Something Like This (Secrets) (7 page)

“Hey!” I heard him yell.

I didn’t stop.

“Hey, come back!” he yelled.

I stopped, but I didn’t turn around.
No, I’m not ready. I can’t do this. I can’t face him.
I’m feeling lightheaded. I can’t breathe. I’m going to faint. OH MY GOD, my father knows who I am. He’s calling out to me. I’m sweating. Someone help me. Please, someone blink me out of here. NOW, someone help me, NOW.

I swallow saliva and lick my lips. Then, I do it. I reach down inside of me, down to my very core and I turn around. I see him talking to a woman. He’s handing her a folder. She must have dropped it when she walked past him. It’s not me he was calling. I don’t have to talk to him today. I can put it off one more day, two days, maybe three. My lungs are filling with air again. I’m not shaking anymore. Today is going to be a fine day. A good day. A
fake
day. I can go on pretending I don’t have a homeless father. I can see Reece and talk to him and laugh with him and kiss him. All is well. Raise your head, turn back around, and get your butt to work.

***

W
aiting for me in front of my desk was Mr. Walker and some guy I had never seen before.

“Perfect timing,” Mr. Walker said.

“Good morning,” I said.

“I want to introduce you to Thomas,” he said.

Thomas extended a hand to me. “Call me Tom.”

“Today is his first day. He’s going to help us read manuscripts. I stole him from the Used-to- be-Big-but-Now-Sells-Nothing Literary Agency. Tom here has a great eye for what makes a good story. I want to grab him on his way up, before someone else does.” Mr. Walker winked at me.

“Welcome,” I said with a big ole smile.

“Here’s what I need you to do,” Mr. Walker said directly to me. “Give him any manuscripts you haven’t read yet.”

“What about the ones I’ve already read?” I asked, resisting the urge to snap at Mr. Walker.

Mr. Walker scratched his head. “Did you like any of them?”

“Yes, a few.”

“Okay, well, give him the ones you liked along with any notes,” Mr. Walker said. Then he faced Tom. “Look through those first and let me know what you think. If you agree with Jadie, pass them along to me, if not, set them aside.” Turning to me, he said, “I’ll need you to write the rejection letters for the ones he puts aside, okay?”

“I’ve never...written a rejection letter.” I was fuming. Blonde Tom was now between me and Mr. Walker. No more going directly to Mr. Walker.

“We have form letters.”

“Should I use those even for the ones that showed promise?” I asked.

“Hell, write ten-page emails if you want, explaining all the things you liked or didn’t. But if you decide to do that, you do so at your own risk. Prepare yourself for a never-ending email exchange with the writer.” Mr. Walker frowned.

“Understood,” was all I could bring myself to say.

“All right, now let’s all get to work.” Mr. Walker patted Tom on the back. “Tom’s sitting in the office at the very end of the hall,” he then said to me. And with that, he disappeared into his office.

“I’ll come find you in a few minutes,” I said to Tom.

“Cool, also, how about we have lunch today? That way, we can eat and work.”

Tom was probably only a year or two older than me, and here he was already directing me on his first day at a new job. And he even had his own office. I felt threatened. I so wanted to impress Mr. Walker and now I couldn’t. I was going to have to go through Mr. Blondie first.

“I’d love to, but I have plans.”

“I understand,” he said, clearly disappointed. “I’ll check with Mr. Walker, maybe he won’t mind if I tag along with him to lunch today.”

Was he serious? He was obviously trying to bully me into agreeing to have lunch with him. Mr. Walker was having lunch with a big editor from New York today, no way was I going to let Tom attend that luncheon. But what was I worried about? Mr. Walker would never agree to it. Tom was new. But then, Mr. Walker did seem highly impressed with him already, so much so that he’d poached him from another agency.

I decided to call his bluff. “Would you like me to ask him?”

He pulled at his lower lip. “On second thought, I’ll eat at my desk today. That way I can review some manuscripts.”

“Okay, well, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get to work.”

“Yeah, no problem, of course. Come over whenever you’re ready with the manuscripts.”

I bit my lip; otherwise I feared I would have said something awful, something like, “Fuck off!” Tom had really irked me.

