This

Chapter 5

My feet couldn't hold me up when I rose from bed the next morning, and I crashed to the floor in a not-so-elegant heap. It was already eight and I had to be at Harper Collins by nine, so I really needed to motor. I rushed a shower, brushing my teeth and shaving my legs at the same time yet completely neglecting my hair, which I knew would just end up drying in a matted nest anyway.

“Fuck!” I grunted as I ran towards the door still doing my jeans up, noting the fact that it was later than I thought. After Stanley's comment the day before, I had changed my blazer for a button up shirt with elbow length sleeves and a pair of wedge heels. It looked less professional than what I would have liked, but it felt more like something Psych-Olivia would wear, and that apparently was the unofficial 'uniform' at Harper Collins.

I arrived at the building at one minute to nine, and I used that minute to sprint up the emergency stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. Jeez, I needed to work out, I was so unfit. New York resolution number one; be able to run up stairs without feeling like I'd just been shot in the chest.

I managed to stumble into Stanley's office right as the clock on the wall rolled over to nine, and Stanley stared at me, unimpressed by the state of my breathing.

“Did you run from Brooklyn or something?” he joked – well, at least I guessed he was joking. Once I caught my breath, I managed to choke out half a sentence.

“No, just up the stairs.” Stanley's brow furrowed, and he muttered 'why the stairs?' confusedly as he continued his paperwork.

“What, no comment about my heinousness?” I muttered as I turned to leave the office. Before I could leave, I felt his hands on my shoulders, whipping me around as he surveyed me from head to toe.

“The hair is...” he made a 'meh' motion with his hand. “Shirt – better than the blazer. But those shoes!” he exclaimed, stepping back as he held my hands. “My god, she can run in heels. And superb heels, at that. Kudos, Fraser,” he finished sassily before sauntering back to his desk.

“Okay then?” I said, leaving him to his shoe-and-paperwork-filled world. The pile of accepted manuscripts on my desk was relatively large, so I decided to start my filing, which only took me until lunch to finish.

“Another coffee?” I asked Stanley as I poked my head into his office. He looked up, disbelief upon his face.

“Are you procrastinating?”

“I'm finished.” Stanley's jaw dropped, and he marched down to the archives to assess my handiwork.

“Once again, you're an improvement from that last girl. You have your alphabet in the correct order.” I erupted into laughter at his comment, imagining a girl kneeling in front of the shelves, singing her ABC's and saying 'Oh my gosh!' every time she gets to 'L-M-N-O-P'.

The vicious cycle of filing until I am too tired to undress at night, followed by running late in the morning continued for about a month, until one day, when Stanley finally let me step up.

“Manuscript on your desk. No-one wants to review it so I guess you can.” A grin spread across my lips, and I practically ran from his office to my desk, immersing myself in this manuscript that I felt like the gods had handed me. This is what I wanted to do. Being paid to read? How could it get any better?

The story was about a romance with your typical girl-meets-boy-they-fall-in-love-and-get-married kind of plot. The thing that made it spectacular, however, was the way that the author was able to capture the way that the female lead was thinking. I didn't just feel like I was reading – I felt like I actually WAS the girl, and that HER thoughts were MY thoughts. Plot wise, however...