When Stars Collide (Second Chance Romance #2) - Sara Furlong-Burr Page 0,12

just so happens to be the person who signed E.V. Cartwright. The man’s brilliant.”

“Eve who?”

“E.V. Cartwright. She’s the author of the Soldiers of Atlantis series. The first book was adapted into film and premiers next spring. It was a huge deal in the publishing industry and quite the discovery for Phineas.”

Jo shook her head, her expression blank. “And now he’s going to discover you in your undies.”

*****

Great. Not only did I send lewd photographs to my boss, I’m also going to be late to work.

I stared out the window of my cab, anxious. Anxious over the time ticking away at the speed of an Olympic hurdler; anxious over how Phineas was going to react. Normally, I would have walked the twenty minutes to the office and saved myself the cab fare, but with running behind, I na?vely thought the cab ride would be quicker, making up the time I’d spent lamenting my gaffe to Jo in nothing short of a fuck-my-life conversation that lasted entirely too long with an unsatisfying conclusion. There was no protocol for this, no rule in a handbook about how you can make your boss unsee your cleavage in a lacy push-up bra you’d kept tucked away in your drawer for a special occasion.

My fingers tapped the seat, beating it like a drum in the hope that it would either speed up the cab or make the cars in front of us magically disappear. I would have expected a call or even a reply text from Phineas by now, and envisioned him on his way to the office just like I was, contemplating what to do about me. Then again, it never seemed like Phineas had to contemplate anything. He relied solely on instinct, and his instincts were solid. They were a part of what had made Drake Publishing a premiere boutique publishing powerhouse in New York after only a year in operation.

“Miss.” The cab driver, an older gentleman who had been delightfully tight-lipped up until now, glanced at me in the mirror.

“Yeah?”

“We’ve been sitting at your stop for just about a minute now.”

*****

When I exited the elevator and entered Drake Publishing’s suite, all I could think about was how much I wished I would have called in sick. My stomach was in knots, the product of nerves, not to mention I was quite certain I was going to hurl. That feeling intensified further the closer I came to Phineas’s office. His blinds were open; the light in his office was on. Normally, I would steal a glance through the glass wall to see him working as he always was before any of the rest of us arrived. I would then give him a little wave and he would acknowledge my existence in return. However, as I passed his office, I couldn’t so much as look in his general direction, even though I knew he was in there. The sound of his fingers striking the keyboard told me as much.

Okay, Mena, you have a couple more minutes to think about how you’re going to explain yourself to him and why he shouldn’t send your ass packing.

I nodded and smiled at my other co-workers, politely acknowledging their too-early-for-this-shit pleasantries as I made my way to my cubicle and stowed my purse underneath my desk.

Think, Mena, think. It’s what you’re best at—talking yourself out of sticky situations.

I’d completed about a dozen laps around my work area when the sound of my desk phone ringing snapped me back down to reality. It was Phineas calling from his office. My time had decidedly run out.

“H-Hey, Phineas,” I answered, my voice just as shaky as the rest of my body.

“Hey, do you mind popping in for a sec?”

I’d rather have a colonoscopy with a broken beer bottle.

“Be right there.”

I stepped out into the hall, commencing my walk of shame to Phineas’s office. Despite knowing I was being paranoid, it felt like all eyes were on me. From Cheryl in accounting to Bradley our courier, in my mind, tales of my indiscretions were being sung in my wake, building to crescendo as I neared the end of my journey.

Phineas’s door was open, his back turned to me. I walked in, discreetly closing the door behind me. He looked up from his laptop as I meekly took a seat in one of the wingback chairs situated in front of him.

“Mena Straszewski, have I been eager to speak with you this morning.”

“It was a mistake,” my mouth blurted out without waiting for my brain’s