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MEETING CHARLIE MORTON
Iapply the lipstick and pucker my lips to get a nice, even coat. I glance back up at the mirror and make sure every detail is perfect.
Ruby red lips? Check.
Long, flowing hair tied up in a cute ponytail? Check.
Just the right amount of cleavage on show? Check.
Skirt just above the knees—a little daring but not too sexy? Check.
I look fantastic, so why do I feel like I don't belong here? Maybe it's because everyone else wields some power, and I'm only here because my boss wants me to bat my eyelids and put on enough of a show to get the rights to the newest book. Ten books and counting in the bag, but this latest one is exciting. There’s a buzz surrounding it that Charlie Morton has never had before.
I sigh and shift my shirt to show a little more of my creamy skin before I head back out into the fray. A couple more years of this, and maybe they'll actually let me read some manuscripts and make some decisions. For now, I'll play my part as a piece of meat and help bag the client.
BookExpo America is one of the biggest events of the year for the publishing industry, and I have to admit that I am a little excited about it. It's my first year at the event, and it is a little overwhelming. I get to put faces to the names I've heard over the past two years.
The one thing that is obvious is how many men are here. It kind of makes me feel like I shouldn't be here. The women who are here do not look like me. They look far more professional, not that I would change my look for anything in the world.
All right, head up, shoulders back, and don't let anyone get in my way.
I spot him across the large hall, realizing I'm not the only one who stands out at this event. Most of the men attending the event are dressed in suits, but no one wears a suit like him. I know a thing or two about fashion, having worked as an assistant before moving to a job with far less bitchiness, and it's a Tom Ford suit. There's a lot of money swirling around this event, but he's different.
My cleavage and fresh application of lipstick are meant for Charlie, but perhaps there is more fun to have here than I initially thought.
I watch as he strides confidently through the large hall. He's going in the same direction I am, so what's the harm in taking a closer look? As he makes his way through the people, the crowd seems to part for him. That makes it more difficult for me since the crowd does not part for me and most men (and some women) stare as I push past.
What is a man such as yourself doing here?
He's definitely not a publisher—he doesn't have a haggard look that most of them wear—and he is far too important to be an assistant. He can't be a writer, either. No one is making that much money from writing.
A smile comes to my lips as I get closer. Perhaps if we were in a bar and he was standing alone, I might approach him, but not here. Not with the purposeful scowl on his face… He might make for some fun between the sheets, but he's not a barrel of laughs.
It doesn't matter anyway. I would love to see what's under that suit, but I don't have time for any messing around. I've got an hour, maybe two, to sweet-talk Charlie, and then I need to hop back on a plane to New York. I'd much rather be rolling around with the hottest man at this event, but duty calls. And from the way he is marching toward his destiny, duty calls for him too.
The way he is focused strengthens my resolve. This is not my dream job, but I know it's not far out of my reach. Do I want to be a publisher? I don't really know. I'm only twenty-two, so I have my whole life ahead of me. I know I don't want to be an assistant for the rest of my life. What I really want is to do something creative within the industry. It's that type of vague goal that has left me without a real direction for the past four years.
I snap out of my daydream and kick myself when I find I have lost track of the handsome, rich guy. Wealthy and attractive? Some folk have it all. I mean, I still have my youthful looks, but my account balance is trending toward zero.
Charlie has the room booked near the back of the great hall. Well, I booked it, and Good Relations Publishing is paying for it. I can't really complain about the company I work for, except they are not all that creative and the job is hardly exciting.
Who was I to complain, really? I get to travel and that is fun.
I take a deep breath and remember my mantra.
Positivity breeds positivity.
You can get far in this world with a positive attitude and a smile. I put a little more pep in my step and go to find Charlie.
When I get to the room, there is a guy standing at the door. That is already weird—no one barges into rooms to see authors. I check behind to make sure I am in the right spot and see the table with stacks of Charlie's romance books ready to be signed.
"I'm here to see Charlie Morton," I announce. "Good Relations Publishing."
"Let me check."
The man ducks his head into the room and speaks so quietly that I can't hear what he says. He comes back out and closes the door.
"Ten minutes."
