head.
“No Helena, that’s fine,” he allowed, turning his attention to the papers on his desk. “I’ll sign these contracts and send them off to legal—then we’ll be all set to start production on the book. I’ll also book our tickets to London today—and don’t forget our staff meeting at 4 p.m.”
Freezing in her seat, Helena folded her hands before her as she felt a sudden, inexplicable need for the fresh polished floor to open up beneath her and swallow her whole; or, at the very least, to change the proverbial subject—and, as her ma back in Indiana says, and right quick.
“Listen, Trey,” she began with a shrug, “Why don’t we go over some edits for my book?”
Trey shook his head.
“That’s Irving’s job,” he reminded her, adding as his gaze lowered to the desk beneath him, “I have other books to edit right now—if you will excuse me.”
A nodding Helena rose from her seat, biting her lip so hard that it now bore a close resemblance to Irving Birnbaum’s.
“I’ll be back here at 4 p.m. sharp,” she told him, adding weakly, “I’ll bring you a Pepsi or something. Ice cold, straight from the vending machine.”
And with this she cleared the office. As. Quickly. As. Possible.
Immediately after emerging in the main hallway of Elmhurst Publishing, Helena came face to face with Irving Birnbaum; the editor that greeted her with a bright smile as he said, “Good morning, Helena! Hope you’re having a great day. Care to go over some edits this morning?”
Her body struck a defensive stance that bore a suspicious resemblance to a martial arts pose.
“Have you taken your pill, Irving?” she queried, pinning him with a suspicious stare.
Irving nodded.
“I took two,” he affirmed.
“Right on,” Helena announced, flashing him a spirited thumbs up sign as she lead him into her office.
Chapter Twelve
After a rigorous—but, fates be thanked—sane and peaceful round of preliminary edits, Helena went to lunch alone—venturing by herself to a favorite downtown café; a place she went to enjoy a hearty serving of cheesy lasagna along with her favorite beverage, especially on tough days.
Yet today, alas, even an economy sized bottle of Sugar Shock cola couldn’t allay her worries; not when she worried that she’d squandered her chances with a terrific guy.
“I mean, isn’t he being just a mite sensitive?” she asked her stainless steel napkin holder, which turned out to be her only luncheon companion that day. “All I did was drool openly over another man while in his presence, then imply openly that said man is sexier than he is. Is that really so bad?”
She paused here, suddenly very grateful that—as a general rule—stainless steel napkin holders did not possess the power of speech. Then, giving up on any and all attempts to enjoy her lunch, she bought an ice cold Pepsi from the grave looking, downright stricken woman at the counter (“She no doubt caught me attempting a reasonable conversation with her stainless steel napkin holder,” she thought with a cringe.) and headed back to the office.
After doing her level best to concentrate on the edits that lined her inbox, Helena surrendered the cause at a quarter til 4 and grabbed her conciliatory cola from her office mini fridge; shutting down her computer before she headed for Trey’s office; determined to make some sort of an apology before their co-workers arrived for their scheduled staff meeting.
“Helena Vance does not beg, grovel or whine,” she reminded herself, holding her head up high, “She is not however, overly averse to the concept of conciliation by cola.”
When she arrived at Trey’s office moments later, she found the door open and the room empty; and as she cleared the
“No Helena, that’s fine,” he allowed, turning his attention to the papers on his desk. “I’ll sign these contracts and send them off to legal—then we’ll be all set to start production on the book. I’ll also book our tickets to London today—and don’t forget our staff meeting at 4 p.m.”
Freezing in her seat, Helena folded her hands before her as she felt a sudden, inexplicable need for the fresh polished floor to open up beneath her and swallow her whole; or, at the very least, to change the proverbial subject—and, as her ma back in Indiana says, and right quick.
“Listen, Trey,” she began with a shrug, “Why don’t we go over some edits for my book?”
Trey shook his head.
“That’s Irving’s job,” he reminded her, adding as his gaze lowered to the desk beneath him, “I have other books to edit right now—if you will excuse me.”
A nodding Helena rose from her seat, biting her lip so hard that it now bore a close resemblance to Irving Birnbaum’s.
“I’ll be back here at 4 p.m. sharp,” she told him, adding weakly, “I’ll bring you a Pepsi or something. Ice cold, straight from the vending machine.”
And with this she cleared the office. As. Quickly. As. Possible.
Immediately after emerging in the main hallway of Elmhurst Publishing, Helena came face to face with Irving Birnbaum; the editor that greeted her with a bright smile as he said, “Good morning, Helena! Hope you’re having a great day. Care to go over some edits this morning?”
Her body struck a defensive stance that bore a suspicious resemblance to a martial arts pose.
“Have you taken your pill, Irving?” she queried, pinning him with a suspicious stare.
Irving nodded.
“I took two,” he affirmed.
“Right on,” Helena announced, flashing him a spirited thumbs up sign as she lead him into her office.
Chapter Twelve
After a rigorous—but, fates be thanked—sane and peaceful round of preliminary edits, Helena went to lunch alone—venturing by herself to a favorite downtown café; a place she went to enjoy a hearty serving of cheesy lasagna along with her favorite beverage, especially on tough days.
Yet today, alas, even an economy sized bottle of Sugar Shock cola couldn’t allay her worries; not when she worried that she’d squandered her chances with a terrific guy.
“I mean, isn’t he being just a mite sensitive?” she asked her stainless steel napkin holder, which turned out to be her only luncheon companion that day. “All I did was drool openly over another man while in his presence, then imply openly that said man is sexier than he is. Is that really so bad?”
She paused here, suddenly very grateful that—as a general rule—stainless steel napkin holders did not possess the power of speech. Then, giving up on any and all attempts to enjoy her lunch, she bought an ice cold Pepsi from the grave looking, downright stricken woman at the counter (“She no doubt caught me attempting a reasonable conversation with her stainless steel napkin holder,” she thought with a cringe.) and headed back to the office.
After doing her level best to concentrate on the edits that lined her inbox, Helena surrendered the cause at a quarter til 4 and grabbed her conciliatory cola from her office mini fridge; shutting down her computer before she headed for Trey’s office; determined to make some sort of an apology before their co-workers arrived for their scheduled staff meeting.
“Helena Vance does not beg, grovel or whine,” she reminded herself, holding her head up high, “She is not however, overly averse to the concept of conciliation by cola.”
When she arrived at Trey’s office moments later, she found the door open and the room empty; and as she cleared the
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