Page 2 of Tempt the Boss
Jenny scampers out of my large office and closes the door behind her. I pick up the manuscript and flip to the first page again.
I thought I knew what I was doing, coming back to my hometown. There was no way things could be worse now than they were when I left. If anything, I expected them to be better.
As I pulled into the quick stop for gas to make it the last few miles into town, I knew I was in for a rude awakening. The pumps were covered in dust. I walked inside. The cashier looked up when the bell on the door signaled my entrance. He was the same old man who worked this place when I was a teen but much older.
Reading the first pages the first time, I thought I was in for just another book about a girl trying to go back home. I didn’t expect the incredibly captivating story that unfolded over the course of sixty thousand words. A woman who starts with everything and ends with nothing, yet somehow still finds it within herself to be hopeful for the future. She’s the heroine every publisher has been dying to get their hands on.
My phone rings, breaking me out of my thoughts. “Hello?”
“Hey, Mr. Carmichael, it’s Trevor. Jenny wanted me to let you know she scheduled a meeting with Ms. Hartman for tomorrow at noon.”
“Wow. She works fast.”
My assistant giggles, which is a little weird for a guy, but okay. “Apparently, the agent and author wanted to work with us as much as you wanted to work with them. They think we’re the perfect publisher for them.”
“Good. I’m glad she’s excited,” is my rumble. “Let the board know I approved this project, and we’re moving forward with it.”
I can hear Trevor’s pen scratching furiously on his notepad. Like me, Trevor likes physical reminders and keeps tangible calendars. That’s part of why he’s been my personal assistant for a little over a year now—we see things the same way. But I have one more question.
“Did Jenny mention if the author’s agent is coming to the meeting, too?”
I can almost hear Trevor shaking his head. “No, she said the agent can’t make it. But she said it’d be no big deal because Ms. Hartman’s very independent. Is that okay?”
I grunt. “No prob. By the way, what else is on my schedule?”
Trevor starts going on and on about some meetings, which frankly, I block out. The words drone in my ears, but I’m not listening because my attention is fixated on this author. Who is Ali Hartman? What does she look like? For some reason, I’m obsessed even though I’ve never met this mysterious woman. And with that, Trevor finishes babbling.
“Thanks, dude,” I pick up like nothing’s wrong. “See ya.”
I hang up the phone and lean back lazily. I’m getting ahead of myself. Ali Hartman is probably a middle-aged mom writing while her kids are at school and her husband is at work. That’s how they usually are. They sound sophisticated and graceful, but they’ve got messy hair and wear sweatpants while slaving away at their desk. Oh, well. Can’t get my hopes up.
But why are you thinking this way?the voice in my head asks. You’re trying to sell books, not nail some woman. And with a grimace, I sit up. My subconscious is right. It doesn’t matter what this Ali person looks like or how old she is. She’s written a book that I want to sign. That’s it, full stop. So with a grunt, I get back to work. I need to get my libido under control. The written word can make me feel things, and that’s why I’ve lasted so long in this industry. But still, I need to go into that meeting thinking with my brain… and not my cock.