CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER ONE
Lex tore into the box excitedly, ripping open the cardboard flaps in her haste to get to the items inside. Nestled neatly in two rows, their covers aligned edge to edge, were the print proofs she had been waiting for.
She took one out and admired it, turning the book so that the glossy dust jacket would catch the light. It looked fantastic. There was always something special about the first view of a new book: the smell of the pages, the act of unpackaging, of admiring the design of the cover as it looked in print.
It always took Lex back to her childhood, when her father’s bookstore had welcomed shipments of new books to sell. She had been eager to help him, grabbing them out of the box and running to put them on the shelves, standing to admire them for a moment. She’d always thought that, one day, she would follow in his footsteps.
These books, though, were destined for another purpose. Lex snapped back to reality, flipping open the cover of the volume and casting her eyes over the interior. She was looking for misprints, typos, errors in alignment—all of the things that could damage the credibility of a serious book.
This was a serious book, too—a very serious one. It was an exploration of the discoveries made by a professor of cellular and molecular physiology at Yale, who had spent the last two decades of his career in a research position. The difficult topic had been written up by an author who specialized in science nonfiction books, and Lex had gone over it painstakingly in her role as editor for the publisher who employed her. Making it understandable even for the average science major had been challenging enough, but a year of work was finally coming to a conclusion.
Lex set it down on top of a messy stack of proofs, jacket options, and bound manuscripts on her desk, ready to dive into it properly. She flipped through the pages, unleashing a waft of new-book smell across her face, and paused to fondly place a finger on one of the illustrations. It was bittersweet to finally come to the end of this project. Of all the manuscripts she had dealt with over the past year, it was one of the most challenging—and the most rewarding to finish.
Despite herself, she found her thoughts drifting away again, back to her father. A memory came to her mind as she looked at the boxed-up books, the scent of their new-bound pages floating up from them and taking her back to something from before he had disappeared from her life. Unpacking a new box of books with him had always been a special joy.
Lex turned at the sound of her dad’s voice, echoing amongst the shelves. “Where are you, pumpkin?” he was asking.
“Science Fiction and Fantasy,” Lex called back, giving him the name of the section she was standing in. The store wasn’t big, but it was big enough to have different areas for different genres, and the shelves were so closely packed together that it was impossible to see anyone on the other side of one.
Her dad rounded the corner, tall and bearded, a twinkle in his eyes as ever. His hair was so dark it was almost black, the same hair that Lex herself had inherited. He held out his arms to her with a grin. “There’s my book fairy,” he said. “Come on. The new delivery is here.”
“Alexis Blair, you’re late.”
Lex almost jumped out of her chair, dropping the proof onto the desk with a clatter. Several pens, disturbed by the impact, rattled free and dropped to the floor, rolling under her desk. She looked up to see another editor peeking around the door of her office. There was barely enough room for it to fully open without hitting her desk in the cramped space, and she often left it propped ajar so that she could get some air. It was the smallest office in the whole building—even the janitor’s closet was just a touch bigger.
“Oh, god,” she muttered, looking at the time on her watch and flushing. “Sorry! I just got the proofs of
The Endocrine Explained
. I lost track of time.” Lex shuffled along past the side of her desk, which was uncomfortably close to the shelving on each side of the room, and followed her colleague out into the hall.
“You and your science books,” he laughed. Matt Lang was based in the fiction department at the Boston offices of Fully Booked Publishing, specializing in young adult books, and he was one of the most popular editors in the building. Even though there were many others with the same role, he had managed to rise to the top in just a few short years. There was a rumor going around that he would be replacing one of the senior editors when she retired, which wasn’t going to be far away.
He was only twenty-five, which wasn’t fair at all. Lex was seven years older than him, and she wasn’t going anywhere fast.
“I can’t help it.” Lex smiled. She couldn’t help it, despite the jealousy: Matt was so charismatic. “I get so excited when it’s a subject I really enjoy.”
“You studied science, right?” Matt shot over his shoulder, as they wound their way up out of the basement offices and onto the bright and airy first floor. “What was it again?”
“I did a dual major, Chemistry and World History,” Lex reminded him. Not that there was much point—he would probably forget again in a matter of minutes. Matt had that art of making it seem as though he cared about everyone, though he probably only really cared about things like making sure his copper-brown hair fell just
so
to make him as dashing as possible.
