Page 49 of Illicit Education
The elevator doors opened and Reed motioned for me to step out first, then followed, passing me as he strode toward his office. He shot a glare toward the empty chair at the reception desk, and looked over to where Scary Stella usually sat. Wonder where she was this morning.
Once inside Reed’s office, he barked, “Sit.”
I plopped down into one of the chairs facing his desk, then began to adjust myself, trying to get comfortable. The seat was hard as cement and even less giving.
Standing behind his high back leather chair, he paused the unbuttoning of his coat. “Everything all right?”
“No, actually.” I repositioned myself again. “These chairs are really uncomfortable.”
“So people won’t overstay their welcome.” He stripped out of his sportscoat, and as he draped it over the back of the chair, my gaze zeroed in on his strong arms and the way they stretched the fabric of his dress shirt.
Is it hot in here?I glanced around, searching for the air conditioning vent.
Cabot sat down in the chair and watched me from across the desk. “Let’s address the elephant in the room.”
Oh? Okay.So we were going to talk about last night? Well then.Hit me with it, Master Creed.
“You haven’t said anything about your gift.”
My gift?
My eyebrows furrowed, and then my brain joined the conversation and I remembered what he was talking about. My gift. The gilded Simona Steele hardcover.Thatwas the elephant he wanted to talk about? Not the fact that last night I’d seen him whipping someone at a fetish club?
All right. I could do this. I could play along.
Sitting up straighter, I said, “Well, I found it a bit inappropriate, to be honest.”
Reed’s lips twitched, but that was all the response he gave me. “How quickly can you read a sixty-five-thousand-word manuscript, Ms. Blake?”
The lightning-fast subject change startled me.
He glanced to his left and I followed his gaze to an old-fashioned mantel clock tucked into a bookshelf. “It’s nine o’clock now; would end-of-day be enough time?”
“Yes.” Probably more than enough time, but I didn’t want to over promise and under deliver on my first official task.
“Great.” He retrieved a manuscript from a pile to the left of his laptop and extended it across the desk without looking up at me. “And to edit it?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Please keep up.” He cleared his throat as he focused on his computer screen. “How long would it take you to edit a sixty-five-thousand-word manuscript?”
“I guess that would depend on the level of competency of the writer, wouldn’t it?”
Eyes intently focused on his computer screen, the Smirker returned with full force. “My authors are quite competent. As are my editors.”
Silence stretched out between us. Was that it? Had I been dismissed?
“I’d like your feedback by the end of the day.”
I nodded, holding the manuscript to my chest.
“That will be all.”
Seriously? Whatkindof feedback did he expect at the end of the day? Was he looking for a full critique? An overall feeling? Did he want me to catch plot holes? Comment on the prose? Proofread?
Each imprint of Reed Publishing likely had standards they applied to each manuscript they accepted…
I didn’t even know what category or genre I held in my hands and he wanted feedback.