Page 13 of When Stars Collide
Grateful, I handed his phone back to him. “Yes. Thank you, Phineas. Truly.”
“No need to thank me. As you saw, I receive quite a few texts—too many to keep up with. So, I don’t keep up with them. I despise text messages, always have. They’re too impersonal for my liking. Chances are your text would have remained buried, lost in the abyss along with all the others.”
“That would explain why I never got that raise I asked for.”
“Really? You send me explicit photos of yourself and you then have the gall to mention a raise?”
“I thought we were putting this all behind us?”
“This all literally happened just two minutes ago.”
“There you go bringing up the past again.”
“There’s our Mena back.” He chuckled. “Frankly, that timid little thing who entered my office five minutes ago scared the shit out of me.”
“Because she thought it would be the last time she would be entering your office.”
He reached for a manuscript at the other end of his desk and set it down in front of him. “On the contrary. It would appear as though you’ll be getting that raise, after all.”
“Come again?” It was my turn to be confused.
He held up the manuscript he’d set down in front of him. It was one I’d given him to review; a paranormal romance novel culled from the heap of manuscripts that had trickled in over the last few months. “This is our nextSoldiers of Atlantis, and you discovered it.”
“I mean, it’s good.”
“It’s better than good. It’s great.” He flipped through the pages, reading some of the selected passages I’d highlighted. He’d made notes of his own next to many of those highlights. Phineas customarily gave novels the first twenty pages to capture his attention. If they failed to do so, the manuscripts were cast aside. As he flipped through this one, I saw the etchings of his blue ink pen throughout. “This brings me to the reason I asked you in here. This was an unsolicited manuscript, which I would have normally written off as most likely drivel and not worth our time and investment, but you, Mena, you gave this the chance it deserved. Instead of missing out on a great opportunity, we’ve struck gold, which is why I want our firm to begin accepting unsolicited manuscripts.”
“That … that’s great, Phineas. It’s just that, as I’m sure you know, for every great novel, there are ten thousand others that are complete garbage.”
“And from now on, along with your editing work, your job is going to be heading the department that sifts through the lumps of coal to find those diamonds.”
Flabbergasted, all I could do was stare, mouth agape.
“This is turning out to be a real banner day. First a meek Mena, and then a speechless Mena. Now I’ve seen everything.”
“No, you haven’t,” I reminded him.
“You got me there,” he chuckled.
I couldn’t be sure, what with the horrible fluorescent lighting, but I thought I noticed the faintest hint of a reddening on his cheeks.
“So,” he began, “what do you think?”
“I think … yeah, sure. Let’s bring it on and hope our luck holds out.”
*****
“Let me get this straight.” Jo propped her feet up on our coffee table, listening intently while I recounted the day that would go down in infamy in theBook of Mena.
“That’s the first time you’ve ever said that.”
“Like I haven’t heard that one before,” she retorted, chucking the throw pillow I’d made last summer at my head. Crocheted with an inscription proclaimingLife’s a Bitch, instead of theLife’s a Beachthe instructor of the class at Annie’s Fabric Store had intended, the pillow landed safely in my arms. For some reason, the former statement just seemed to be a more accurate reflection of my life than the latter. Needless to say, I was never invited back to take another class.
“You send your boss half-naked photos of yourself, and instead of a stern warning, suspension, or, hell, even a finger wag in your general direction, you get a promotion? Meanwhile, on the subway ride to work this morning, someone hurled on my shoes and I had to spend the majority of the day walking around the office in my stocking feet while they aired out on the balcony.”
“What can I say? Life’s a bitch,” I replied, holding up the pillow she’d used to assault me.
“Either that or Mister-Too-Young-To-Have-The-Name-Phineas has the hots for you.”