Lex tucked her own straight dark hair behind her ears self-consciously, feeling the neat ends brush against her neck. She didn’t know why it mattered. Except, of course, that Matt was something of a superstar in the office—while she more or less faded into the wallpaper.
Everyone was waiting for them in the glass-fronted conference room, sitting around an oval table with their notebooks and pens out in front of them. Lex realized with a start that she had left hers behind on her desk. One more big mistake. There was no way she could go back for it now—not when she’d already held up the meeting for so long.
“I found her,” Matt said triumphantly as he pushed through the steel-handled doors, raising his hands as if to glory in his victory. There was a murmur of appreciation around the table, most of them simply playing along.
“I’m so sorry,” Lex stammered, rushing over to find her place. “The proofs just came in, and I got distracted, and—”
“All right, all right,” Bryce Kowlowski, the senior partner, said. He was the head of Acquisitions, and Lex’s direct boss—and he didn’t look pleased. Not good, considering that he had the power to decide how many new authors she’d be able to take on each year. She already had only a tiny budget as it was. “Just take your seat, Alexis. Right. Monthly reports, please.”
“I’ll start,” Matt said, smirking as he flipped his notebook open from his place on Bryce’s right. “The launch for the fifth book in the
Wizard School for Wayward Girls
series is going very well. We held number one in the
New York Times
and topped the Barnes and Noble sales charts for two weeks in a row. The first four books have also reentered the lists. Negotiations with Warner Brothers are almost complete for the seven-movie series.”
“Fantastic,” Bryce said, dropping his own pen on the table to lift his hands in applause. “Extremely good news, Matt. Well done.”
Around the rest of the table, Lex and the others obediently clapped along. Her head was still ringing, reeling with the thought that she was going to have to report everything from memory. Not that there was much to report—which only made it worse.
“Karen, how about you?” Bryce asked, going to the editor who sat on Matt’s right. She was a sharp-angled woman who had always reminded Lex of the witches in
Hocus Pocus
, ready to sacrifice as many children as needed to cast her own beauty spell. Except for her thick Boston accent, which was as broad as they came.
It was probably no coincidence that Karen specialized in biography and memoir, usually dealing with celebrity clients. Lex had once thought she loved all books, until she tried to read the titles that Karen Johnson brought into the firm.
“
It’s All Tru, Deau
has just passed a hundred thousand copies,” Karen reported in her harsh, nasal voice. She paused for praise after each pronouncement, although Bryce only nodded encouragingly at her to go on. “
Between Dwayne Johnson and a Hard Place
has just been signed as a biopic. We’re seeing explosive pre-orders for
Kevin Hart: Short Stories
, which should top every bestseller list going on release day next week.”
“That is amazing, Karen, congratulations,” Bryce exclaimed, lifting his hands for another round of applause. “Two consecutive bestsellers in a row—well done, firm. This will reaffirm our position as the number one publisher of celebrity autobiography. We’re firmly poised to overtake Kiss and Tale Publishing.”
There were murmurs of congratulations from others around the table, but Lex couldn’t bring herself to join in. It was all so soulless. She’d sat in on discussions where celebrity memoirs were dismissed because the author didn’t have enough Instagram followers—or accepted just because they did. It meant nothing to her. There was no integrity to it—no heart.
Lex phased out as Bryce continued around the table, staring out the window behind him at the Boston skyline. It was a clear day, and the view across the city was stunning as always—though she’d more than gotten used to it over the time she had worked there. It was home, but staring at it didn’t help to soothe her nerves. She tried desperately to remember the figures she needed to report, and wished she had remembered the notebook with all of her careful recordings. It wouldn’t make much difference, she knew. The numbers weren’t high. Not compared to the celebrity sales.
The autobiographies themselves weren’t even real, let alone good. They were full of gossip and rumors, hearsay and made-up tales to make the celebrities look better. All they had to do was call someone “Mr. X” or pretend they were changing the names for privacy’s sake, and they could make up stories whole cloth with no one to dispute them.
“Miss Blair?” Bryce said, breaking her out of her distant thoughts and making her start. She dropped the pen she had been holding on the table, glancing down at her hands to see that she had managed to press the nib against her thumb, causing a black stain to spread. “How about you?”
