I Think I Love You Read Online Free Page A

fulfilled. The books that she brought to market gave people hope.
    And the books gave her hope.
    Hope that despite questionable parenting and a splintered family, she, too, could be slender, healthy, popular, happy, secure, rich, successful, creative, loved, climactic, and fulfilled. Someday.
    She swivelled in her chair to face her bookcase—a veritable wall of unread manuscripts bound by enough rubber bands to hold a car together, collectively emanating a slightly pungent odor. Anticipation swelled in her chest.
    The founder of Green Label Publishing Group was of the old school, so they were one of the few non-fiction houses that accepted unsolicited, unagented submissions. The big, glomy slush piles were the consternation of most of her staff, but Regina was downright possessive of her personal mountain. Because every once in a great while she unearthed an extraordinary manuscript from a small-town doctor, a school principal, an inner-city minister, a mother of six—unique people with rich life experiences and true inspirational stories to tell, plus a human interest angle strong enough to give marketing a departmental orgasm.
    It piqued her that a gem could be hidden in the pile at this very moment, waiting to be discovered. That thrill of discovery was what kept her rolling out of bed six days a week to catch the Massachusetts Bay Transit Authority train for the forty-minute ride to her office on the fifth floor of a retrofitted seventies office building overlooking the Charles River.
    She reached back to retrieve her coffee cup, inscribed with "How to Sleep Alone" (the company's best hope for a fall blockbuster), and her glance fell on her to-do list. "Call Mica" niggled at her. It was only five-thirty in LA, but it might be a good time to catch her coming home or before leaving for an early shoot. Or maybe she could leave Mica a voice message to call back when she had time. Then when Mica didn't call back, Regina could in good faith tell Jill that her sister hadn't responded. Yes, now there was a plan. As added incentive to call, she promised herself that afterward she would select three manuscripts from her slush pile to review before the ten o'clock meeting.
    She swallowed two more mouthfuls of the cooling coffee before pouring the rest into the pot of an ill-looking African violet that she'd inherited with the office and had yet to produce the first bloom. Jill suggested that she ditch the plant and start over, but Regina stubbornly refused. As a late bloomer herself, she had faith—and patience. Old Mr. Calvin had once told her that coffee was good for plants, and she believed him, if simply because he'd been the only adult who had fostered her love for reading. She wondered if he knew that she now made her living surrounded by books, or if he remembered her, or if he was even still alive. She made a mental note to ask her mother the next time they spoke on the phone.
    After consulting her electronic address book, she punched in Mica's number, breathing deeply to calm her nerves. It wasn't as if she didn't want to talk to her sister; it was just that they had so little to say to each other. Mica had moved to LA the same time that Regina had graduated college and moved to Boston to work as a reader for a textbook publisher. Mica's departure had caused so much strain in the family, Regina wasn't surprised when she didn't hear from her for over a year. Hurt, but not surprised.
    Over the last twelve years, she'd seen her baby sister in person only once. She'd flown to LA for a booksellers' conference and practically shown up on Mica's doorstep (after she'd tracked down the doorstep). That was before Mica's lucrative contract with the world's largest hair care line, and the visit had been a bona fide disaster. Mica was a wreck, strung out and living in a dump with her boyfriend, an exponentially bigger wreck. Regina had sprung for lunch at the safest-looking restaurant in the neighborhood. Mica had eaten like a man and