365 Days

“Is this really what you’re paid for?”

The intern flinched at my voice, then again as I slammed the manuscript on his desk.

He stretched his collar, swallowing visibly, while I stood there, both hands on my hips, with fire in my eyes.

“Ms. Rose, I’m not paid at all.”

I threw my hands in the air, exasperated. “Do you want to work here when you’re out of college?” I asked. There was a hint of a challenge in my voice, but I didn’t care.

He nodded. The movement was so slight I barely registered it.

“Then act like it.”

I spun on my heel and stormed to the office. Other workers and interns avoided my path and my line of sight as I walked past them. It usually put me in a good mood, but not today.

“Ryan,” I bellowed. Where was that darn assistant?

“Right here, Ms. Rose.”

I almost sighed with relief when I saw him standing in my office, two cups in his hands. The room smelled like coffee, and I realized why once I saw his hands.

“I see you had an adventure this morning, Ryan,” I said, gesturing to the cups as I made my way to the board behind my desk. Notecards were suspended on it by magnets, and scrawls of writing covered the whiteboard. I was in the middle of working on editing a promising novel.

He tilted his head, inflating his cheeks as he looked down at the cups. “Yes, ma’am. One large water for you.” He placed the Chick-Fil-A cup on my desk. “One Frappuccino for me.” Ryan set the coffee from Starbucks on his own desk.

I set my gaze to the board, scribbling notes down on both cards and paper. The manuscript from a bestseller had recently come to my focus, and I wanted to get the author the successful editing they deserved.

Ryan stood at the head of my desk, staring at my closed laptop while biting his lower lip. His russet-brown eyes met my dark blue ones when he caught my curious gaze.

“Is there something you need?” I asked with raised brows. I rearranged a couple of notecards before settling at my desk. My hands fiddled with the manuscript.

He watched my movement. “Not something I need, per se.” After clearing his throat, he stepped back. “Sunrise headquarters called. The owners are here.”

Here? I paused my skimming over the pages and looked up at my dear assistant with a level of sass unknown to man. Aside from this one. A brow rose.

“Here,” I stated flatly, voicing my thoughts. Ryan nodded.

“Jamie and Michael want to meet with you in Brian’s office.”

“His old office,” I corrected, searching for a pen. “I fired him last week.”

“Yeah, and that didn’t settle well with the twins.”

I merely shrugged, writing some random observation on a sticky note. “That’s not my problem.”

“Uh, yeah it is,” Ryan said, bracing his hands on the desk. He leaned towards me.

“Well, tell them I’m busy with the next big novel.”

“They’ll fire me if I do that.”

“Again, not my problem.”

I took the sticky note square in my palm and smacked Ryan’s forehead, sticking it to him. He seethed, ripping it off his face and tossing it in the trash. It just now occurred to me that I’ve never seen him smile in the four years he’s been my assistant.

“They threatened to let you go, Ms. Rose.” He backed off my desk and leaned up against his with crossed arms. It was a much smaller version than mine. I’d picked it out just for him when I hired him.

“Did they now?”

“They did,” he repeated.

I studied the way he tugged at his collar slightly and adjusted his tie. Ryan glanced at his cheap watch.

“Ms. Rose.”

I snapped out of my daze and looked up. “Yes?”

He tapped his watch.

I let out a dramatic sigh and stood. The chair creaked in response, as if protesting my leave. At that moment, I related to that chair more than anything.

Despite my short height, I never wore heels. They made my feet cramped and my heels hurt. So, as I walked down the hall and into the main work area, I couldn’t watch the interns and lower employees scramble to get back to their desks when they heard the clomp clomp of my shoes. Instead, I watched a man who was snacking on a sub sandwich nearly choke on his food—his eyes bugging out of his head—at the sight of me. I had to refrain from laughing.

People pressed against the walls or pretended to talk on the phone. Sometimes I wish I didn’t know what they were doing, but I did. I always did.

I glanced back at Ryan to make sure he was keeping pace with me. He was, but he was on his phone. I noticed him scrolling through messages.

I cleared my throat. Ryan, to my amusement, nearly dropped his phone. He fumbled for it for a second before shoving it in his jacket pocket.

“Yes, Ms. Rose?”

“Oh, nothing. I just wanted to make sure you were still with us.”

I caught his lips twist to the side. The expression fled from his face the second I saw it.

I stopped in front of Brian’s old office. I knocked once. Twice. “Come in” came the response.

