Mom had worked for Dad’s company—that was where they’d met—and after I’d been born, until I was in school, she’d stayed at home. But when I’d been old enough, she’d started working again, yet that hadn’t changed my routine much. I hadn’t been a latch key kid or anything. She was always there at school, waiting to pick me up every night and to drop me off every day. No bus for me.
Everything had changed when I was nine and Google had come calling, but they’d grown more focused on me rather than negligent.
I’d been raised knowing I was important to my parents. Knowing that I mattered.
Devlin had been raised knowing he was an Astley, a cog in the endless wheel that fed the noble line.
Wondering if I needed to binge-watch Downton Abbey to understand this crap about entailed estates, or if Wikipedia would suffice, I slinked into the elevator once it arrived on the top floor and went down to my level.
No one was working except for Rhode and Cassandra who glowered at me when I returned to my cubicle.
“What are you doing back here? I thought Mr. Astley wanted to see you again.”
If only she knew... That booty call had been unexpected but all the more delicious for it.
“I still have work to do before tomorrow.”
Plus, I might as well wait Devlin out here. No point in Gian wasting gas in going to my place just to bring me back again forty-five minutes later.
She huffed at my reply, and because it was uncalled for, and maybe because it was late, and I was feeling shaken in what I’d figured out about Devlin, I grumbled, “You really don’t have to treat me like crap, you know? I don’t argue or quibble about all the work you dump on my desk when, literally, my job is to make copies and brew coffee. I think you’re lucky I’m here to help.”
Her eyes flared wide in surprise at my talking back to her, the first time I’d ever done it, then her mouth tightened. “You have no right to speak to me that way.”
“No? Then watch how you speak to me and we should get along just fine.”
Leaving her with that, I retreated to my little space and switched on my computer again.
Surprised to see a couple of emails about the Kyrian Trevelyan cover, I flipped through them, relieved that the new mock ups were in so fast, which told me Design had been whipped into shape by someone. They were exactly what Trevelyan had asked for, less cartoony, and more real. The other had been illustrated, not exactly graphic, just with a pattern on the front.
This one was a picture of two hands. It was black and white, simple in the extreme, but the only color on the entire cover were the silver rings on both guys’ hands.
Twisted Love was in the same silver, with Trevelyan’s name in black.
I preferred it to the illustrated cover for sure.
The other option, I liked less, but it was good. Having managed to snag an Advance Reader Copy early this week, I knew from the storyline the hero, Liam, had a massive back tattoo. This was proof, even if Trevelyan didn’t like it, that Astley Publishing had tried. The designer had clearly read an ARC too, because the guy’s back was Liam’s tattoo, but intertwined amid the strokes of the back piece, which depicted a massive water dragon, along the scales, the title gleamed gold.
Impressed with them both, even if I preferred the other, more sentimental version, I’d had orders from Cassandra to pass them onto Trevelyan’s people the second I received them. I didn’t want to say that they were washing their hands of the cover, but it was getting pretty close to that. So, with the proofs burning a hole in my inbox, I obeyed and sent them both off to Trevelyan’s agent and to the man himself.
It boggled my mind that I had his email address, and still, two months on, the prospect gave me a fan boy moment. Especially when I had to send a message to him.
I didn’t expect a reply this late, so I moved onto peering through the other promo material we had set up. It was four weeks until release day, and by now, I knew that, ordinarily, the cover would already be set in stone, be used in marketing. But Rhode was doing something different with her campaign, which had given Trevelyan some time to fight over the end product.
Her plan was either going to be the equivalent of a belly flop or a double somersault from the top diving board. I wouldn’t be surprised if it did the latter because she had the Midas touch, neither would I be shocked if she wanted it to flop. From her slurs, I took it to mean she didn’t like gays, although as far as I could tell she didn’t actually like anyone. So, if she was homophobic, it’d make sense she didn’t want this book to do well.
This far, she’d been building up the hype for the cover. Normally, it would be revealed about six months before release, sometimes even earlier depending on the publisher. Astley, however, tended to act faster than the other traditional presses. But she kept on throwing teasers out there, stirring up interest, and it appeared to be working—Trevelyan’s fans were wild for news on Twisted Love.
As I proofread the material, making sure it was all good for the eyes of the queen herself, I spotted a few issues, sent them back to the designers, and continued with my work. By the time it rolled around to Devlin shooting me a text saying he was ready to get out of here, I’d waded through the to-do list for tomorrow, feeling somewhat lighter hearted at the prospect of a desk that wasn’t bogged down with yesterday’s unfinished tasks.
Before I switched my light off, my eyes aching with fatigue from strain, I saw that Rhode was in her office barking at someone on the other end of the phone, and Cassandra was still at her desk. When she didn’t look up from her computer, I didn’t bother wishing her a good night. Just got the hell out of there.
I wasn’t sure why she was so rude, or if it was simply her way of being Rhode-in-training, but it sucked. I hated the atmosphere, and Cassandra was one big storm cloud hanging over my end of the office.
When I made it into the elevator, Devlin was waiting for me. He shot me a cautious smile, which didn’t take a genius to figure out. I moved to the other corner, away from him like we weren’t about to fuck at his apartment and, after, spend the night together there. Choosing, instead, to peer down at my phone until the doors closed.
“I understand the need for discretion,” I told him simply as I checked my messages, immediately feeling guilty when I saw Rachel had tried to call but, thanks to ‘Do Not Disturb’ I’d missed it.
Ever since Devlin and I had hooked up, I’d been neglecting her, which made me feel like such a shitty friend. Although, knowing Rach, she’d be stoked for me. After all, since I’d told her I was gay, she’d been the one pushing me into the dating scene. I just couldn’t be open with her about who I was dating, so it made it difficult not to be secretive.
Rachel: Why won’t you come out with me tonight? *pouts*
Me: I have a date.
Rachel: With an executive hottie? I can’t believe you won’t tell me who it is!
Rachel: I’m going to try to guess.
Me: Go for it.
Devlin rumbled, “I didn’t doubt that you did.”
I shot him a look. “Then why the cautious smile and the ‘hands off’ sign on your shirt?”
He sighed. “You mistake the ‘hands off’ sign for a ‘I feel like shit’ sign.”
Surprised, my brows rose. “You’re sick?”