It was foolish to keep trying to capture his attention. She doubted standing in her birthday suit with a rose between her lips would gather more than a side-glance from the Adonis in a Hugo Boss suit. She tried not to lose hope. There was always tomorrow. One day the handsome hunk might look up.
Cynthia exhaled a sigh and picked up the envelope she had brought with her. She crossed the room filled with people seated under the crisp office lighting. The room smelled of newspaper ink and buzzed with whispered comments. She reached the end of the reception area, coming to the hallway. Several high-pitched voices rose behind her and she swerved left.
She ran her hand over the smooth mahogany paneling, only stopping when she came to a doorway. She studied the sharply etched nameplate and inhaled with a hollow sense of satisfaction. There was no need for an invitation, not anymore. This was her office, a reward for spending evenings and weekends under a slush pile two feet high and always meeting deadlines. She pushed the door open and entered the office, gliding alongside the floor-to-ceiling glass wall. She flung the envelope onto the credenza and picked up her printed agenda for the day.
“Mamma mia,” she muttered. Every box was filled all the way to eight o’clock that evening. She twisted to look out the window and was caught by the image of herself in the thick glass.
Her reflection was the ghostly image of a woman who yearned for something missing. She griped the single sheet of paper as if it were a lifeline.
She walked around her desk, sat and read for the next hour nonstop. Finally, she sighed as she tossed the bound set of papers into a basket on her desk. She rubbed her forehead and stretched languidly, and then she lifted another packet from the nearby pile. She snapped off the rubber band and read aloud for a while, but soon set it down. Disappointed, Cynthia pressed the sensitive point at her temple. She tightened her mouth in annoyance. She scanned another page of the last submission plucked from the slush pile. Already two other sets of eyes had reviewed each story before she touched a page, but she still hadn’t found anything decent in the pile.
A quick knock sounded at the door, and Emily, her assistant, came in carrying another tray of manuscripts.
“Over there, please.” Cynthia pointed. Her assistant nodded and picked up an armload of stories marked “REJECT.”
“Not a decent plot line in the bunch?”
“Zero. Keep your fingers crossed for the next stack.” That wasn’t altogether true. One story had promise, but the author had portrayed the hero as weak and controllable. Not the alpha male this editor was interested in publishing. Maybe she was just cranky because each of the heroines had enjoyed a date that ended with a hot naked man doing everything under the sun with them.
She’d be happy with a clothed man, dinner…the image of the navy-suited Adonis filled her until she remembered eight o’clock tonight might end up as nine o’clock if she didn’t get cracking. A rapid double knock sounded and the door wedged open. Her boss stuck his head inside.
“Cyn, you up for lunch?”
She glanced back at him over black eyeglass frames. “No. Not with this stack. I’m camping out here until the pile is whittled down…far down. But thanks, J.P.”
“Right.” He chuckled. “I’d better watch out for my corner office.” The door closed, and Cynthia leaned forward, tapping her fingernails ruefully.
She lived here, sometimes slept here. Not so bad…if you counted the fact she’d made editor before turning twenty-five and now ran the most popular romance imprint. Still, it was not enough. The board would meet next week, and she expected another promotion. Yes. He’d better watch that damn corner office, she mused without feeling especially excited.
Cynthia pushed back into the cushy leather chair and swung her legs on top of the desk. She tossed another overdone romance into the reject pile. Already pages into the next story, she hardly noticed her door open. “Emily, I’m looking for more tension, more heat. I want something that sizzles.” Cynthia didn’t raise her eyes from the page. “None of these make me hot, never mind dripping wet.”
“Excuse me?” a deep male voice asked.
Cynthia lifted her gaze from the manuscript and locked onto a pair of deep brown eyes set in a tanned face. She swallowed and for a moment wondered if she was dreaming. She pinched herself. Adonis was standing right in front of her. Up close, she was convinced he must be one of the cover models. If only she had a digital camera in her desk.
“Photography is down the hall, make a left, and look for the red door.” She was suddenly too nervous to enjoy the eye candy break.