Lex shifted uncomfortably in her seat, tucking her thumb inside the palm of her hand to try to hide it. The last thing she wanted was for Matt and Karen to notice her clumsiness and start laughing about it again. “
Pilgrim Expenditure: How the New Colonies Lived
has been shortlisted for the Wolfson History Prize and the National Book Award for Nonfiction,” she said, hoping that Bryce wouldn’t push her on the numbers. “There’s rumors of a Pulitzer for History for
Postal Records and Migrant Patterns
. We won’t know until they announce, of course.”
“And the sales figures?” Bryce said expectantly, his pen hovering over his notebook.
Lex swallowed. “Less than five thousand,” she admitted.
“For which?
Pilgrim
or
Postal
?”
“For everything,” Lex said, feeling more than hearing an intake of breath around the room. It was her worst month yet, and the vast majority of those sales had been to libraries and schools.
Bryce’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, before he shook his head slowly, turning to make a note. She knew it was low. But with her specialty, scientific and historic texts, there wasn’t often much of a market. These books were important—so important she wanted to get up on the table and shout about it until the rest of the editors understood—but it was a minority of people in the world who could fully understand them, let alone want to buy them.
She knew it was only the promise of the awards, and of strong reviews, that made Bryce consider keeping her department open in the first place. She had cultivated a list of the best authors in the field, with the most groundbreaking views and discoveries—but the problem was that most of them only had one or two books in them, thanks to the depth of time required to create each one, and the extreme specialization they usually encompassed. If she couldn’t keep bringing in those revelatory titles, she wasn’t going to be able to keep her place much longer.
Still, as Bryce dismissed the editors to get back to work, Lex knew she had a good crop this year. The books were winners, and they had the potential to change the world, and that was something.
“Well done,” Karen said, approaching her with her hand extended. “A Pulitzer.” Lex knew by the sneer in her voice that she was mocking, not really congratulating, but she automatically reached out to shake Karen’s hand all the same.
The gesture reminded her too late about the ink that had spilled onto her hand—and she looked down with horror to see the black stain transferring to Karen, covering her palm and the place where Lex’s thumb had rested.
Lex was about to say something, to apologize, but Karen had already turned toward Matt with a haughty cackle, obviously designed to let Lex know that the congratulations had been false. As she did so, Karen swept the same hand across her face around her eye, as if wiping away tears of merriment. A black panda-eye smear appeared over her carefully done makeup.
Lex bit her lip. The pen was a brand that their authors used for signings—heavy-duty and permanent. She pretended to need to tuck her chair more tightly under the table so that she wouldn’t laugh in Karen’s face, and also so that she might be far enough away to avoid suspicion when someone told Karen.
“Alexis,” Bryce said, his voice low even though they were now the only people left in the meeting room. “Can you join me in my office?”
Alexis felt her heart sink down into her stomach at the sound of his tone, and it took her another few moments to convince her lead-filled body to turn from the table and follow him.
“Look,” Bryce said, facing Lex over the expanse of his own desk. It was decorated with pictures of his children, but behind him was a wall of framed awards and certificates, even magazine covers. He had had a long and successful career. “It’s not that I don’t think your books are important.”
As far as conversation openers went, it didn’t bode well. “Of course they’re important,” Lex said, instantly feeling herself go on defense. “They’re world-changing. History-defining. The professor’s research into the endocrine system will probably be taught in med schools for decades.”
“Yes, but, well, the thing is,” Bryce said, pushing his modern heavy-framed glasses up his nose, “they just aren’t selling very well. I’ve spoken to the other partners about this and I did lobby on your behalf, but they just don’t feel it’s right for Fully Booked to keep on taking losses—even if it is to change the world.”
Lex gaped at him for a moment, barely able to comprehend what he was saying. “What about the awards?” she asked. “The reviews? They make the company look good, put us in the newspapers—”
“Sadly, they only make us look good to other academic writers and publishers,” Bryce said. His mouth was an apologetic line, quirking down at the edges.
“But
Mushroom Petrol
—that was absolutely groundbreaking for its field—it was so popular…”
“Unfortunately, its ‘field’—the realistic capacities for growing anaerobic fungi as a biofuel source—is extremely small. It only sold five hundred copies.” Bryce sighed. “I really am sorry, Alexis. You’re a good editor. You’ve got an eye for this. It’s just that the type of books you deal with, as amazing as they are, simply don’t sell.”
