Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Please call me as soon as you can. It’s important.
Forget eating now. My appetite is gone. I pace around the room for a few minutes, knowing I need to leave the hotel soon to make the interview by nine. Finally, I see the bubbling dots beside my text. I wait.
Can’t call. Tied up in a budget meeting.
Talking to him will have to wait. Dammit.
I grab my bag, smooth back my hair, and leave for my interview. But something feels off. I should be ecstatic about getting the red carpet treatment, instead there’s a weight on my chest like a warning. I could be walking into the job of my dreams—or a nightmare since Barclay never made an effort to help me at Hammond and I don’t know why.
34
Tessa
This time, I walk into the lobby of Hammond Press with both eyes wide open to avoid another coffee mishap. I approach the front desk and the security guard smiles at me. It’s the same one who was on duty when I was doused with four javas.
“Hello, again, miss,” he says. “How can I help you?”
“I’m here for a nine o’clock interview with Reece Young. My name’s—”
“Contessa Holly,” he interrupts. “I have instructions here for you. They’re a piece of cake. Push the top floor on the elevator panel. Ms. Young’s office is a right turn off the elevator and down the last hallway. Her nameplate is on the door. Good luck.”
“Thanks,” I reply, appreciating his good wishes.
After being here last week, I know the way to the elevator bank and find one waiting open for me. This has to be a good sign. I hop inside and press the button to the top floor.
I follow the guard’s instructions to Ms. Young’s office and stand in front of a slightly ajar door. Peeking through the small opening, I see a brunette sitting at a desk typing away on a computer. Behind her is a closed door. I’m guessing the woman is Ms. Young’s assistant.
I knock on the door, and it opens wider. The woman glances up from her computer screen and gives me a welcoming smile.
“Please, come in.” She stands up from her desk, waving me inside, and I enter the office. “You must be Miss Holly. I’m Margaret Lee, Ms. Young’s assistant. We’ve been waiting for you. Can I get you coffee or tea? Maybe water? How about a pastry? They’re fresh from the bakery across the street. I bought them myself.”
“I’m fine, really. Thank you so much for offering.” Her greeting seems overly eager, making me feel like a rock star entering a Green Room backstage.
This kind of attention is way over the top. It makes me wonder again about Barclay’s involvement.
“Let me tell Ms. Young you’re here.” She starts to turn toward the closed door behind her, but stops herself. “By the way, I love your blog. Shakespurr’s my favorite. It’s so exciting to meet you.”
“Thanks,” I say in complete shock. She spins around to enter Ms. Young’s office and disappears from view. I believe they have me confused with someone else, like literary legends Don Black or Steven Queen.
When Margaret reappears, Ms. Young is walking right behind her. “Contessa. Welcome to Hammond,” Ms. Young says, her voice ringing with excitement. She strides toward me, hand outstretched. “It’s so great to have you here at Hammond,” she says as we shake hands.
“I’m so happy to be here.” She’s a tall, classical beauty with shiny brown hair that falls to her shoulders. Her bright eyes show a keen intelligence, and like everyone in Manhattan, she’s gilded in black from head to toe, perfecting the title of senior executive.
“Let’s get started. We have a lot to cover and little time.” She hustles me into her office, and I follow, confused by everything that’s happened, from the rush and press to get me interviewed and the way I’ve been greeted.
“Please, have a seat.” Ms. Young gestures to the empty chairs in front of her desk and sits in a leather one behind it. After I’m seated, she begins. “Do you have any idea what kind of a publishing buzz you’ve created in this city’s marketing departments?”
I scrunch my brows, unsure how to answer her question. “I don’t understand what you mean.”
“Here’s the deal. Shakespurr brings all the millennials to the shelf. Every time the cat posts a review for a Hammond book, our sales dramatically spike in the twenty-something demographic. Even if the review is less than stellar. You’re reaching and moving a segment with your blog that is illusive to us.”
“Really? I had no idea my blog was making such an impact … or being watched here in New York City.” I swear, my eyes have to be as round as saucers. I truly can’t believe what I’m hearing.
“You have been, and we’d like you to continue doing great things here at Hammond. You’ve scheduled other interviews, correct?” I nod my head. “That’s what I’ve heard on the street. We want to make you an offer you can’t refuse. We need your help to build our millennial audience.”