I Think I Love You Read Online Free
sexuality are accurate?"
"Yes, as well as the author's notes from her conversations with two other colleagues of Dr. Union and the editor of the medical research newsletter who refused to print the study. Quote: 'The man's a pervert,' unquote."
"Maybe Dr. Perv will write a book for us. Anything else?"
"Here's the foreword from Dr. Enya English for the June parenting book."
"Any good?"
"Despite her name, grammar is not her strong suit."
"Leave it."
"And the editor of Vigor agreed to excerpt the man-eating book."
"Come again?"
"The book about finding a mate by matching his diet to yours—the sales reps call it the man-eating book."
"Where were they when we were brainstorming a title?"
"Probably in Fiji or somewhere. I'm telling you, one of these days I'm going to defect and join the sales department."
"You'd have to buy a car."
"Worse—I'd have to learn to drive a car."
"So there you go; you're stranded in editorial. What else?"
Jill shifted in her seat.
Regina looked up from the list she was making. "What?"
"Well... you know how excited I am about the manuscript that Laura Thomas turned in."
"The hairstylist? Sure, what about it?"
More fidgeting.
"Spit it out, Jill; we each have a thousand things in our in-box."
"I was wondering... that is, since your sister is a hair model... and so popular..." Jill splayed her hand. "I wondered if she'd be available to give us a quote."
Regina brought her cup to her mouth for another bitter drink, which seemed appropriate considering the state of the Metcalf sisterhood. Still, she managed a smile in Jill's direction. "I don't hear much from Mica these days—she rarely leaves LA unless it's for a photo shoot, and if she travels east, she's more likely to go to Manhattan than to come to Boston."
Occasionally her baby sister sent her incoherent e-mail or text messages with a time stamp of the wee hours of the morning—presumably after dragging in from heavy partying. The most significant contact she maintained with Mica came from watching the glitzy TV commercials Mica starred in, swirling, twirling, and unfurling that glorious three-foot fall of blue-black hair. Her mane was reported to be insured for a million dollars, and Regina rather believed it.
She fingered a glittery promotional ink pen that read: "Polish Your Inner Glow in 30 Days"—last season's surprise best-seller after being endorsed by a trendy talk show host. "My sisters and I aren't as close as when we were younger." A diplomatic understatement.
"I didn't mean to put you on the spot."
"You didn't. In fact"—she scribbled another item on her growing list—"I can't make any promises, but I'll give Mica a call and see if we can work out something."
Her assistant beamed. "How can I thank you?"
One corner of her mouth slid back. "By getting out so I can tackle my daily quota of paper cuts."
Jill saluted and vamoosed like the efficient genius she was, closing the frosted glass door as she backed out.
To soothe the roiling unease that the thought of her sisters always induced, Regina straightened the already-straight collection of letter openers on her desk while her unending mental to-do list revolved to reassure her she was a world away from the ghosts of Monroeville, North Carolina: line edits, revision letters, rejection letters, meetings, conferences, book fairs. Authors who delivered late, authors who changed agents as often as shoes, authors who misunderstood the complexities involved in marketing self-help books. Some brilliant books went unnoticed, some mediocre books became stars, and some terrible books... well, despite her staff's best efforts, a few duds had managed to slip through during her eight-year tenure.
Still, she loved every aspect of her job, every minute of the process of turning an idea into a tangible product that could, even if only for a few hours, convince readers they could be slender, healthy, popular, happy, secure, rich, successful, creative, loved, climactic, and
"Yes, as well as the author's notes from her conversations with two other colleagues of Dr. Union and the editor of the medical research newsletter who refused to print the study. Quote: 'The man's a pervert,' unquote."
"Maybe Dr. Perv will write a book for us. Anything else?"
"Here's the foreword from Dr. Enya English for the June parenting book."
"Any good?"
"Despite her name, grammar is not her strong suit."
"Leave it."
"And the editor of Vigor agreed to excerpt the man-eating book."
"Come again?"
"The book about finding a mate by matching his diet to yours—the sales reps call it the man-eating book."
"Where were they when we were brainstorming a title?"
"Probably in Fiji or somewhere. I'm telling you, one of these days I'm going to defect and join the sales department."
"You'd have to buy a car."
"Worse—I'd have to learn to drive a car."
"So there you go; you're stranded in editorial. What else?"
Jill shifted in her seat.
Regina looked up from the list she was making. "What?"
"Well... you know how excited I am about the manuscript that Laura Thomas turned in."
"The hairstylist? Sure, what about it?"
More fidgeting.
"Spit it out, Jill; we each have a thousand things in our in-box."
"I was wondering... that is, since your sister is a hair model... and so popular..." Jill splayed her hand. "I wondered if she'd be available to give us a quote."
Regina brought her cup to her mouth for another bitter drink, which seemed appropriate considering the state of the Metcalf sisterhood. Still, she managed a smile in Jill's direction. "I don't hear much from Mica these days—she rarely leaves LA unless it's for a photo shoot, and if she travels east, she's more likely to go to Manhattan than to come to Boston."
Occasionally her baby sister sent her incoherent e-mail or text messages with a time stamp of the wee hours of the morning—presumably after dragging in from heavy partying. The most significant contact she maintained with Mica came from watching the glitzy TV commercials Mica starred in, swirling, twirling, and unfurling that glorious three-foot fall of blue-black hair. Her mane was reported to be insured for a million dollars, and Regina rather believed it.
She fingered a glittery promotional ink pen that read: "Polish Your Inner Glow in 30 Days"—last season's surprise best-seller after being endorsed by a trendy talk show host. "My sisters and I aren't as close as when we were younger." A diplomatic understatement.
"I didn't mean to put you on the spot."
"You didn't. In fact"—she scribbled another item on her growing list—"I can't make any promises, but I'll give Mica a call and see if we can work out something."
Her assistant beamed. "How can I thank you?"
One corner of her mouth slid back. "By getting out so I can tackle my daily quota of paper cuts."
Jill saluted and vamoosed like the efficient genius she was, closing the frosted glass door as she backed out.
To soothe the roiling unease that the thought of her sisters always induced, Regina straightened the already-straight collection of letter openers on her desk while her unending mental to-do list revolved to reassure her she was a world away from the ghosts of Monroeville, North Carolina: line edits, revision letters, rejection letters, meetings, conferences, book fairs. Authors who delivered late, authors who changed agents as often as shoes, authors who misunderstood the complexities involved in marketing self-help books. Some brilliant books went unnoticed, some mediocre books became stars, and some terrible books... well, despite her staff's best efforts, a few duds had managed to slip through during her eight-year tenure.
Still, she loved every aspect of her job, every minute of the process of turning an idea into a tangible product that could, even if only for a few hours, convince readers they could be slender, healthy, popular, happy, secure, rich, successful, creative, loved, climactic, and
Readers choose
Stephen Measday
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Hilary Green
Michael Jecks
Ruby Laska
Natalie Herzer
Laird Barron
Dave Barry
Frederick Ramsay