A Good Man Is Hard To Find : Part 6

Because She Can: A Novel
By Bridie Clark

(Page 6 of 6)

"Where were we?" he said a moment later, after the crisis had been averted. "Tell me more about your job. What kinds of books do you work on?"

"Well, I have a feeling it might be changing. Jackson Mayville-my boss since college-just announced his retirement, and it's a bit unclear how his departure will affect my track at Peters and Pomfret."

"I know Jackson. He's a member at the Racquet Club. Nice guy. Lousy squash player, but a nice guy."

I giggled, unable to imagine Jackson doing anything more athletic than tying his shoes. "He's the best. I've learned a lot from him. I actually just found out about his retirement today. Pretty crushing news, although it's great that he'll get to spend more time with his grandkids."

Randall chewed thoughtfully. "I don't have much time to read these days. Actually-I really shouldn't admit this to you, you'll think I'm a complete cretin-but I did just finish a book that Vivian Grant published. It was a New York Times best seller, I think-about the nun who left her order to become a stripper? The title was really bad ... what was it? It's right on my bedside table, I can see the cover-"

"Naughty Habits?" I asked. Gordon had made a few cracks about it during last week's editorial meeting. Naughty Habits had been on the Times Best Sellers list for six weeks already, which was a little depressing. Randall had read that?

"Exactly, Naughty Habits." He bobbed his head, a thick lock of hair falling across his forehead. "Not great literature, I realize. Probably not even literature." He looked at me with a sheepish grin. "I just ruined any shot at a second date, didn't I?"

"Of course not," I said, heart racing. Who cared if he wasn't the literary type? Working as hard as he did, Randall probably had zero desire to dive into a book that felt like more work at the end of the day.

"You know, I've met Vivian Grant a few times," Randall continued, "she's a friend of my father's. Smart woman. I know she's always looking for good editors. I'd be happy to give her a call on your behalf, if you think you might be ready for a change. It can't hurt to meet with her."

Meet with Vivian Grant?

Grant was a big hitter who was widely known as the most hotheaded, ruthless woman in the industry. Her name seemed to be often met with eye rolling. Grant had her own imprint at Mather-Hollinger, another major publishing house, and she'd made her name and fortune by producing tabloid-inspired blockbusters and crass market stuff, including authors such as underage porn queen Mindi Murray, a despicable serial killer who'd terrorized Chicago for an entire year, and a roster of loudmouthed pundits from the furthest extremes of the political spectrum.

To be fair, these high-profile, lowbrow authors obfuscated some of the very intelligent, quality books she published. Grant had also thrown her weight behind some great novels, garnering a stratospheric level of success and recognition for a few previously unknown authors. I'd read one interview in which she'd complained-justifiably-that nobody ever seemed to give her kudos when she published a book of literary merit and that people were only interested in associating her with smuttier fare.

Whether people liked her or not, Vivian Grant was widely considered to be one of the most fascinating characters in the business-as well as one of the most successful. Meeting with a woman who'd single-handedly forged a huge publishing empire? It wasn't an opportunity I should pass up, regardless of whether Grant Books was a place at which I wanted to work.

"That'd be really nice of you, Randall, thanks," I answered. How sweet of him to take such an immediate interest in my career.

"My pleasure." He typed himself a reminder in his BlackBerry.

A molten chocolate cake-sent over by the owner of the restaurant-arrived at the table, and I actually felt relaxed enough to enjoy it. I speared my fork in, letting the chocolate ooze out like lava.

"Couldn't eat another bite." Randall smiled, sitting back and patting his rock hard stomach. I put down my fork. Randall was probably used to dating models who considered dry watercress a hearty meal (and then spent two hours on a treadmill burning it off). Even though the chocolate cake was spectacular, there was no need to reveal-on our first date, at least-what a little piglet I could be.

"I'm so glad we bumped into each other at that party." Randall reached across the table and laid his hand gently on mine.

With my other hand, I discreetly pinched my thigh. Had I actually been moping over James three hours earlier? And now I was gazing into the eyes of the most perfect man I'd ever encountered?

"To old acquaintances and new beginnings," Randall said, raising his glass.

I lifted mine to meet his. Life was really looking up.

Copyright © 2007 by Bridie Clark

About the Author

Bridie Clark is a former book and magazine editor who has worked for several major New York publishers. She lives in New York City with her husband. This is her first novel.