“Definitely. He’s a huge Tar Heels fan.” I gave Zach a grateful smile, but the exchange reminded me that the ebullient agent carried a strong grudge against Marlette for chasing off Taylor Boone. If she hadn’t been repulsed by Marlette’s appearance, Boone might just have become Zach’s star client. The young agent had undoubtedly looked forward to a long and lucrative relationship with the reality show star until Marlette had spoiled his plans.
As I searched for a way to bring up the subject, Luella breezed down the hallway. She gave me the ghost of a grin and a wriggle of her fingers but turned a dazzling smile on Zach, trailing her pinkie seductively down his cheek. She then kissed the finger and placed the kiss on his lips before continuing to her office. Zach forgot all about me and drifted in Luella’s perfume-scented wake, a dreamy look on his face.
Resolving to ask Zach to join me for lunch next week in order to grill him about Marlette, I got back to work. So far, I’d only found one interesting nonfiction query, and since I needed a break anyway, I walked it down to Franklin’s office. I rapped lightly on his door and, when he didn’t answer, opened it a crack. Franklin was seated at his desk, the back of his swivel chair to the door. He had a phone held to his ear and was murmuring softly to the person on the other end.
I knocked again, louder this time, and waited on the threshold. I didn’t want to interrupt an intimate conversation, but Franklin swiveled around in his chair and slammed the phone into the cradle as though he’d been overheard saying something monstrous. His face was flushed, and his jaw clenched in what was either anger or embarrassment or both. I took an involuntary step into the hall, and Franklin tensed like a leopard preparing to spring.
“Excuse me,” I said apologetically as I tried to suppress my trepidation at Franklin’s extreme reaction. “I didn’t mean to intrude.” I raised the sheaf of paper in my right hand. “This seems like a promising query on decorating with vintage items. The author has run an antique mall for twenty-five years and recently expanded her business to include interior design. She’s local,” I continued, despite the fact that Franklin hadn’t spoken a word. “I’ve been to her shop—a renovated tobacco warehouse that’s been divided into various rooms. Each room has a theme, like an art deco living room or a 1950s kitchen, for example.”
Franklin blinked and allowed his shoulders to relax. The pink left his cheeks, and the look of animal wariness disappeared from his eyes. He made a show of tidying his already neat desk and said, “Won’t you sit down?”
After handing him the letter, I complied, but I was unable to sink back into the chair’s soft leather. The tension that had left Franklin’s body seemed to have entered mine like a parasite in search of a host.
Franklin Stafford was a man with a secret. I had seen it just now, that flash of guilt followed by a flicker of menace? Fear? I didn’t know exactly what I’d observed, but I’d have to drum up enough courage to find out, since it could have something to do with Marlette.
As Franklin read the query, I considered how the days had passed without my managing to confront any of my coworkers other than Flora about their feelings toward Marlette, but the agents weren’t readily accessible. Between their staff and client meetings and my succession of long phone conversations and various errands, there wasn’t as much socializing as I’d imagined. The agents popped into one another’s offices throughout the day—only Bentley remained closeted at the end of the hall for the entire week purportedly finessing Carson Knight’s contract—and I exchanged small talk with all of them in the break room. But for the most part, we worked independently of one another.
I was used to this atmosphere from my years at the Dunston Herald, but we reporters operated in a large room divided by cubicles. The setup of Novel Idea created more privacy and yet did not prevent genuine camaraderie between the agents. I certainly saw what a close-knit group they were during Wednesday’s staff meeting.
It started off with Bentley walking into the room with a tray of coffee and a bag of lemon ginger scones from Espresso Yourself.
“I thought you’d appreciate a little pick-me-up,” she announced, placing them on the table. “For all your hard work this week.”
“Woo hoo!” Zach exclaimed. “Did you get me a triple espresso?”
“Yes, Zach. I had Makayla make all of your favorites.”
During the meeting, the agents shared which of their clients’ manuscripts had received offers by editors or had been passed on and were now with another publishing house awaiting review.
When it was Luella’s turn to speak, she announced smugly, “Do you recall Gillian Lea’s new romantic suspense series? The one featuring shape-shifters?” She waited as those around the table nodded their heads. I recognized Gillian Lea as a successful romance writer but had not read any of her books. “The manuscript is in the midst of a major bidding war,” Luella continued. “I aim for the winning publisher to end up paying the author an advance of seventy-five thousand dollars per book.”
My jaw nearly came unhinged, but I tried not to show my surprise, as none of the other agents seemed awed by this number.