Oh God. Seriously? “Mrs. Brattle already wished me a happy birthday and gave me an envelope filled with cash I’msurethe whole town contributed to. So…” I stand, motioning to leave.
“Wait—I want to give you a raise!”
I turn to her, eyebrows skyrocketing. “Oh.” I walk back. “In that case…” I say as I slump back into the chair.
“Here. How does this sound?” she asks, holding out a paper.
I read through the contract, my mouth opening as I notice this is far more than a raise—this is twice my current salary. Does this mean…
“I know you’ve wanted to come on full-time for a while now, but what I said remains true,” she rushes out. “We can’t afford more weekly episodes ofMurders & Manuscripts. You know the podcast hasn’t exactly been thriving for the last couple of years.”
“Okay,” I say, excitement dampened. “Then why the raise?”
“Because I have an opening, and I’d like you to consider it.”
I watch as she walks to the big bookshelf beside the desk, then returns and drops a thick folder in front of me. Reading the words scribbled on it, I shake my head. “No. No way.”
“Scarlett, wait—”
“Romance books?” I squeal. “Do you want to kill me?”
“Passion & Pagesis our best-performing podcast. And now that Tanya is leaving, I’ll need to hire someone else.”
“So do it. I don’t—”
She leans forward over her desk and grabs my hand. “You have a mortgage to pay, Scarlett. And I know that you’ve been picking up odd jobs around town.” She points down at the folder. “Is romance really worse than that?”
It probably is. I honestly can’t tell, because I’ve never read one. “Look, Celeste. This isn’t just about whether Ilikeit. I don’t know the first thing about love.”
She leans back in her reclining chair with a dismissive gesture. “Well, it’s not like you’re a murder expert.”
No, but I’m the daughter of a cop and an assistant district attorney. Other kids got fairy tales while I begged my dad to tell me about how the police caught the San Francisco Strangler one moretime. I read my first crime fic when I was ten, and I never stopped. I’ve watched all the documentaries, listened to every single podcast out there.
You know what I’ve never done? Watched rom-coms. Listened to love songs or daydreamed about boys.
I’mnotthe right person for this job.
But the money, a tired little voice in my head says. How can I say no to stability? Celeste is right: I have a mortgage to pay. And it’s for a run-down mess that could be turned into a house if I had some money to invest in it.
“Look, why don’t you try it out? A couple of episodes—just to see how you do. And if it doesn’t work out”—she makes a decisive gesture through the air—“we forget all about it.”
I’m pretty sure I’ll regret this, but I can’t say no without even trying. I owe it to my back, destroyed after five years of on-and-off waitressing. “Okay.”
Celeste claps. “Oh, thank God. This will be amazing, you’ll see.”
“Your expectations worry me.”
“You’ll dogreat, Scarlett.”
Slapping my thighs, I stand. “Okay, well, it sounds like I have a podcast to study.”
“You do. I’ll make sure your salary information is updated.” She smiles. “Oh, and Scarlett?”
“Yes?”
“Make it ten times better than Tanya’s, please?”
I ignore the dread gripping my throat. “I’ll do my best, boss.”
