Turnabout's Fair Play (15 page)

“Thanks, Lola.” Flannery backed away toward the door to the stairwell. “Again, I really appreciate this.”

She jogged down the three flights of stairs and across the building to her own condo, where she showered at supersonic speed. Since she now had no time to dry her hair—a task that typically took at least half an hour—she french braided it, leaving a few tendrils loose around her face and ears. Makeup and then clothes—and instead of getting to be comfortable and wear jeans on the plane, she’d now be stuck in a business suit. She might as well make it her favorite—a tweed 1940s style with a cute kick-pleated skirt and a jacket with three-quarter sleeves and a peplum that flared out from a slightly raised waist, giving her the illusion of more curves than she owned. She pulled out a coral, wrap-front, sleeveless shell to wear under it and stepped into her comfortable burgundy-brown, round-toe pumps with the slight platform at the toe.

On second thought …

She grabbed a small overnight bag and threw a pair of jeans and a short-sleeved navy cardigan into it, along with socks and a pair of blue-and-coral plaid canvas sneakers. She’d change clothes before heading to the airport and just leave the suit hanging on the back of her office door until she came back. No point in making today any more miserable than it absolutely had to be.

She made it down to her car with her suitcase, the bag with her change of clothes, her laptop carry-on bag, and her purse right at eight thirty. Up until three months ago, leaving at eight thirty meant she’d walk into the office at eight thirty-five—if she drove the half mile from her condo building to their old offices on Lindsley Avenue, an additional ten minutes if she walked. But now that they’d outgrown that space and moved into new digs down in the Maryland Farm business park in Brentwood, the shortest her commute had ever been was twenty minutes.

On a regular day in the office, she’d have left here no later than seven thirty. But this was no regular office day. And since Jamie was supposed to be meeting her at nine o’clock, it would behoove her to be there before he got there.

She used the hands-free system in the car to call the office as soon as she pulled out of the garage.

“Hi, Flannery,” Brittany answered after half a ring.

“I’m on my way in.” She ran through a list of things she needed for the meeting with Jamie and Cole, which she’d figured on having time to pull together this morning. “If you can get that done for me, I’d really appreciate it. Oh, and another huge, huge favor—”

“I just started a fresh pot of coffee brewing, and someone brought in Krispy Kreme doughnuts this morning, so I set a couple aside for you.”

She loved it—after just a few weeks as her full-time assistant, Brittany could already read her mind. “You are an absolute doll, Britt. I owe you big time.”

She could almost hear the assistant beaming through the phone. “It’s no problem.”

“I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.” She let Brittany go to get those copies made and files pulled and returned her full focus to the road. After praying that she’d make it to the office before Jamie got there, she relaxed a bit into prayer mode and spent the rest of the drive mulling over some things with God. Like safety for her trip, inspiration for a way to show her appreciation to Brittany, clarity on a few projects, and help to figure out her new relationships with Zarah and Caylor.

By the time she exited the elevator on the fourth floor of the building and pulled open the etched-glass doors of Lindsley House Publishing’s offices, she felt pretty good about today.

Except for the whole Jamie O’Connor thing. And she knew better than to pray for patience with him—because God didn’t
give
patience. God
taught
patience by putting her, repeatedly, through the situation she wanted the patience for.

“The coffee just finished brewing, I put the copies and files on your desk, and the doughnuts are”—the microwave beeped in the small kitchenette behind Brittany’s work area outside Flannery’s office—“warm and ready for you.”

“Thank you, darling, darling girl.” Flannery set her clothes bag and her laptop case on the empty guest chair in her office and then followed Brittany to the kitchenette while they discussed the information Brittany had gathered for her.

Flannery finished off her bottle of vanilla-caramel flavored liquid creamer—just enough left for this large mug of coffee—and she pulled a couple of paper towels out of the dispenser and dampened them with water from the sink before taking the small plate of doughnuts from Brittany, who’d taken it out of the microwave for her.

Brittany followed her back to her office and hovered in the doorway while Flannery settled down at her desk. She had ten minutes to eat and check e-mail before Jamie arrived.

