For what felt like the millionth time, Lily showed Edith how to properly attach a Word doc. Edith frowned and shook her head. Sometimes she pretended she was much older than someone in her early sixties, like the concept of technology simply escaped her and there was nothing to be done about it.
“This godforsaken policy to save the environment is really a pain in my butt,” Edith said. “I miss the old days when you could mail a manuscript to an author and let that be it. Now I have to save paper and do everything electronically. It’s your generation’s fault. You’re always trying to crusade for something.”
Lily smiled tightly and shrugged. It had actually been senior members of the finance team at Mitchell & Milton Inc. who’d realized the company could cut costs by spending less money on paper, and an added bonus was that it was good for the environment. But in Edith’s eyes, millennials were to blame for everything wrong in the world.
“Have you set up a lunch with that agent from Walton Literary?” Edith asked.
Lily quickly glanced at the time on Edith’s computer: 6:41 p.m. She was growing hungrier by the second. “Um, no, not yet,” she said. “I haven’t had a chance to, but I will.”
“Lily.” Edith shook her head. “You’ve been here for over two years and haven’t even talked about acquiring anything yet. That’s not how you get ahead in life, you know. You have to meet with agents and look through your submissions. Get some gumption, girl. I can’t hold your hand forever. You’ll never achieve what I have if you don’t make the effort.”
It took all of Lily’s strength not to jerk her head in surprise at Edith’s words. Hold her hand forever? There was no hand-holding taking place whatsoever. Lily had been left to fend for herself and find her own way from day one. Working with Edith was like being an abandoned toddler in a crosswalk during rush hour.
Edith always did this, though, chastised Lily about her so-called lack of effort. She never acknowledged that Lily didn’t have time to set up her own agent meetings or sort through her own submissions because she was always accompanying Edith on her agent meetings and reading through Edith’s submissions and editing Edith’s books. Just this afternoon Lily had to catch a cab all the way downtown to SoHo to meet Edith where she was having lunch with one of her authors because she’d forgotten her favorite notepad at the office and needed Lily to bring it to her. If Lily spent her days doing things like transporting Edith’s notepads across town, when was she supposed to find the time to build her own list? She was basically the only reason that the Edith Pearson Books imprint was still functioning.
Also, Edith conveniently liked to ignore the fact that her father, Edward Pearson, had been hired at M&M in the early days and she’d inherited the imprint from him.
Lily’s tight smile was plastered on her face as she glanced around Edith’s office, which was even messier than Lily’s desk. Edith arrived at exactly eight thirty every morning and didn’t leave the office until nine most nights, and Lily had no idea what Edith did during those hours, because most of the day-to-day work fell to her. Edith was surely confused if she thought Lily wanted to achieve what she had.
“I’ll email the agent in the morning,” Lily said, backing away. “Have a good night.”
Edith grunted a goodbye, and Lily reminded herself that she needed to apply for more children’s editorial positions as soon as she had the chance. She’d fallen behind lately because of her current workload, but she couldn’t spend another year working with Edith. She’d quit publishing altogether if that was to be her fate.
When she stepped off the elevator into the lobby at M&M, she was accosted with an image that made her freeze. There, on the screen that rotated upcoming book covers, was the brand-new cover for The Elves of Ceradon by N.R. Strickland. The title was written in silver script, and behind the lettering loomed large, dark blue castles—the mythical land of Ceradon.
It wasn’t like Lily hadn’t seen the cover before. Back in January, the publishing world had been in a frenzy when Mitchell & Milton’s sci-fi and fantasy imprint, Pathfinder, acquired The Elves of Ceradon for a rumored seven figures. It had been a true rags-to-riches story. Six years ago, the epic fantasy novel about a clan of Black elves had been published by a small British press, but an agent at Worldwide Artists Management had managed to resell the publishing rights to M&M, and HBO had quickly snapped it up for a television series adaption. Everyone was even more intrigued that N.R. Strickland preferred obscurity. Allegedly, even his editor didn’t know what he looked like. The mystery only added to the appeal. Elves was crashed onto the publishing schedule with an early-September release date. M&M was making it the book of fall, and she’d heard a rumor that it was being highlighted at M&M’s notorious, and notably exclusive, end-of-summer industry party.