First Draft Romance

CHAPTER ONE

ftr check in:

rr check in:

enjoy!!! ~olivia <3

I'm only into the fifth hour of my new job, and I'm already touching my boss' thong.

Somehow, I'm strangely in awe of it? Because these panties don't wedgie their way between just any old pair of plebian butt cheeks. Does this thong—this completely non-sentient piece of shiny red satin, which I currently hold—realize that it belongs to the Rosalind Lindbergh?

Just, wow. What I wouldn't give to be Rosalind Lindbergh's thong.

Okay, nope. Actually, I take that back, because that sounds absolutely terrible and creepy and wrong, and she is my boss.

She could probably step on me though. That's reasonable. I feel like anyone would be okay with that.

I toss the thong into Rosalind's linen laundry bag. I'm kind of bummed that I'm out here doing laundry instead of, I don't know, giving her a firm-handed shoulder rub (I'm joking) while she writes her next bestseller, but I understand.

Apparently, being an award-winning author/executive producer/one of Forbes' 30 under 30 takes time and effort. Certainly too much time and effort to have to do laundry of all things.

If this was any other rich person making me do their laundry, even for this pay, I might quit. But Rosalind Lindbergh has been my writing idol since I was fucking fourteen. They say "don't meet your heroes"—but they never really mentioned anything about working for them.

And besides, obsessing over Rosalind's underwear (as depraved as it may sound) is keeping me from thinking about my sixth agent rejection this week. I know I shouldn't be upset that they've each given me such specific feedback, but they're all saying different things about my book. All the feedback is conflicting, bordering on grimace-inducing.

Like, "Leona's character is very well-defined" and "Leona just doesn't seem to have much of a voice within the narrative." Or, "Leona clearly has goals for herself, but she doesn't have to push herself out of her comfort zone to achieve them" versus—straight up—"Leona's character arc is clear from the get-go, but her end goal is, well, boring."

I pick up another pair of silky, expensive underwear and try not to ogle.

But, ugh, now I'm back to thinking about it. Why did I think majoring in Creative Writing was a smart decision? In this economy?

Days like these, I just wish I could be successful like Rosalind Fucking Lindbergh and never have to think about finances again. Just roll out of bed in the morning and say, "Ahh, good morning, world. Fuck each and every one of you pustulent assholes! I'm rich as shit! Eat dirt!"

And what is Gina going to say? Finally getting a job was a good first step to repairing our relationship, but I'd much rather be able to go home and say that I've finally done it: sold my book.

That freaking book was the whole reason I spent the last year unemployed and put almost the entirety of responsibility for paying rent on Gina. (Well. Gina's parents.)

But honestly, parents aside, I'd do the same if it was her dream. Hence why I took this job—so Gina can take her dream job with a movie production company, and I can touch other people's underwear.

And, hey, it just so happens to work out that my boss is my long-time personal hero. Call it a perk, if you will.

"Are you nearly done with that, Macie?"