“When the front desk calls, do you mind going up to the front to get Jamie? That’ll give me a little extra time.”

“No problem.” Brittany gave her a jaunty salute.

“Thanks.” Flannery set the mug on the coffee warming plate and turned on her desktop computer. She’d checked e-mail at home this morning while on the treadmill but had flagged a few to respond to once she was actually sitting at a keyboard instead of just scrolling through them on the laptop while jogging.

And as expected, a bunch more had come in since then. From the subject line of a message from one of her debut authors, she could tell it was one that needed to be dealt with quickly. Apparently after rave reviews in a couple of magazines and a bunch of online book-review blogs, in addition to a glut of four- and five-star reviews on the major online bookseller sites, the author had just read a scathing one-star review that had sent her into what Flannery liked to call Debut Devastation—that first experience with realizing that not everyone was going to like her book. In fact, there would be people who hated it.

She fortified herself with one of the warm glazed doughnuts, wiped the stickiness off her hands with the damp paper towels, and then set fingers to keyboard to both mollify the author’s tender feelings and coach her in how to handle negative reviews. Many editors she knew told their authors just to ignore all reviews, never read them at all. Flannery believed an author could learn from just about anything, even the most negative reviews—sometimes the simple lesson of humility.

She read through her response a couple of times before sending the e-mail. Then she checked the time, thinking she might still have a minute or two.

Yikes! How had it gotten so late?

She stood and stepped out to Brittany’s cubicle. “Where’s Jamie O’Connor? He was supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago.”

Brittany shrugged. “The front desk hasn’t called to say he’s here.”

Oh, that man. Flannery spun and returned to her office, closing the door behind her. Brittany’s tender ears didn’t need to hear the blistering Flannery intended to give the inconsiderate lout.

She scrolled through the contact list in her phone and mashed the C
ALL
button as soon as she got to his name. It dialed his cell phone number, which she’d put in as his default per his request.

Four rings and then voice mail. She disconnected and scrolled to his office number. Again, no answer. She didn’t even let the message get beyond “You’ve reached—” before she hit zero. Two clicks and a ring.

“Sports…um…Hampton, Dixon…uh…Holcomb, and Gregg Marketing Solutions, this is Ainslee.” The assistant sighed loudly.

“Hi, Ainslee. This is Flannery McNeill from Lindsley House Publishing. I’m trying to get in touch with Jamie O’Connor. We had a nine o’clock appointment this morning.” She paced the short width of her office. Just wait until he got on the phone. She’d really let him have it.

“Um…yeah. He was getting ready to leave the office for your meeting when he was called in to Mr. Gregg’s office. I haven’t seen him since.” Ainslee sounded a little worried about that.

Flannery stopped and leaned forward against the back of her desk chair. “I tried calling his cell phone, but he didn’t answer.”

“Well…his briefcase is in his office, so I think he’s probably still in with Mr. Gregg. I’ll have him call you as soon as he comes out and let you know his ETA.”

“Thank you, Ainslee. I appreciate that.” Flannery tucked the phone back into the holster clipped to the waistband of her skirt. She paced a little more and then returned to the desk, where she devoured the second doughnut to quiet her growling stomach and returned to answering e-mails. Nothing she could do until he got here.

Almost half an hour later the desk phone rang—and the ID window showed it was the front-desk receptionist calling. Brittany answered it before Flannery could reach the receiver.

What happened to calling her before he left the office? Maybe Ainslee had been away from her desk when he returned to the office for his briefcase and he hadn’t gotten the message.

Flannery wiped her hands on the almost-dry towels and threw them and the empty plate in the trash can under her desk. She got a breath mint from the canister in the top drawer and then checked the front of her shirt for crumbs and brushed a few flakes of dry glaze away before buttoning her blazer.

She opened her door just as Brittany rounded the corner headed back from the front lobby. Behind her …

Flannery frowned and then schooled her expression.

Brittany led the unfamiliar man straight to Flannery and then returned to her desk. He extended his hand toward her.

“Hi, I’m Dustin Aaronson, senior sports marketing account executive with HDHG Marketing Solutions.”