Lex tried to clear her head, shaking it slightly, trying to decipher what all of this meant. “What will I… what kind of books do you want me to bring in, then?”
Bryce shifted uncomfortably, his hands folding over one another on the table close to hers, as if he was resisting the urge to reach out to her. “I’m sorry, Alexis,” he said again. “We’re going in a very different direction. Away from nonfiction entirely, except for memoir. I’d like you to join Karen in Celebrity Autobiography.”
Lex stared at him dumbly, the words filtering through her ears but not her understanding. The ground felt like it had dropped away from underneath her. How could he think that she would be able to work in Karen’s department?
“I can’t do that.” Lex swallowed, feeling her throat as dry as a bone. “I can’t work in Celebrity.”
“Alexis, I don’t think you understand,” Bryce said. “It’s not up for debate. Your department will no longer exist, and there’s only one department with a vacancy. You’re going to Celebrity.”
Lex knew, somewhere deep inside, that she needed this job. That she would be in trouble if she lost it. That she might lose her apartment, too, and have to somehow move back in with her mom at the age of thirty-two. But above that, bubbling straight up from her heart, was a certainty that there was no way she could do this.
“How can I work on those books?” she asked desperately. “You know I can’t do that. When I first came here, I wanted to work for you because you published great literary works. Real books. Things that made a difference.”
“I know.” Bryce sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Things have changed in the publishing world. We have to compete with e-books, and this is what’s selling right now. The people above me aren’t concerned about literary prowess, they look at the numbers.”
“I can’t do that.” Lex studied her hand, the black ink on her thumb. Somehow, at that moment, it reminded her of her father, handwriting price labels for books. He’d put everything into his dream of running a bookstore. When he’d lost the business, everything had changed. Lost dreams, the failure to pursue them—there were some fates that were worse than losing your job. “I know people will think I’m mad for saying this, but I can’t just look at the numbers. I need this job, this salary… I really do. But staying here, working here… I can’t do it. Not at the cost of losing the part of the job that I love.”
“Don’t do this,” Bryce said, shaking his head at her. “You worked for so long to get this job. Don’t leave now.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, hearing the words coming from afar as if someone else was saying them. “I’m so grateful for everything you’ve done for me—the mentoring, sticking up for me when sales were low. But I’m going to have to quit.”
Bryce stared at her, his mouth falling wide open. Lex couldn’t say she was surprised. In the whole time she’d worked at Fully Booked, she had never done anything as bold as this.
“I’ll write you a letter of recommendation,” he said at last.
“That’s sweet,” Lex said, smiling distantly. “I don’t think it’s likely that I’ll find a job like this one. No one wants a nonfiction editor with a history of poor sales and obscure titles. You’re right; the market has changed. Maybe it’s time for me to change as well. To be true to myself and see where that leads me.”
“I’d offer to shake your hand,” Bryce said, with a somewhat watery smile, “but I don’t want to end up washing the ink off for the next two hours.”
Lex half-laughed, raising her own hand in the air, revealing the ink he had somehow already managed to spot. “It’s been a good run,” she said.
“It has.” Bryce slumped back in his chair, looking defeated. “I wish you luck, whatever you choose to do now.”
Somehow, with mechanical movements, Lex managed to get up out of the chair and push it neatly toward the desk, then turn toward the door. Nothing quite felt real at that moment.
“Your leaving will be effective immediately,” Bryce said quickly, raising his head to call after her before she could leave. “It’s company policy in a situation like this. Karen will deal with wrapping up your current books and making sure we’ve done everything we can for them. You’ll get four weeks’ pay from now, but we can’t have you coming back in. Data privacy and schedules and all that. They don’t like to risk it.”
Lex stared at him again for a moment, her hand hovering on the door handle. He didn’t look unsympathetic. In fact, he looked sorry to have to say it. A wild objection rose up in her that she wouldn’t even be given enough time to say goodbye, but when she thought about it, there weren’t many people here she would really call her friends. Bryce had always been nice to her, and supportive. But that was all gone.
She turned and walked back to her office in a daze, numbly thinking that she was going to have to find a box from somewhere to pack her things in—and wondering what on earth she was going to do now.