Page 84 of A Novel Summer
“The business has to be deemed essential to town, and it has to be run by a local,” Justin said.
“I’ll set up a call for you with Colleen and her parents,” Shelby said. Maybe good news like this would help further mend their rift. Their phone call last night had been a start, but Colleen was still distant. Still not herself.
“You should be on the call, too,” Justin said. “The Millers trust your judgment about Land’s End. I think it will be reassuring for them to see that you’re here and involved.”
“Sure. No problem,” she said.
She was in no rush to leave.
Fifty-Nine
Turned out, New York and Boston weren’t all that different. At least, that was Hunter’s feeling walking out of the Paragon office. She wasn’t intimidated by the city, but she did feel conflicted about the job.
It was a good opportunity. She knew that. And she was qualified for it. The three years she’d spent in editorial prepared her well, and the more she talked to the man who would be her boss, the more she felt she’d get an offer. Raj Mason, in his early forties with several bestsellers and one Pulitzer Prize winner on his roster, seemed impressed by her academic transcript and the books she’d worked on at Malaprop.
“Do you have any questions?” he said finally.
She did. One that meant a lot to her: “If I find a manuscript that I think I can sell, can I represent it myself?”
His smile indicated the question was sweet but naive.
“It will be a couple of years before you’re promoted to junior agent. Until then, you’ll be reading queries and editing manuscripts and answering phones, but you won’t be making any submissions to editors. But by the time that you do, you’ll be extremely prepared and capable of competing aggressively. That much I can promise you.”
A couple of years. She’d be twenty-seven at least. Pushing thirty by the time she had her own clients. She knew that wasn’t out of the ordinary, and there was no reason why she should jump the line. But there was the nagging sense that she was losing precious time.
She’d promised Ezra she’d call after the interview to let him know how it went, and she did.
“I’m sure you killed,” he said. He invited her to meet him and some friends at a bar on Canal Street.
The place had an unassuming facade that made the high energy and hip crowd inside surprising. It had tin ceilings, hanging fans, candles on mismatched tables, and a long wooden bar. Ezra and his friends filled a table near the back.
“Glad you made it!” he said, waving her over. He stood and kissed her on the cheek, introducing her to his friends. The women were dressed in hoodies and cargo pants and wore their hair in messy ponytails, like they’d just rolled out of bed but in the sexiest possible way. Hunter had changed after her interview, but now felt like she was trying too hard in her tight black jeans, Radiohead T-shirt, choker necklace, and heavy eye makeup.
He slid over so she could sit next to him. Someone poured her a glass of red wine. She downed it.
They all worked in publishing and media. Once the conversation picked up, she felt more in her element. She had another glass of wine. They gossiped about famous authors—who was rude to assistants, who had a drinking problem.
When a bunch of them went outside to smoke, she and Ezra stayed behind at the table. By that point, she was eager for a few minutes alone with him.
“So how long are you in the city?” he said.
“I’ll probably go back tomorrow.”
He nodded. “Where are you staying?”
“Shelby’s letting me crash at her place.”
Ezra nodded. “I heard a rumor that Shelby handed in a great book, then changed her mind and is refusing to publish it. Is that true?”
“Um, yeah. Basically.”
“What happened?”
She shrugged. “Artists are temperamental, right?” She didn’t want to gossip about Shelby. What she wanted was to kiss him, to ask him to come back to her hotel. But she didn’t know how that would be received. She wasn’t used to feeling uncertain when it came to men.
She put her hand on his leg underneath the table. “You don’t have to ditch your friends right now or anything, but do you want to meet up later?”
“It’s tempting,” he said, leaning over and touching his forehead to hers. “But I don’t sleep with friends. It gets too complicated.”
