When Stars Collide (Second Chance Romance #2) - Sara Furlong-Burr Page 0,14
an unsolicited manuscript, which I would have normally written off as most likely drivel and not worth our time and investment, but you, Mena, you gave this the chance it deserved. Instead of missing out on a great opportunity, we’ve struck gold, which is why I want our firm to begin accepting unsolicited manuscripts.”
“That … that’s great, Phineas. It’s just that, as I’m sure you know, for every great novel, there are ten thousand others that are complete garbage.”
“And from now on, along with your editing work, your job is going to be heading the department that sifts through the lumps of coal to find those diamonds.”
Flabbergasted, all I could do was stare, mouth agape.
“This is turning out to be a real banner day. First a meek Mena, and then a speechless Mena. Now I’ve seen everything.”
“No, you haven’t,” I reminded him.
“You got me there,” he chuckled.
I couldn’t be sure, what with the horrible fluorescent lighting, but I thought I noticed the faintest hint of a reddening on his cheeks.
“So,” he began, “what do you think?”
“I think … yeah, sure. Let’s bring it on and hope our luck holds out.”
*****
“Let me get this straight.” Jo propped her feet up on our coffee table, listening intently while I recounted the day that would go down in infamy in the Book of Mena.
“That’s the first time you’ve ever said that.”
“Like I haven’t heard that one before,” she retorted, chucking the throw pillow I’d made last summer at my head. Crocheted with an inscription proclaiming Life’s a Bitch, instead of the Life’s a Beach the instructor of the class at Annie’s Fabric Store had intended, the pillow landed safely in my arms. For some reason, the former statement just seemed to be a more accurate reflection of my life than the latter. Needless to say, I was never invited back to take another class.
“You send your boss half-naked photos of yourself, and instead of a stern warning, suspension, or, hell, even a finger wag in your general direction, you get a promotion? Meanwhile, on the subway ride to work this morning, someone hurled on my shoes and I had to spend the majority of the day walking around the office in my stocking feet while they aired out on the balcony.”
“What can I say? Life’s a bitch,” I replied, holding up the pillow she’d used to assault me.
“Either that or Mister-Too-Young-To-Have-The-Name-Phineas has the hots for you.”
“Right. Because I couldn’t have possibly landed the position based on my own merits?” I countered, more irritated by Jo’s assertion than I should have been.
“Of course not. That’s not what I’m saying at all. Just maybe the reason why his reaction to what happened was so muted is because he kind of digs you, is all.”
“He didn’t even see the photos. It was a no harm, no foul kind of deal.” I leaned back into the couch cushion. A nagging thought that had implanted itself inside of my mind the moment I deleted my text from Phineas’s phone came roaring back like an errant grass fire. “Of course,” I began, my brain quickly stopping my mouth from vocalizing the thought any further.
“Of course, what?”
“Nothing. A thought that left as soon as it arrived.”
“Isn’t that called dementia?”
“No, it’s called it’s getting late, and I should probably fill Peter in on the events of the day.” I yawned as I stood up from the couch, throwing a salute in Jo’s direction.
“Just do me a favor and refrain from waking me up with a blood-curdling scream tomorrow morning, will ya?”
“I make no promises.”
On my way to my room, the pervasive thought holding my brain hostage flashed through my head again as though my going to bed had given it some sort of unspoken permission to force me think about it—to really analyze it in ways that would keep me awake for longer than I wanted to be.
Phineas hadn’t been exaggerating. He really had received an abundance of text messages, none of which had been opened. Except for one.
CHAPTER THREE
I saw him before he saw me. Propped against a column next to the baggage claim, Peter intently scanned the crowd, looking for me. It wasn’t often I was grateful for being short, but as I watched his face searching for me in anticipation, I was happy that my stature allowed me to remain undetected, so that I could see how his face looked when he saw me for the first time in three weeks.