“Hm?”

“About the merger.”

I automatically glanced around the room, said, “What about it?”

“Amelia was saying on the plane that she heard from someone at W&W that they don’t have PAs.They have two editorial assistants to fill that role for all their editors and assistant editors.”

Having been one of those editorial assistants, I could confirm the grim truth of that.At least back in my day, I’d mostly only had to contend with Lila.

Cherry’s voice wobbled a little.“Amelia said I should start looking for something else now.She thinks she’s going to be let go, too.”She swallowed, said, “I just really… I love my job.I can adapt.”

Be careful what you wish for, kid.

“Of course you can,” I said.“We’re all going to have to adapt, one way or the other.”

Judging by her expression, that sounded bleaker than I intended.

I said, “It’s supposed to be a merger.In theory, we’re combining the two businesses and keeping what works best from each house.They make more money.We make better books.I’m going to fight for the things that go into making better books, which includes our people.But I’m not going to win every battle.”I admitted, “I can’t predict the future.I don’t want to lose you.It might not be my choice.”

She considered, frowned, then beamed at me and said brightly, “But itmightbe!”

I laughed reluctantly.“It might.I hope so.I’ll see you tonight.”

That was the beauty of youthful optimism.At twenty-three I, too, had believed things would ultimately turn out the way I wanted.And by then I’d had plenty of evidence to the contrary.But at twenty-three, I’d also had the strength to weather the storms.Now I was older and wiser.Now I knew that the right storm at the wrong moment could wreck me.

Hayes and his crowd had moved on.A crowd of well-groomed middle-aged women in pastel business attire had taken their place.These were the established cozy chick contingent.They’d been successfully writing about twenty-something amateur sleuth bakers and amateur sleuth wedding planners and amateur sleuth florists for the last thirty years.

As they debated, with much giggling, the naughtiness of ordering nibbles with their cocktails so close to lunchtime, I paid the bartender and headed for the elevators.

I needed to change before lunch.The Dove sisters offered a very different dining experience from the Kyle Baris and the Christopher Holmeses.I seemed to recall they’d worn gloves the last time I’d taken them out.

I also needed to remember to have Cherry change my flight home.No point now in spending a couple of extra days in Monterey.Finn and I would not be exploring the possibilities or anything else.I refused to acknowledge the sinking feeling in my chest at yet another reminder of things that weren’t going to go as hoped.Yep.It was sad.It was disappointing.Life would go on.

The cure for all of it was to immerse myself in work.The sooner I returned to my busy and comfortable routine, the better.

Rudolph Dunst, editorial director at Theodore Mansfield, stepped into the elevator right before me.He was probably in his seventies by now, forever tall, silver, and vaguely translucent—like the ghost of whoever had edited Edith Wharton’s early drafts.The years had been lenient with him, possibly out of professional courtesy.

We nodded cordially, and then I glanced casually back at the man who’d silently followed me into the elevator.

Finn.

I jumped.There was no hiding that alarmed start.Finn gazed at me steadily, silently.Still pissed off to discover he’d been right all along?

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