Flannery shook hands with the tall, stocky towhead—wondering how someone who looked about the same age as Brittany had enough experience to be a
senior
anything other than a student. “Flannery McNeill.”

“I wasn’t sure the first time I heard it, but is that
Flannery
as in—?”

“Yes, as in the author Flannery O’Connor.” She sighed.

Dustin smiled at her. “May we step into your office a moment?”

Flannery backed through the door and motioned Dustin to enter. “I’m sorry I don’t have anywhere for you to sit—I have a conference room reserved for…us.”

Dustin closed the door and then turned his too-white smile back toward Flannery, taking a few steps over to stand across the desk from her. “I believe you were expecting to meet with Jamie O’Connor.”

“Yes. He’d already shared some ideas with my associate publisher, which is why we’d set up the meeting with Cole Samuels while he’s in town.” Flannery started to cross her arms but didn’t want to convey her discomfort through her body language. She rested her hands on the back of her chair. “May I ask why Mr. O’Connor didn’t come to today’s meeting?”

Dustin’s thick pale brows raised. “He didn’t tell you? He’s been laid off. As of today he no longer works for HDHG Marketing Solutions. We didn’t see any point in his taking this meeting when I was already in town working on the department transition.” He lifted a plastic expanding folder from his soft-side leather briefcase. “Jamie gave me all of his notes and ideas, so I think we can make pretty quick work of this.”

Flannery chewed the inside of her bottom lip as she turned to pick up her own file of ideas from her desk. “Let’s go to the conference room then.”

Halfway down the hall, her cell phone buzzed and then began ringing. She lifted it to look at the ID screen.

C
ALL FROM
J
AMIE
O‘C
ONNOR
.

She almost answered it—but didn’t want to do so in front of Dustin.

Jack stepped out of his office when he saw Flannery headed down the hall. His smile faded when he looked over her shoulder.

Flannery stepped out of the way. “Jack Colby, associate publisher for fiction, this is Dustin Aaronson from the advertising agency.”

Jack recovered more quickly than she had, his smile extra wide as he shook hands with Jamie’s replacement.

“Dustin, why don’t you go ahead and have a seat in the conference room, and Flannery and I will be right in.” Jack motioned to the open door just a few steps down from his office. He watched until Dustin disappeared in the room. “What’s going on?”

Flannery glanced toward the conference room and then back to Jack and shrugged. “I’m not sure. The agency has a new name, and this guy told me that Jamie was laid off and
as of today
no longer works there.”

Jack jerked slightly. “Really?”

“That’s what he told me.” Flannery chewed the nail on her right pinky finger.

Jack reached over and pulled her hand away from her mouth, a little twinkle in his blue eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re worried about Jamie O’Connor. I thought you didn’t like the guy.”

“I don’t—I mean, he irritates me. But…to lose his job.” She shook her head. “No one deserves that.”

“Flan, my dear, I think there’s hope for you yet.”

“Don’t count on it.” She took a deep breath and then released it slowly. “And what’s this about you coming to this meeting?”

“Hey—I have a few ideas I’d like to float out there, too.”

“And you’re a little starstruck with the idea that we’re going to be publishing novels written by a big football great like Cole Samuels.” Flannery rubbed her lips together. “Oh—you go in and entertain this Dustin kid. I’ll be right back.” She jogged back to her office, dug around in her purse, and pulled out her lipstick and compact.

Touched up, she stepped out of the office. Brittany hung up her phone and came out of her cubicle directly across the hall from Flannery’s door. “Mr. Samuels is here. Do you want me to go get him?”

“No, I’ll go.” Flannery straightened her jacket and ran her tongue over her front teeth, just in case the lipstick had transferred after she put the mirror away. She bared her teeth at Brittany, who nodded and gave a thumbs-up.

Starting down the hallway, Flannery lifted her cell phone and dialed into her voice mail. She had one new message. She ducked into the supply room.

“Flannery…it’s Jamie. Look, I’m sure by now you’ve met the new rep. I—I’m sorry I didn’t tell y’all Saturday night about the layoff thing but…well, I take full responsibility. I know that Dustin will be great for you to work with, and I…I wish you all the best.”