Page 93 of Mr. Wrong Number

“I remember,” I said. “I loved reading it.”

Colin opened the door and came inside, carrying my book along with his.

“You read it? Awesome.” She sounded happy, which was encouraging. “She left, and we’ve been trying to figure out what to do with it. It was all about her voice and her personality, so we didn’t want to just shove someone else in her place.”

“That makes sense.” I was trying not to get excited, because it couldn’t be what it sounded like, right?

“But when I read about the fire and the flooded dorm thing, I thought, how hilarious would it be to have an advice columnist who, on paper, is kind of a mess?”

I didn’t take offense, and the ideawasa little funny.

“I also had a tip that you were the writer behind the 402 Mom, which, by the way, was a really great column.”

I wanted to say thanks, but probably wasn’t allowed to, so I made a noncommittal sound.

“Thankfully, I went to college with Glenda Budd at theTimes, so I was able to call her and poke around.”

Oh, my God; she’d talked to Glenda.

“And while she couldn’t confirm the 402 Mom thing, she was able to tell me that the writer always met her deadlines, provided exemplary work, and was a delight. Glenda was sad to see her go.”

“She said that?”

“She did. Now.” She cleared her throat. “How do you feel about embracing your bad luck? Making it your strength?”

Colin gestured that he was going to go, but I shook my head. I wanted to tell him all about it when I was done.

“Can you stay like five more minutes,” I whispered.

He looked surprised and said, “Of course.”

He went over to the couch and sat down, grabbing the remote like he was at home in my apartment.

I said, “I’ve spent my entire life laughing at myself and my bad luck, Elena; that’s kind of my sweet spot.”

She started talking, brainstorming, and we just clicked. As opposed to 402 Mom, this would be capitalizing on who I was, adding my own ridiculous anecdotes into the column. We talked for an hour before she asked if I could come in the following day for a formal interview.

When I finally got off the phone, I went over and plopped down next to Colin. “I am so sorry that took so long.”

He muted the TV. “Shut up. Tell me all about this job.”

And I did. It was Colin, so I should’ve played it cool and acted like it was no big deal so he couldn’t mock me later, but I’d pretty much left guarding myself from him by the wayside. I told him every detail, and when I was finished he said, “Just make sure you get what you’re worth.”

I crossed my arms. “Well, I don’t exactly have a lot to bargain with.”

“I know, but your writing speaks for itself.” He said matter-of-factly, “Don’t let them think they can have you on the cheap; you’re too good.”

I leaned against him and said, “Oh, my God, you’re so incredibly into me it’s a little pathetic. You think I’m so great and—”

I couldn’t finish because he pushed me down onto the couch, got on top of me, and shut me up in the very best way. By the time I was breathing heavy, he lifted his mouth and gave me a wicked grin. “Why do I even like you when you’re such a pain in the ass?”

I grinned back. “You’re just a glutton for punishment, I guess.”

19

Colin

I was pathetic.

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