product. Only someone like Trevelyan could get away with this shit, and the fact that it was going live electronically first helped some.
“Look, we’re going nowhere here,” I said with a sigh when Lourdes in Editing started bitching again about Trevelyan dicking her around with the final copy of the manuscript.
I wasn’t usually here for this kind of meeting, but because it was about Yeller and Trevelyan, I attended. Begrudgingly.
Trying to herd the VPs was more difficult than herding sheep. Veep meetings over marquee authors were the bane of my existence but they earned us too much money for me not to have my nose buried into the ins and outs of their launches.
“We’ve never let it run so late to deadline,” she argued.
“Lourdes, how long have you worked for the company?”
She frowned—the clever girl sensed she was walking into a trap. “Four years, Devlin.”
“Well, I promise, I’ve worked here longer and I’m well aware that Trevelyan is taking the piss. But, having earned us fifteen million on his own last year, I think we can allow him some creative license.”
“You say that now,” Kirkland from PR complained, “but when the version that drops on the e-retailers is riddled with mistakes, we’re the—”
I cut him a look. “It won’t be.” I pinned Lourdes in place with a glance too. “Will it? You’re going to dedicate every waking fucking hour to making sure that final copy is perfect, aren’t you?”
Her nostrils flared with agitation. “This is highly irregular.”
“Trevelyan is highly irregular,” Rhode from Marketing slotted in, her mouth downturned at the corners.
I shrugged. “Creative genius takes shape in many ways.”
She sniffed. “I don’t even understand why we’re having to do this. He’s a marquee author for thrillers, not with some small town fags who fall in love with each other.” She followed that up with a gagging noise, seemingly unaware that the tension around the table had just soared.
My dislike for Rhode wasn’t exactly well-known because I was a professional, and made sure that she was never aware of my inherent distaste for her, but with the recent run of shit from her, my patience was running thin and the mask I wore was starting to slip.
“What on earth makes you think you can talk like that around this table, Rhode?” I asked quietly, and probably, thanks to that quiet tone, I had the stress levels around the table surging.
My temper in board meetings was renowned.
She shrugged. “It’s the truth.”
“No, it isn’t,” I denied, a bite entering my voice for the first time. “That you said that in front of witnesses is just proof that you’re too fucking big for your boots, Rhode. I’d watch that mouth of yours,” I snapped, “before it gets you into trouble.”
Her eyes narrowed at me as she sat forward, the deep V of her shirt pulling wide as she did so, revealing a set of tits that had seen more surgeons’ hands than lovers’. “I don’t need to worry about trouble. Everyone here knows that half the money made in this place is because of me. That gives me certain privileges.”
Because she was partly right, I didn’t deny that. “Everyone can be knocked off their pedestal, Rhode. Even two-bit whores who are better at selling product than pushers to addicts.” A sharp gasp swung around the table, but I ignored it, preferring to straighten up in my seat and say, “You might think you’re unique, but there are plenty of Marketing Execs out there who can take your place if you don’t watch your behavior.” I narrowed my eyes at her. “Everyone is replaceable. Even me. Especially if we don’t watch our words.”
“Is that a threat?” she hissed.
“No, it’s a warning,” I countered, but then a thought occurred to me. “You’ve been dealing directly with Trevelyan’s people, haven’t you? Working on those upcoming book tours? Jesus, this is why he’s being difficult, isn’t it? Have you said anything like this to them?” I gritted my teeth as I cast everyone around the glass table a look. The way they were all staring down at their computers and the papers in front of them was clue enough. “In future, if someone upsets the apple cart, you’re to come to me over this bullshit.”
“What bullshit? I didn’t lie,” Rhode snapped. “He’s a marquee thriller author!” Her snooty nose soared into the bloody air. “And I’m a professional. Give me some credit. I didn’t say anything to his people.”
“No, but everyone around this table knows exactly what you’re