Hot Desk: A Novel - 19

Rebecca regarded the cactus with suspicion. Someone had watered it and placed it in what she had to admit was a tasteful white ceramic pot. Could that someone be Ben Heath? It would make sense that he felt the need to make a conciliatory gesture after last week, even if it was only to rescue his own plant. How he had ended up at the town house or been asked to weigh in on anything to do with anything was a mystery. That she had failed to track down Atticus or the manuscript was maddening, but at least Ben hadn’t succeeded either as far as she knew. And based on their interactions, he would surely be needling her by now if he had. Yes, it was a shock that he was so… tall. Rebecca knew the word “tall” was doing a lot of work here. What did it mean that she couldn’t get the image of him out of her head? She hadn’t conveyed to Stella or Gabe the rest of it: the broad shoulders, the dark blue eyes, the NOT ginger thick brown hair with maybe a hint of auburn, the unguarded smile he had given her at the top of the stairs, and the way it had literally made her knees weak (and she was using “literally” correctly, thank you very much), the sheer presence of him… fuckety fuck!

“And a fuckety fucking good morning to you too!” How long had Gabe been standing at her desk? And was Rebecca now someone who muttered her thoughts out loud like the wizened old lady who haunted the Ninety-Sixth Street station? “Late night?”

“What? Why?” Rebecca hadn’t slept and it was not because she was out having fun. Just as she would drift off, her eyes would snap open and she would squirm in shame remembering that she had texted Atticus Adams in at first beguiling and then increasingly desperate attempts to provoke a response. Nothing. She was sure that he and Ben Heath were smoking cigars at a private club or whatever it was that rich assholes did all weekend. Ugh!

“Why are you blushing?” Gabe leaned in to peer at her.

“Why are you so close? I can smell your aftershave! Back it up!”

“And it smells delicious. Tom Ford.”

“It is woody and spicy,” Rebecca conceded.

“Notes of leather and sage. What’s going on?”

“I’m just tired from launching Stella’s YouTube channel all weekend! That was more research than I had anticipated. I had to watch YouTube videos on launching YouTube videos.”

“I saw… It’s going to be huge. You’re good at this.” Gabe had, thankfully, lost track of his inquisition. “Luckily for Stella.” They both knew that Stella, for all her talent, was hopeless with technology. Like Rebecca’s father, she needed to be given precise instructions—more than once—on the basics. While the Professor, pecking out texts laboriously with his index finger, could be excused based on his age and preference for pondering the weighty questions of ancient history, Stella had no excuse but no patience for social media, so Rebecca had been forced into taking over for Stella’s own good, subsequently discovering a talent for promotion and a surprising facility with digital platforms.

“Right? I mean it has everything: the Black, Italian, and Jewish grandma influences; their anecdotes; the recipes; and, of course, Stella the star.” Over the weekend, Rebecca had arranged for Scout to film Stella and had scripted some of the show, but, honestly, Stella on camera just glowed. And Mimi was already on track to be a fan favorite.

“I see you got the Fishwife sponsorship… Congratulations! Can you get me the special edition spicy one? I need fancy tinned fish to sustain Tor. He hasn’t slept in a week. But the party is going to be incredible, of course.”

“Of course it is. I’ll see what I can do. They did send us a big box of product this weekend.” Rebecca thought with satisfaction of the brightly colored tins scattered on the dining room table. “Also you still need to find me an outfit for Thursday.” Tor had declared the East River Review ’s sixtieth party to be 1960s themed, and New York was abuzz. She and Gabe had already spent an inordinate amount of time giddily speculating about who might attend.

“Are you thinking French new wave cinema or Mary Quant tights and a skinny-rib sweater?” Gabe asked.

“Uh, I was thinking sexy hippie?”

“You and every other basic editor in town! Fortunately, you have me to steer you past your pedestrian impulses.”

“But I have that giant peace necklace from Halloween a few years ago….” Rebecca knew it was a lost cause. “Fine! Then I hope you have a vision.”

“I like an Edie Sedgwick vibe but your hair is impossible.”

“Sorry I don’t have a blond pixie cut! Also wasn’t she Benzedrine skinny?”

“We’ll think of something. Are you ready for the Lady’s launch? The lineup is insane. Who would have thought a faux Brit from the Midwest would attract both Good Morning America and The View ? I’m a genius!”

