Page 48

New York in December is no joke.

There’s a fresh coat of snow on the ground, and I’m lucky the weather cooperated the entire flight from one end of the country to the other.

“Here.” The cab driver twists in his seat, handing me a card. “Call that number anytime you need a ride while you’re in town, and I, or a buddy of mine, will try to help you out.” He winks as I take the card.

“Thank you.”

I push open the door, getting out and then slamming it behind me. The gust of chilled air nearly takes my breath away as I get my bearings and peer up towards the forty-story building I’m about to enter. The home of Slater Publishing. They’re the hottest publishing house in the market right now. With romance being such a trending genre because of a franchise of popular movies, they’re representing some of the biggest names.

I start my way towards the building when I feel my phone vibrate in my coat pocket. “Hello?”

“Hey, Whitney,” Liam’s voice comes through the line. “Did your flight go all right?”

“Yeah, everything went great.”

“Good. Glad to hear it–”

“Hey, sorry to cut you off, but I’m here at the building, and my meeting’s in fifteen minutes. I still need to head up, and I don’t want to be late.”

“Yeah, sure, no problem. I just wanted to wish you good luck in there. I know you’ll do great.”

“Thanks, Liam. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

Pocketing my phone, I rush into an open elevator. The elevator is rather large, but being packed with bodies, it feels a bit suffocating. The ride up is one of silence, with a few coughs and throat clearings to break the awkwardness. I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket, but I reach in, clicking the button on the side to ignore it. I’m already on edge about my meeting, and the calls aren’t helping the situation. When the elevator dings for the fifth time, it’s the floor that I need, so I make my way towards the door and follow a few people out.

Glass doors act as a backdrop to the front receptionist desk, and I’m greeted by a young woman in a slick, chestnut bob and bright smile. “You must be Whitney,” the receptionist says.

“Yes, that’s me.” I give her a small smile.

“Please take a seat. Harold Slater is scheduled to see you this afternoon. He’s en route from our press house so he should be here in a moment.

Nodding, I take a seat in a leather chair. The walls are stark white decorated with abstract works of art. After studying them, I notice that they’re more than abstract pieces. They’re popular covers of books made to look artsy. Standing, I pad over to one of the pieces. It’s the cover of the most recent New York Times Best Sellers. The cover of the book is normally a simple black with a shattered red heart, but this piece is simply magnificent. Not only does the artist use the cover, but it portrays the emotion and heart break that embodies this novel. I remember reading this book, and it gutting me. The emotion this author could draw out was overwhelming, and I’m feeling the same passion now.

“It’s pretty awesome, isn’t it?” the receptionist says as she comes up behind me.

“Yes, it’s incredible. This book is so amazing, and by looking at this piece, I feel like I’m suffering the same heartbreak all over again.”

“Lange, the artist, not only reads the books, but he also spends time with the author to get a feel for who they are as a person. It’s an incredible process, and we’re honored that he chose us to paint for. We have him exclusively.”

“He’s simply amazing.”

I take a step back and gaze upon the other pieces that align the walls of this expansive area. A buzzer breaks the silence.

“That would be Harold. Please,” she says as she sweeps her hand out, “let me show you to his office. He’ll be in shortly.”

I grab my things from the nearby chair and follow her down the hall. “I’m Britney, by the way.” She pushes open the door to Harold’s office. “Take a seat in the lounge area. It shouldn’t be long now.”

“Nice to meet you, Britney, thank you.” She smiles before she closes the door behind her.

Taking a seat, I look around the room. This office is stark contrast from the waiting area. The deep wood accents match the deep coloring of the doors and desk. The far wall is covered in books, displayed as they would be in a home, but the welcoming feeling of the room doesn’t do anything for the nerves that have taken up residence in my stomach. When I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket, I pull it out, seeing Heath’s name on the screen. He’s sent me two text messages, both full of words of encouragement. The thumbs up emoji makes me smile.

When I hear someone clear his throat, my head snaps up. A gentleman around my age is standing in the doorway with a smile on his face. He’s wearing a charcoal suit with a baby blue shirt underneath. His hair is styled with a slight wave on top and shorter on the side, and his complexion is tanned. I wonder if he was in a tropical location recently?

“Hi.” I stand, making my purse fall from my lap and hit the floor. “Shoot.” I bend down, grabbing it and stand back up. By this time, the man is already standing in front of me.

“Sorry, about that,” he says. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I thought you heard me come in and close the door behind me.”

“No, I didn’t, sorry.” I put my hand out. “I’m Whitney James.”