“Let me clear about this. You earned the editorial job,” Trish reminds me. “I had no idea who you were. Not that it matters.”
“It doesn’t?” I mutter.
Trish mistakes the look on my face. “Don’t worry. I haven’t told anyone that you own them.”
“I don’t,” I say quickly. Something about the way she says it reminds me too much of my father.
“I’m just teasing.”
“Sorry, sore subject,” I admit. “Being a MacLaine is a lot like having a big, old albatross hanging around my neck.”
“I would think it opens a lot of doors,” Trish says thoughtfully.
“It does—but mostly to cigar lounges and boys clubs and private meetings with lots and lots of old men.”
“When you put it like that.” Trish gives me a rueful smile. “I have no idea why your dad kept Bluebird for all these years. I’ll be truthful. We kept waiting for him to decide we weren’t profitable or that we needed to publish different kinds of books. It was a relief when…” She trails off, clamping her mouth shut.
“It’s okay. Actually, it’s refreshing to know I’m not the only one who felt a little relieved when he died.” I can’t believe I said those words out loud, but Trish doesn’t look shocked.
“We’re just glad to be in good hands now.” She winks at me. “So, anyway, we aren’t very formal here. Come and go as you please. I just ask that you get the manuscripts and notes back to me by the dates on the Post-it notes.” She taps a yellow sticky note dated July 18 attached to the front of the manuscript. “If you’re not going to make a deadline, let me know. If one of your authors is being a pill, let me know. If you need anything—”
“I’ll let you know,” I promise her.
“I need to make a few calls. You’re welcome to hang out or start whenever. I think you’ll like these manuscripts.” She hesitates a second before giving me a quick hug. Pulling back, she gives me a thumbs up. “Welcome to the team.”
The team. I like the sound of that. I settle down at my desk at my job and pick up my first manuscript. I always thought my dreams were out of reach, but it turns out they were just down the street.
I’m so absorbed in the Valmont grad’s manuscript that I skip lunch and keep reading. The premise is unlike anything I’ve ever read. It’s a thriller, but somehow romantic and dreamy at the same time. I want to linger on every word and savor every sentence. It’s so good that I nearly jump out of my chair when Trish taps me on the shoulder. I hastily drop the page onto the top of my stack.
“Sorry,” she says with the hint of laughter in her voice, “but you have a guest.”
For a split second, I’m embarrassed, wondering which of my friends has come down to take pictures of me like it’s the first day of school or prom night. Then I catch the dazed expression on Trish’s face. My gaze moves from her wide eyes to the front door, already knowing exactly who I’d find. Sterling is standing near the door, looking a bit too much like a male model for his own good. Glancing around the office, I realize that everyone is staring at him. But Sterling? He’s looking directly at me and the intensity of his gaze scorches through me.
“Thank you. Is it okay?” I ask Trish, half-hoping she’ll tell me about some heretofore unmentioned visitation policy preventing hot men from distracting the entire office during work hours.
“Look, if you don’t want him to visit you, he can come and hang out at my desk,” she whispers.
I wave him over and she flashes me a quick smile before she disappears back to her own desk. I can’t help noticing that she’s still watching him. Sterling winds through the maze of desks with the confidence of a man who knows exactly where he’s going and sees no obstacles in his path. He let his five o’clock shadow grow a little longer, leaving a sexy bit of stubble on his jaw. His hair is slicked back, showing off the strong line of his nose and his almost unnaturally blue eyes—eyes that haven’t left me yet. Each step closer sends my heart rate ratcheting up.
“Lost? Or did you feel the need to distract the entire workforce from their jobs?” I ask, dropping my chin into my hands and staring up at him.
“Me? A distraction?” His head swivels around like this is news to him. Throughout the office heads drop, trying to avoid being caught ogling him. He shrugs when he looks back to me. “Everyone seems busy. Maybe I’m only distracting you, Lucky.”
“Fat chance.” I snort and hope it comes off believably. The truth is, as much as I want to return to the manuscript, my body is actively rebelling against me. I squeeze my thighs tighter, trying to control the ticking pulse that started between them when I saw him. I need to get Sterling out of here before I leave a puddle on my seat. “Why are you here?”
“It’s your first day. I brought you a present.” He holds up a brown paper bag.
“You didn’t have to do that.” I hesitate and lean back in my seat. I need to be more direct—more forceful. I can’t let him think that he can smooth talk his way into my heart. “You shouldn’t do that.”
“I know,” he stops me before I can ask him to leave. “I’ve been thinking about what you said and maybe you’re right.”
I clutch the arms of my chair because I need solid proof I’m not dreaming. “Come again?”
“There are things I need to tell