“I know! It better sell books, now that she bullied us into a glam hair and makeup budget,” Rebecca said. “I still can’t believe she’s coming to the States. Also, the hair and makeup is clearly revenge for Avenue not covering the price of a Virgin Air Upper Class ticket so that she could drink some ‘bubbly.’ ”

“At least she didn’t say ‘champers.’ ”

“True. You have to help me run interference so that Richard never gets close enough to stab her in the heart with a fountain pen when she’s here signing books.”

“Speaking of Richard, here comes straight man walking…” They turned to watch Richard’s newest assistant striding across the office, typing one-handed on his laptop, earphones in, talking loudly. Why? There were maybe three straight men in publishing, and they were either old, still fixated on David Foster Wallace, or this guy, who was conducting some VERY IMPORTANT BUSINESS. Against her will, Rebecca thought of Ben. Undeniably hot. Not just hot for publishing but real-world hot. The hottest guy she had ever seen. But obviously in the worship of problematic dead white guys camp. And rude! And annoying! What did it mean that he had tended to the cactus?

Chloe, her hair in braids circa late-’90s Britney Spears, caught Rebecca’s attention by miming a walk to Ami’s office.

“Okay, I have to go meet with Ami to talk through the deal with the estate. We’re Zooming with Rose and her lawyers. You wouldn’t believe all the shit that has to happen to pull this off! Turns out the Lion’s ‘gentlemanly agreement’ with Maury Kantor didn’t always include signed contracts, so we have a lot to figure out.”

“Look at you! Deign to have lunch with me later?”

“I can’t: I’m meeting Trixie.”

“Tell her I said hello.” Gabe gave Rebecca an appraising look. “Okay, what about Jane Birkin?”

“I could straighten my hair!”

“And cut some bangs!” Gabe enthused.

“Or buy a wig?”

“Are you going to commit or not?”

“If you go as Warhol and dye your hair, I might consider it.”

“I hope you give me more credit than that. Striped shirt, dark glasses, and a white mop on my head? I don’t think so.”

“You could be my bag. My Birkin?”

“I admire your brainstorming,” Gabe said in such a manner that made it clear he did not actually admire her brainstorming.

“Okay, I have to go single-handedly make it possible for Avenue to keep publishing quirky little novels in translation. I guess you could say I’m paying your salary directly with my Lion coup.”

“What I hear is that you’re going to Ami’s office to sit silently while she and Mel from Contracts hammer out a deal you have no interest in yet stumbled into thanks to a serendipitous series of events involving your mother?”

“When you put it that way, I have no choice but to have you fired.” Rebecca took a big sip of her green juice, accidentally spilled a little on the desk—sorry, not sorry, Ben!—and grabbed her laptop.

“A sliver of power has corrupted you absolutely,” Gabe said admiringly. “Wish me luck figuring out how to break it to the Lady that we will not be sending the requested stretch limo to meet her at the airport.”

Gabe was gone before Rebecca could ask his opinion on the cactus development. On the other hand, best not to bring up anything Ben related because she knew she would fold under the slightest scrutiny and confess the shock of her attraction to him. She was lucky that the last few days had been spent launching Stella on YouTube, rehashing the remarkable discoveries about Jane and Rose, stressing about the missing manuscript, and gossiping about the upcoming party. It wouldn’t be long until her friends sniffed out the unsettling developments in her desk sharing drama, as Gabe had been on track to this morning. She would never mention Ben. And if the day safely passed without either of them possessing the Lion’s stolen manuscript, she would never have to see him again. And that was totally for the best!

“So it’s totally for the best that I never have to see him again!” Rebecca announced to Trixie a few hours later. They were eating turkey burgers and splitting a plate of fries at the bistro located halfway between their offices. They had met years ago at a professional lunch when Trixie was too young to represent many authors and Rebecca was too young to have the power to acquire them and had immediately liked each other so much that Rebecca had gone to a club to hear Trixie’s boyfriend Ike’s band play that night. She and Trixie stood in the back nonstop talking to fill in as many details as they could about each other’s lives.

“Sure. I haven’t seen you this worked up since… since… ever?” Trixie speared cherry tomatoes into her mouth with the ease of someone who never spilled food or smudged her lipstick. She was so beautiful, it was almost unfair that she was also the nicest person Rebecca knew. But often enough she let her wicked humor flash, and that was when Rebecca loved her most. “I mean, were you ever this passionate about what’s-his-name? The boring lawyer who dumped you? The one with the semicolon?”

