some more banter and a terse laugh, Matt dropped the phone into his pocket. He took my hand and led me into the building.
I was babbling wildly. I don't think Matt was listening, though he smiled down at me from time to time. Was it his smile making my knees weak, or being inside the agency rumored to represent M. Pierce?
And the M. Pierce rumor was only a footnote to the agency's reputation. Pamela Wing and her partner, Laura Granite, represented some of the biggest names in literary fiction. They were notorious for calling talent in the air and cutthroat in their negotiations. Oh, and they ruthlessly poached writers from other agencies, all from their humble Denver hub.
"Matt, what are we doing here?" I demanded.
My voice echoed around the lobby. Matt frowned at me.
"I told you I had some connections in the city."
I felt the color draining from my face.
Connections? Employment connections? Here, now?
"No, no no. I am not dressed for this moment," I said. "Please, let me just—"
I rummaged in my bag. Did I have anything that could lend me a shred of professionalism right now? Or maybe a weapon to dispatch myself? My hand closed around the purple vibrator and I nearly yanked it out for the world to see. Shit! Shit shit shit!
"Relax," Matt murmured.
"Matt, fuck, how can I—"
I heard heels clicking through the marble lobby and looked up to see a blond woman approaching. She and Matt shook hands briskly.
"Matthew," she said. She glanced at me and I shrank. I was an eyesore next to Matt and this fierce-looking lady, and again I had the distinct impression of being in a tiger enclosure.
I thrust out my hand.
"Hannah Ca—"
"This is Hannah." Matt spoke over me. "Good friend of mine, new to the city. Look Pam, I don't have a world of time and I'm sorry to spring this on you—"
Oh, my god. He said Pam. Pamela. This was Pamela Wing, in the flesh.
"It's so unlike you to spring strange requests on me," Pamela said. She gave Matt an iron smile and he returned it. They seemed so familiar with one another, and yet so restrained. A horrible thought jabbed at me. Were they ex-lovers?
"Long story short, Pam, Hannah's looking for work. I'm not asking you to move mountains or do me any favors. She's a smart girl, though. MA from Kenyon College, business and English major. You can read the rest in her resume." He waved a hand. My god, he was practically talking down to Pamela Wing, a literary agent who ate souls for breakfast. "Do you get what I'm saying? That is, keep her in mind, would you? I wanted you two to meet."
My hand had been hanging limply in the air the whole time.
Pamela finally grasped and shook it. My fingers crumpled in her grip.
"Hi Hannah," she said. "Pam Wing. It's great to meet you. As I was just telling Matt on the phone, my secretary, in her infinite wisdom, recently eloped in Vegas and telephoned informing me of her immediate resignation."
Pam's eyes glittered. I would not want to be that former secretary.
"No promises, but if you're not opposed to secretarial work and shadowing me a bit, and if you're as capable as Matthew suggests, the job is yours. I'm a firm believer in providence. Drop off your resume as soon as you can. We'll be in touch. Matthew." Pam gave Matt a curt nod and breezed out of the building. Her perfume bit at my nostrils.
What the fuck... had just happened?
I hadn't said a single coherent word in the whole encounter, and I had basically just been offered a job. That, or I had been brushed off in the most diplomatic fashion. I blinked and shifted my purse on my shoulder.
Matt was watching me.
"Don't overthink this," he said softly. "She won't care if you never drop off your resume, but the job will be gone in days. And don't thank me, either. That woman is a shark. You'll be out on your ass if you cross her once. There is no margin of error."
Matt ruffled my hair, a sweet gesture that unfortunately emphasized my feeling of childishness, and strolled toward the exit.
I
I was babbling wildly. I don't think Matt was listening, though he smiled down at me from time to time. Was it his smile making my knees weak, or being inside the agency rumored to represent M. Pierce?
And the M. Pierce rumor was only a footnote to the agency's reputation. Pamela Wing and her partner, Laura Granite, represented some of the biggest names in literary fiction. They were notorious for calling talent in the air and cutthroat in their negotiations. Oh, and they ruthlessly poached writers from other agencies, all from their humble Denver hub.
"Matt, what are we doing here?" I demanded.
My voice echoed around the lobby. Matt frowned at me.
"I told you I had some connections in the city."
I felt the color draining from my face.
Connections? Employment connections? Here, now?
"No, no no. I am not dressed for this moment," I said. "Please, let me just—"
I rummaged in my bag. Did I have anything that could lend me a shred of professionalism right now? Or maybe a weapon to dispatch myself? My hand closed around the purple vibrator and I nearly yanked it out for the world to see. Shit! Shit shit shit!
"Relax," Matt murmured.
"Matt, fuck, how can I—"
I heard heels clicking through the marble lobby and looked up to see a blond woman approaching. She and Matt shook hands briskly.
"Matthew," she said. She glanced at me and I shrank. I was an eyesore next to Matt and this fierce-looking lady, and again I had the distinct impression of being in a tiger enclosure.
I thrust out my hand.
"Hannah Ca—"
"This is Hannah." Matt spoke over me. "Good friend of mine, new to the city. Look Pam, I don't have a world of time and I'm sorry to spring this on you—"
Oh, my god. He said Pam. Pamela. This was Pamela Wing, in the flesh.
"It's so unlike you to spring strange requests on me," Pamela said. She gave Matt an iron smile and he returned it. They seemed so familiar with one another, and yet so restrained. A horrible thought jabbed at me. Were they ex-lovers?
"Long story short, Pam, Hannah's looking for work. I'm not asking you to move mountains or do me any favors. She's a smart girl, though. MA from Kenyon College, business and English major. You can read the rest in her resume." He waved a hand. My god, he was practically talking down to Pamela Wing, a literary agent who ate souls for breakfast. "Do you get what I'm saying? That is, keep her in mind, would you? I wanted you two to meet."
My hand had been hanging limply in the air the whole time.
Pamela finally grasped and shook it. My fingers crumpled in her grip.
"Hi Hannah," she said. "Pam Wing. It's great to meet you. As I was just telling Matt on the phone, my secretary, in her infinite wisdom, recently eloped in Vegas and telephoned informing me of her immediate resignation."
Pam's eyes glittered. I would not want to be that former secretary.
"No promises, but if you're not opposed to secretarial work and shadowing me a bit, and if you're as capable as Matthew suggests, the job is yours. I'm a firm believer in providence. Drop off your resume as soon as you can. We'll be in touch. Matthew." Pam gave Matt a curt nod and breezed out of the building. Her perfume bit at my nostrils.
What the fuck... had just happened?
I hadn't said a single coherent word in the whole encounter, and I had basically just been offered a job. That, or I had been brushed off in the most diplomatic fashion. I blinked and shifted my purse on my shoulder.
Matt was watching me.
"Don't overthink this," he said softly. "She won't care if you never drop off your resume, but the job will be gone in days. And don't thank me, either. That woman is a shark. You'll be out on your ass if you cross her once. There is no margin of error."
Matt ruffled my hair, a sweet gesture that unfortunately emphasized my feeling of childishness, and strolled toward the exit.
I
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