“Wait out here,” I told Ryan. “This will be quick.”

He gave me a brief nod before turning back to his phone.

Jamie was sitting in Brian’s old chair with her feet propped up on his old desk. Michael stood behind her, leaning against a table that used to have a printer on it. I smiled at both of them, but they gave nothing away. My nerves skyrocketed, and my stomach churned. Now that I thought about it, I did not have a good feeling about what they were about to say.

Jamie lowered her legs. She wore a pantsuit, same as I. I despised pencil skirts, same as she. When I’d first worked here, we’d gotten along well enough. Our shared hatred of skirts, pencil or not, was something that became a topic of some of our conversations. It was kind of awkward.

Michael, on the other hand, was much more indifferent to me. Yeah, he was nice, but he’s never made an effort to talk.

I surveyed the twins, a nervous smile still plastered on my face. They were probably fifteen years older than me, though I never asked.

“I realize how valuable of an editor you are, Ms. Rose,” Jamie began. She looked at me from over the rim of her glasses. A stripe of gray ran through her hair.

“Thank you.”

“But Michael and I just cannot seem to figure out why the last book you edited collapsed in sale.”

I blanched. “What?” I squeaked.

Michael sighed and ran a hand over his face. “We know. We found out just last week. The book before that has declined in purchases, and the reviews for both novels has gone downhill.”

I swallowed. It was a hard, painful swallow. That wasn’t possible. The author I edited for was popular enough that people would buy and buy and buy from her.

“Brooke told me that she would not sign with Sunrise Publishing unless we fixed the editing issue.” Jamie reached over the side of the chair, presumably to fish through a bag. She took a file from it and flipped through it.

“What was the problem with my editing?” My words were slow and stiff. I’d never, ever, ever had this issue before. Why was it just now showing up?

“It wasn’t grammar, word choice, or anything like that. It has to do with the romance aspect of this particular novel, and the one before that,” Michael said. Jamie absentmindedly nodded at her brother’s sentiment.

The romance?

My face betrayed my confusion, for Jamie rested her forearms on the desk and narrowed her eyes.

“What about it?” I finally managed to say.

“Ms. Rose,” Jamie said, “have you ever been in a romantic or sexual relationship of any kind?”

I shook my head.

“Just as I thought,” Michael murmured. Jamie’s brow rose.

“No boyfriend?”

I shook my head.

“No hookup?”

I shook my head again.

“Not even a one night stand?”

With that last shake, she blew air out through her mouth. “Good grief, girl, it’s no wonder the books stunk with ratings.”

I furrowed my brows, still not understanding.

“You are not qualified to edit a book about something you’ve never experienced.”

My eyes bugged out of my head, and my gut swirled. “But that’s the point of research,” I protested.

“And that’s true,” Jamie agreed. “But romance is, quite possibly, the thing most, if not all, people search for in life, and it’s usually a priority.” She gave me a look filled with pity. “And since it’s such a dominant topic in literature, it’s absolutely crucial we do it right.”

Michael’s eyes flashed. They usually did that when he was ready to close a conversation. I suddenly felt so small, like my interns. I was just some inexperienced, lower employee in front of the big-shots, but I couldn’t let that get to my head.

“Unfortunately, we will have to let you go within the next six months if your editing does not improve.”

So Ryan was right. I wish I’d listened to him, though it’s not like that would have done me any more good.

“Give me a year and a half, and I’ll get into a relationship and edit the best I’ve ever done.”

To my surprise, Michael laughed while Jamie just shook her head.

I gulped.

“Ms. Rose.” Jamie said it in a manner that one would use to speak to children. I flushed. “You can’t just ‘get into a relationship.’ There are other factors that must be present. You must spend time with your partner. You must respect your partner. Above all, you must love your partner.”

Love? The thought made me sick.

“We will let go of you for no more than a year to allow you to experience romance. I don’t care what kind it is.”

“What about Ryan?” I blurted. I was so used to having him around that I didn’t know what I’d do if he wasn’t with me.

“The assistant?” Jamie and Michael exchanged a look. Michael gave me a curious look as he crossed his arms.

“He’ll have to give up his position, as he works for you. Your fill-in will take interns as their assistant editors, just so we can give them the chance to be familiar with the position.”

As much as I hated the sound of that, it was smart. And thoughtful. Their idea was something I never would have come up with.

“So I have a year,” I stated plainly.

They both nodded.

“Three hundred and sixty five days to fall in love.”