Slouching down in my desk chair, I massaged my forehead and tried to relax. Then I opened my drawer and pulled out the stack of manuscripts. I had read them over and over again, taking notes as I read. These were the ones I was going to give to Mr. Walker with a big thumbs-up. These were the ones I was excited about, the ones I wanted Mr. Walker to represent and try and sell. I was already imagining him meeting with editors and pitching them, encouraging them to buy, buy, buy. And, yes, in my head I also imagined Mr. Walker giving me a pat on the back, a “good,”—no, a “great job,” a “well done, keep it up, you’re on your way to bigger and greater things.”

And now, Mr. Blondie was going to take all that away from me. He was the one who would decide which manuscripts made it to Mr. Walker’s desk and which ones got a rejection letter. I was surprised by my ambition. I didn’t know what it was about this place, but I really liked it and I wanted to impress Mr. Walker. I wanted to make something of myself. I wanted to be someone. I was scared, but I was not willing to let life pass me by just because I had a screwed up childhood and a homeless father. And right now, I was feeling threatened. Maybe I was wrong for feeling the way I did. Maybe I was stupid and selfish and dumb. But it’s how I was feeling. And, yes, I could admit that I was getting ahead of myself, but I had this strange suspicion that Tom was going to be trouble.

And there he was coming down the hall, his hair perfectly cut, not a wrinkle on his suit.

“I’m going to get a cup of coffee, would you like one?” he asked.

“No, thank you, I’m good.”

The manuscripts on my desk caught his gaze. “Are those for me?”

I put my hand on them as if I were protecting a favorite toy. “No, I mean, yes, I just need to give them one more look.”

“If you’re okay with it, I’d like to get started on reading them. I’m sure I’ll have questions. We can give them a final review together.”

I removed my hand and stood. “Yeah, sure, okay, I don’t mind. I hope you can read my notes. I tend to scribble.”

“No worries. I’ve got horrible handwriting.”

I offered a half-smile. “Let me know when you want to meet for the final review.”

He picked up the manuscripts. “I will, thank you,” he said and started heading back to his office.

“What about your coffee?” I asked.

“I’ll get it later,” he yelled back.

Why did I have the funny feeling that he never intended to get coffee? He was checking on me, wanting to get his greedy hands on the manuscripts as soon as he could.

“Jadie,” I heard Mr. Walker yell.

“Coming,” I yelled back.

Once I was in his office, he said, “I’m meeting with some very important editors from New York today.”

“They’re not on the schedule,” I said.

“Yes, I know. They don’t really want anyone to know they’re meeting with me. We’re discussing a possible new venture and, well, with more and more writers self-publishing, we either evolve or die. So, we’re meeting to discuss options.”

“Understood. What time are they coming? Should I bring them straight to your office?”

He got up from his desk and walked over to the window. Running his fingers through his hair, he said, “I need you to pick them up from the train station and take them to this address.” He handed me a piece of paper.

I suddenly felt as if I was working for the CIA or the FBI. I also felt very uncomfortable.

“I don’t have a car.”

“Take my car. It’s in the garage.” He dangled keys in front of me.

“How will you get there?” I asked.

“Don’t worry about me. Listen carefully. You can’t tell anyone about this. Not anyone, okay?”

“Yes, got it.”

“My instincts tell me I can trust you. I hope they’re right,” he said.

“I won’t let you down.”

“I can see the Cathedral from here,” he said, staring out the window. “I saw you enter it one day. Do you go there often?”

He had seen me. The day I had stood up Reece and hid there. Mr. Walker had taken aim at my heart. He had reached down inside and pulled out my pain.

“Not often,” I lied.

“Go as often as you like. We all need a place we can go when things aren’t going well, or we simply need a breather. I have my place. For me, it’s the golf course.” He sat on his desk and crossed his arms. “My wife isn’t shy about voicing her disapproval.”

“She doesn’t like you playing golf?”

“She thinks I should spend what little free time I have with her instead of swinging golf clubs. Can’t say I blame her, but then, I’m set in my ways and not interested in changing who I am.” He sighed. “I do love her, though, more than I’m willing to admit to her.”

I’m not sure my parents ever loved each other. They tolerated each other. Love? I can’t say I ever saw it make its presence known.