Max’s text had gone viral among Rebecca’s friends and family. Her sister-in-law Emma had printed it out and taped it to the fridge to remind herself how grateful she was not to still be single. “Ugh. Max.”

“Right, Ugh Max. And the one before that? The start-up bro who made us all go watch his truly awful improv? And how about your foray into dating a woman who turned out to be a stalker? And that guy who told you he was moving to Barcelona and then turned up in your Uber Pool three months later? What about the one with the loft in SoHo who called you Becky?”

“Jesus, Trixie! This is an appalling assault on my dignity! But also, I guess, thank you for paying such close attention?”

“What I’m saying is that during your long and active past—and I’ve really only been around for five years of it—”

“Oh, it wasn’t much better before that either.” Rebecca took a fistful of fries. “Please don’t ask Stella about the Rat Bastard or Eduardo the Co-op Dude.”

“My point is not to question your taste or luck, and we will certainly circle back to the Rat Bastard at some point, but the level of passion you just displayed describing all the reasons you hate your desk share guy is impressive. Should I order more fries?”

“Yes, obviously. To fries. Not to passion.”

“Back to your desk share guy…”

“He’s not my ‘desk share guy.’ Truly, that phrase does not convey the irritation—no, loathing—that I feel when I think about Ben Heath.” As her mouth formed his name, Rebecca experienced a wave of weakness in her lower stomach—okay, like really low, like the almost sexual thrill of standing on the very edge of a cliff or, in her case, watching an amusement park ride that she refused to get on.

“Wait, your desk share guy is Ben Heath?”

“Yes, I told you.”

“No, you just said ‘desk share guy.’ I hate to break it to you, but I’m on the phone with Ben Heath all the time.”

“All the time? What are you even saying?” Rebecca glared at Trixie, who laughed at her.

“He’s adorable! Smart and funny. He was bidding on that short story collection I told you about. I’m supposed to meet with him in person next week. Now I really can’t wait to get a look at him!”

Rebecca did not care for this turn of events. “We’re done talking about this! We’re here for business. And you know what I’m going to bring up, right?”

“I’m pretty sure. Like, 85 percent sure.”

“Tell me what you think it is.”

“You say it first!” Trixie demanded.

“We say it at the same time,” Rebecca countered. “One, two, three…”

“You quit your job and work PR for Stella,” Trixie said at the same time as Rebecca blurted, “We let Alice do the sci-fi book.”

There was a short, astonished silence.

“I’m sorry, excuse me?” Trixie began at the same time as Rebecca said in disbelief, “Quit my job and what?”

“Okay, I’ll go,” Trixie said. “I’ve never seen you as committed as you are to Stella’s breakout. And you’ve been managing it all—from salute! to her Insta account and now the YouTube channel. I mean, it’s obviously going to take off: people are already subscribing. You’re good at it! You love it! You’re almost as energized about promoting Stella as you are about Ben Heath.”

“Ha ha.” But Rebecca’s mind was racing. Trixie’s words were clicking something into place, something Rebecca had been trying to name for a while. Was doing what she did for Stella even a job? How would she get paid? What would her mom say if she left Avenue? Was it crazy to think about leaving—especially now, after the triumphant meeting with Ami and Mel from Contracts? Sure, it was not far off from what Gabe had described, but, no matter the circumstances, Rebecca was in the room; she was the one getting the credit. On the other hand, she remembered her mother’s words: that she had no “fire in her belly” when it came to her career. And what about the conflict keeping her up at night? She was desperate to find and destroy the Lion’s warped tell-all to protect her mom; at the same time, she was supposed to be representing his estate.

“Once you get even more eyes on Stella, you get a job and bring her with you. I can think of some cool branding agencies to meet with. Think about it.”

“I don’t know,” Rebecca mused. “It’s tempting, for sure. But that whole space seems kind of nebulous. I mean, I’m pretty sure I’m going to be promoted at Avenue thanks to the Lion coup.”

“Look, just think about it. Do some research. Of course, it’s fine if you stay at Avenue. And you’re a really talented editor! But it’s obvious what you love the most about your job is the author care part, the strategic part. I do not refer to Lady Paulette, obviously, but remember when you got L.L.Bean to sponsor Alice’s last tour? They sent her all over the country in duck boots! And that’s what you’d do for Stella and for all the other brilliant people you’d find. I just think you should be doing what lights you up. Just like you should be doing who lights you up…”

“Stop! You sound like Stella with her endless stream of sexting emojis. I’ll think about it… a new job, I mean. If I can figure out what that would look like,” Rebecca promised. “I know you agents always want to bring us editors over to the dark side.”

