The moment I see the one-hour meeting appear on my left monitor where my calendar is always displayed, I feel the rush of triumph coursing through my veins.
I didn’t know whether some time apart would allow Noah to find a million reasons why my investing in his own agency is a bad idea, but when I managed to think rationally, I knew that was the most likely outcome.
That’s why I’ve been working tirelessly putting together a proposal that is fair, straightforward, and appealing.
The market research was the toughest, because agencies’ earnings are not straightforward—to say the fucking least.
The publishing business, as it turns out, is incredibly fickle.
Everything I’ve learned has only made me respect Noah more. Agents have to have a great knowledge of trends and incredible taste more than anything. It’s a more strategic business than I thought it was, but it still depends largely on bouts of luck—but those can clearly be manufactured if the people behind the scenes are smart enough.
I believe Noah’s more than smart enough.
I also believe that with my name and notoriety attached to him, he’s going to have new opportunities to really shine. I’m hoping so at least.
I was already more excited about the prospect of writing a book after Noah’s visit and how the whole project’s angle changed, but now, knowing how much impact it could have on his career, on how he’s perceived by his peers and the name he could make for himself, I’m even more determined to write a book worthy of being a best seller.
Now, with a meeting scheduled for tomorrow where I’m hoping Noah wants to talk about this more than about signing me on as a client, I’m counting my lucky stars.
I have the proposal almost ready, but I spend the day mostly perfecting it.
The terms are standard from what I gather, and I’m open to negotiations in any case, but I think my offer will be very appealing to Noah.
And I’m going to be seeing him tomorrow.
It’s going to be at his office, so I know there’s no way I’m going to get to kiss him like I want to, like I’ve been dreaming of since I saw him drive away from the castle.
The next morning,I choose my clothes with more care than normal. I don’t just want to look sharp, I also want to tease Noah a little.
He teases me enough just by existing, so it’s only fair.
I go with my pinstripe charcoal suit with a crisp white shirt and matching vest and pants. My Oxfords of course, and a deep blue tie that Elsa has complimented in the past—which almost never happens.
Her little smirk when I get to the office tells me I’m being transparent, but I will away the blush that wants to creep up, and I stroll by her desk.
“Anything urgent?”
“Just a quarterly report from Conway Cabinets. It’s on your desk. Did you tell Grant you need to leave in two hours or should I tell him?” she asks about my driver.
“He knows,” I tell her simply. I might’ve babbled to him a little about the whole thing, since we were stuck in morning traffic. I couldn’t hold it in.
I don’t even feel bad about it. I’m way too excited for bad feelings this morning.
The two hours pass slower than time ever has before, and I’m having to catch my breath every few minutes because of howanxious I am to get out of here already, and when I slide into the car two hours later, I’ve lost the ability to speak.
I’m stuck in my head, replaying everything I want to tell Noah, everything I want to make clear and how I want the meeting to go.
I already made a reservation for this Friday, hoping that we’ll be able to actually go on a date by then, and I’m hoping that wasn’t too presumptuous of me.
I’ve made my feelings clear about what I want with him, so even though the possibility of rejection still exists, I want to keep that optimistic outlook.
That all goes out the window when I arrive at the ANC offices and the receptionist tells me Cordelia will meet me in a few minutes after guiding me to a meeting room with glass walls.
Probable explanations pass through my mind at lightspeed.
Noah came clean and they fired him.
Noah quit and they made him sign some kind of non-compete contract.