My operations department gets the licensing and all that bureaucratic bullshit done in record time, so by the time Noah gets back, his agency—Ellington Literary—is registered, and it even has a bare-bones website.
Most importantly, Noah now has an official email, and everything else he needs to send out contracts to the four authors who were already his clients.
His eyes shine with unshed tears of pride when he finally gets back and sees all the progress we’ve made.
The first order of business is a shiny literary representation contract with both our names on it. It’s waiting on his new glass desk.
A single tear escapes when he picks it up and reads through it.
“Ready to do this?” I ask, holding out a pen for him when he looks back up at me.
“I’ve never been more ready.”
We both sign, and then seal it with a kiss that starts to get out of control way too fast.
Sadly we don’t have time to christen his office—though I’ll be sure we find the time, and soon—so I pull back, but I have to kiss him just one more time before finally stepping back fully.
Setting up his office has taken a lot of my time the past week, so I do have to get back to work.
“There’s a file with all the CVs of the candidates we found for you, but of course you can look for other options if that’s what you want.” I ramble on. “I think it’s really important that you hire someone to help out soon, even if you think you have this handled by yourself. It’s always good to have someone here to at least bring you lunch, remind you of appointments, that sort of thing. It will also help when you have to call the publishing houses, you know? Make it sound all official?”
“Because it is official,” he says with a huge smile pointed up at me. Then he looks around in amazement at the admittedly bare office. “I’m going to order some bookshelves,” he declares, and I know he’s got it under control.
As per our agreement, he has access to our IT, HR, operations, and financial department to help him out. He has to familiarize himself with our systems and finally get those other contracts signed, so I leave him to it.
I do make sure he knows how to call directly up to my office, or to Elsa, if he needs help with anything before I leave.
Six hours later, I’m still buzzing with the thrill of a new project being underway, and feeling like being a little cheeky, I call down to his office instead of just going down.
“Mr. Ellington,” I say, voice mock serious.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Knightly?” he asks, trying to sound serious too but failing just like me.
“I’m hoping I’m catching you at the end of a productive workday?”
“You are,” he says smoothly. “I just received the signed contract of my third client.”
“Really?” I drop the act, wanting to hear all about it, but then I remember the purpose of the call. “Wait, tell me over dinner. I’ve made reservations for us. Are you done for the day?”
“Sure, I could be done.” There’s nerves in his voice now, which melt me in my chair. What does he have to be nervous about? “What time is the reservation?”
“Whenever we get there,” I tell him simply.
A short, sharp chuckle comes through the receiver.
“Of course it is,” he says, and thankfully the nerves are gone. “I’m actually starved, so I can meet you downstairs.”
“Appreciate it, Mr. Ellington.”
Another snort comes through before the line goes dead.
“Good evening,Mr. Knightly, right this way.” The host greets me then offers Noah a polite smile.
I keep his hand gripped tightly in mine as we walk to the back, to the table right by the windows offering a spectacular view of London.
It’s not private at all, but I want to show Noah off a little.
“Tell me about your day,” I murmur when we’re both finally sitting and drinks have been ordered.