“All right, go on, get back to work, and remember, don’t tell anyone.”

I nodded, turned, and was out of his office in a flash.

***

T
he train station was only a couple of blocks down the street. I could wait for them on the platform and then walk with them to Mr. Walker’s car, which was parked in the building garage. No, that wouldn’t make a good impression.

I absolutely hated parallel parking and in DC, well, at one point or another, parallel parking was pretty much a given. It was either risk a horrible parking job, one which could result in a ticket, or risk giving Mr. Walker’s business partners a bad impression by making them walk two blocks to the car. I was going with the latter. Besides, I’d simply explain that finding a parking spot close to the station would have been nearly impossible and I didn’t want to be late picking them up. I mean, there was truth to my explanation.

Having made my decision, I grabbed my purse and headed out. Once on the sidewalk, I quickly walked toward the train station; I wanted to get there as fast as possible before my mind decided to bombard me with thoughts of my father, who, when I glanced over to the other side of the street, was sitting against the wall eating.

Racing up the stairs to the train platform, I cleared my head and concentrated on my task. My watch said it was 11:00 a.m. I’d have to text Reece to let him know there was a possibility I was going to be late for lunch.

As I stood on the platform, I suddenly realized I’d forgotten to ask Mr. Walker one very important question. How would I know who I was picking up? In my effort to impress Mr. Walker, I had failed to ask the right questions. I didn’t even know what time their train would be arriving. I immediately started panicking. Here I was trying to prove myself to the world, trying to prove that I had what it took to make it, to get ahead...I was laughable.

Before I could start hyperventilating, my phone rang. It was Mr. Walker.

“Are you at the station?” he asked.

“Yes, but—­”

“I know, you have no idea who you’re picking up,” he interrupted.

I felt so stupid. “I’m sorry, I forgot to ask.”

“No need to apologize. It’s my fault. I’m nervous about the whole thing. To tell you the truth, I’m having second thoughts. Business isn’t that bad. We’re still selling books. I’m just not sure I should be getting into the self-publishing business. It doesn’t make sense, this new business venture. Why would writers sign up with us to help them self publish their books when they can do it themselves?”

Mr. Walker was beginning to sound frantic. I didn’t know what to say to him.

“Tell me what you want me to do,” I said.

He didn’t say a word, but I could hear him breathing quite heavily.

“Mr. Walker? Are you okay?”

“Just leave,” he said. “Forget the whole thing. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Are you sure you want me to go? What about the editors?”

“I can’t meet with them. Not now.”

Was this really happening? I definitely had an inside look to Mr. Walker’s eccentric side.

“There’s a train approaching,” I said.

“That’s got to be their train. Come back to the office,” he said.

“How about I bring them back to your office and you can explain your reservations?”

“No!”

“Okay, got it, I’m heading back right now.”

“Don’t say a word to anyone.”

“Yes, got it.”

He hung up.

It wasn’t even noon yet and I was already having what I was sure I would forever remember as the weirdest day at work. I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep this from Reece. I was torn because Mr. Walker was clearly embarrassed and didn’t want anyone to know. But for goodness sake, how could I not share this with Reece?

***

I
hurried back to the office and prayed that Mr. Walker wasn’t there. My prayer was not answered. He was sitting on my desk, waiting for me.

“There you are,” he said, a big grin on his face.

“I came back as quickly as I could.”

“You didn’t need to rush.”

Twilight Zone, anyone?

“Do you need my help with anything?” I was quite confused with whatever the hell was going on with Mr. Walker.

“Nope, I’m good. I’m heading out for my lunch meeting in a few minutes and wanted to make sure you and Tom had carved out some time to discuss the manuscripts.”

I swallowed and nodded. “He’s reading some now.”

“Okay, good,” he said and walked back into his office.

I was seriously beginning to think that Mr. Walker had bumped his head. What else could explain his odd behavior?

I sat down in my chair, put my elbows on my desk and held my hands to my forehead. What in the world had I gotten myself into? Well, at least Mr. Walker hadn’t hit on me like my last boss. Quirky behavior, I could deal with. A boss who wants to sleep with me? That’s a deal breaker.