“Speaking of the dark side…” Trixie made space for the waiter to deposit their second order of fries. “Do tell, please, what you’re thinking about Alice. I’m sure I must have misheard you.”

“First of all, have you read the draft?”

“No! I think I was too negative about the idea. I can’t believe she sent the whole thing to you first. You recall we had an agreement to dissuade her? A little ‘Keep Alice in the box’ pact between colleagues?” Trixie picked up her phone and started scrolling through her texts. “I have the proof here somewhere…”

“I remember! But then I read it… Alice is on this insane so-called lifestyle program and she eats nothing but grass and cold brew, and it’s making her really sensitive and hyperfocused. And anyway, right after our meeting last week, she emailed me the manuscript and said she was going to wait by the computer until I read it.”

“That doesn’t sound like Alice,” Trixie said. “Alice is never in a hurry. The trilogy took her a hundred years.”

“Well, she was insistent, so I read it…” Rebecca paused dramatically.

“And?”

“It’s kind of a tour de force.” Alice’s draft had delivered on her promise of intergalactic tear-jerking romantasy. A well-written intergalactic tear-jerking romantasy.

“But what about her brand? Would Avenue publish it? Even if it’s by Alice Gottlieb?”

“The way I see it is, her loyal audience will read it because they loved the trilogy, and she’ll attract a whole new group who will come for the genre. I mean, what about that insanely popular series about hot trolls?”

“ ‘Hot trolls’ is an oxymoron. Look, if you think it will sell, who am I to argue?” Trixie signaled for the check. “We’ll just need to figure out how much I make you pay for it.”

“Over another lunch,” Rebecca said. “Frank French should pay for our meals. After all I did for him!”

“What are you wearing to the party? I hope Gabe is helping you.”

“Well, apparently I’m not allowed to be a sexy hippie.”

“Weren’t you a sexy hippie a few Halloweens ago? Right before the pandemic? The year Ike went as the Joker and I almost broke up with him because of it?”

“That was horrifying.” Rebecca shuddered. “Gabe is going to plan something. What about you?”

“I think I’m going to go as Mrs. Robinson.”

“You’re going to wear a pointy leopard bra at the East River Review party?”

“No! Of course not! It’s a work party! I have a leopard coat and some cigarettes, so I’m good.”

“Oh, I never thought for a moment that you would be wildly inappropriate at a work party. What would give me that idea? Just recalling the time you forced the CEO of Random House to do a karaoke duet of ‘Shallow’ with you at their holiday after-party. Which you weren’t even invited to. Also, that leopard bra is something Chloe would 100 percent wear to work.”

“Glad you remember my one teeny lapse and bring it up every single time I see you.” Trixie unnecessarily reapplied her lipstick while Rebecca put down her credit card. “Thanks, sweet pea. Even though now I have to read rom-com sci-fi all night.”

“Oh, there is no ‘com’ about it. You’ll weep, mark my words.”

“At least tell me there’s some scorching sex and potential for a sequel?” Trixie raised her eyebrows.

“Ask yourself if you want to read graphic sex scenes from the brain of Alice Gottlieb,” Rebecca scolded. “Just a lot of tasteful yearning and some moderately spicy alien lovemaking. As for a sequel, all things are possible on the planet Eros.” Rebecca gave Trixie a hug. “I’ll see you Thursday in the Hamptons. La-di-da!”

“Thursday in the Hamptons! As for the planet Eros, I haven’t forgotten about Ben Heath. We shall revisit.”

“Ben Heath who?” Rebecca said airily. Between the party and Trixie’s surprising but increasingly interesting suggestion about her career, Rebecca had no time for her obsessive annoyance regarding Ben Heath. Unless he showed up with the Lion’s manuscript, she would never have to see him again. Only his cactus. She waved goodbye to Trixie and headed back to the office.

She was in the elevator when she got a text from Gabe.

Gabe:

strapping AND scrappy! scrappy AND strapping!

Rebecca:

WTF?

Gabe:

don’t be coy with me, miss

Rebecca:

i have no idea what you

The elevator doors opened before she could finish her text. And there in her place of work on a day that was NOT HIS DAY, standing in front of her desk that was NOT HIS DESK TODAY, was Ben Heath in all his admittedly strapping hotness, taking her breath away.