Though Kurt and I were neighbors back in London, at the family home I rarely used anymore, I actually knew Kyrian better, and appreciated the lack of bullshit he spouted. He was originally from Cornwall, in the UK, and as two fellow ex-pat Brits living in the land of the free, I’d admit to watching his back so I knew focusing on this boring meeting was imperative.
Kyrian usually made life easy for me by being one of our safe bets. Whatever he published, we always made sure to have releases stockpiled because, there wasn’t a shadow of a doubt in our minds, he’d sell every copy.
The only trouble was, at the moment, it wasn’t so easy to stockpile when you didn’t have a finalized product. Only someone like Trevelyan could get away with this shit, and the fact that it was going live electronically first helped some.
“Look, we’re going nowhere here,” I said with a sigh when Lourdes in Editing started bitching again about Trevelyan dicking her around with the final copy of the manuscript.
I wasn’t usually here for this kind of meeting, but because it was about Yeller and Trevelyan, I attended. Begrudgingly.
Trying to herd the VPs was more difficult than herding sheep. Veep meetings over marquee authors were the bane of my existence but they earned us too much money for me not to have my nose buried into the ins and outs of their launches.
“We’ve never let it run so late to deadline,” she argued.
“Lourdes, how long have you worked for the company?”
She frowned—the clever girl sensed she was walking into a trap. “Four years, Devlin.”
“Well, I promise, I’ve worked here longer and I’m well aware that Trevelyan is taking the piss. But, having earned us fifteen million on his own last year, I think we can allow him some creative license.”
“You say that now,” Kirkland from PR complained, “but when the version that drops on the e-retailers is riddled with mistakes, we’re the—”
I cut him a look. “It won’t be.” I pinned Lourdes in place with a glance too. “Will it? You’re going to dedicate every waking fucking hour to making sure that final copy is perfect, aren’t you?”
Her nostrils flared with agitation. “This is highly irregular.”
“Trevelyan is highly irregular,” Rhode from Marketing slotted in, her mouth downturned at the corners.
I shrugged. “Creative genius takes shape in many ways.”
She sniffed. “I don’t even understand why we’re having to do this. He’s a marquee author for thrillers, not with some small town fags who fall in love with each other.” She followed that up with a gagging noise, seemingly unaware that the tension around the table had just soared.
My dislike for Rhode wasn’t exactly well-known because I was a professional, and made sure that she was never aware of my inherent distaste for her, but with the recent run of shit from her, my patience was running thin and the mask I wore was starting to slip.
“What on earth makes you think you can talk like that around this table, Rhode?” I asked quietly, and probably, thanks to that quiet tone, I had the stress levels around the table surging.
My temper in board meetings was renowned.
She shrugged. “It’s the truth.”
“No, it isn’t,” I denied, a bite entering my voice for the first time. “That you said that in front of witnesses is just proof that you’re too fucking big for your boots, Rhode. I’d watch that mouth of yours,” I snapped, “before it gets you into trouble.”
Her eyes narrowed at me as she sat forward, the deep V of her shirt pulling wide as she did so, revealing a set of tits that had seen more surgeons’ hands than lovers’. “I don’t need to worry about trouble. Everyone here knows that half the money made in this place is because of me. That gives me certain privileges.”
Because she was partly right, I didn’t deny that. “Everyone can be knocked off their pedestal, Rhode. Even two-bit whores who are better at selling product than pushers to addicts.” A sharp gasp swung around the table, but I ignored it, preferring to straighten up in my seat and say, “You might think you’re unique, but there are plenty of Marketing Execs out there who can take your place if you don’t watch your behavior.” I narrowed my eyes at her. “Everyone is replaceable. Even me. Especially if we don’t watch our words.”
“Is that a threat?” she hissed.
“No, it’s a warning,” I countered, but then a thought occurred to me. “You’ve been dealing directly with Trevelyan’s people, haven’t you? Working on those upcoming book tours? Jesus, this is why he’s being difficult, isn’t it? Have you said anything like this to them?” I gritted my teeth as I cast everyone around the glass table a look. The way they were all staring down at their computers and the papers in front of them was clue enough. “In future, if someone upsets the apple cart, you’re to come to me over this bullshit.”
“What bullshit? I didn’t lie,” Rhode snapped. “He’s a marquee thriller author!” Her snooty nose soared into the bloody air. “And I’m a professional. Give me some credit. I didn’t say anything to his people.”
“No, but everyone around this table knows exactly what you’re thinking, am I right?” I shook my head in disgust. “You called him a fag. There’s no place in Astley Publishing for someone who’s stuck in the 1970s.
“If I hear of you dropping any homophobic or racial slurs again, then you’re out on your ass, Rhode. Let’s face it, that can be proved.” And along to the lawyers this sordid scene would go too.
Her eyes flashed wide at that, and I watched her shoulders round in, her posture changing as she went from aggressive to defensive.
She knew exactly what I was talking about, and while I might have just given away my Ace in the hole, it was worth it. This woman thought because she was a ‘New York’ Rhode her shit stank like roses.
It didn’t.
Astley Publishing wasn’t the company my father had managed anymore. It was mine. All fucking mine, and if I wanted it to be a diverse workplace, where people of any and all backgrounds could gather to give the public the books they needed to escape, then that was my fucking prerogative.
Her lips straightened into a line, the slight muscles there tensing with her agitation, but I ignored her and demanded, “I feel like this entire meeting has been bullshit. Someone had better start talking to me before I really lose my fucking temper.”
Singh from Accounts cleared his throat, drawing my attention his way. “As far as I’m aware, Rhode hasn’t said all that much to his people. His agent, Sandra McGee, and I have been friends for years. If anything had trickled down the river to her about this, then she’d have told me.”
Shoving my chair back so that it slid halfway across the floor, I ignored them to start pacing.
The boardroom had phenomenal views that were usually wasted as everything that went down in this room was centered around the table. Everyone’s world was insular here, and that was how it needed to stay, but goddammit, I was fuming.
I already hated the bitch, but even as I was calculating if this—on top of everything else she’d done over the years—was enough to convince the lawyers that we could fire her ass without facing the threat of litigation, my brain was trying to figure out a way of containing this situation.