Page 41 of Huckleberry Hill
It took a few moments for Poet to get herself under control, but she finally managed to pull herself together.
“I’m in the women’s restroom at work, hiding from my boss so she won’t see me cry.”
“Who made you cry?” I demanded, angry on behalf of my sensitive friend. “Was it Alba?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say to you?”
She exhaled a rickety breath. “We were in a meeting with Candace and . . . and . . .”
“And?” I pressed gently.
“You know that manuscript I was reading?”
“The one you couldn’t put down? I remember.”
“Yeah, well, I stupidly left it out on my desk with my notes and I was going to tell Candace I recommend she read the manuscript for herself because it was a real diamond in the rough. Alba took the manuscript off my desk and presented it to Candace as if she’d found it. Candace read it on her lunch break and told Alba good work and that she was going to present it at the editorial meeting later this week.”
“Oh, Poet,” I said softly. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine. You’re crying in the bathroom stall at work. Tell Candace the truth.”
“I can’t,” she said. “You know publishing is cutthroat. It’ll look like I’m a whiney tattletale. And at the end of the day, all I care about are good stories getting their day in the sun.”
“You also want the job title of senior editor,” I reminded her.
“Yeah,” she admitted. “But people like Alba usually give themselves enough rope to hang themselves. I just have to give it time.”
Poet had been working as a junior editor for a major publishing house for the last two years. She loved her job—but she hadn’t planned on people wanting to step on her on their way to the top.
“You called me,” she reminded me.
“I did.”
When I fell silent, she urged, “Go on.”
“I’m sitting in my bedroom closet so I can have this conversation in complete secrecy.”
“I’m intrigued,” she teased.
“You know the cowboy wrangler?”
“The one you’re determined not to sleep with? Yes. How’s that going, by the way?”
“I went to his cabin to give him back his coffee mug and he answered the door in a towel.”
There was a pause.
“You slept with him, didn’t you?”
“What? No!”
“But you’re thinking about it.”
“Am I allowed?” I blurted out.
