“I was going to surprise you after we talked about your pages, but I guess I can give this to you now,” Marcus said, reaching under his desk.
Nick sat up, intrigued. Then Marcus handed him a hardcover book with a shiny silver jacket. It was thick, like a doorstopper. Nick held the book in his palms, gazing down at the title and his pen name listed beneath the illustration of the Ceradon kingdom. This was his book. The new edition of The Elves of Ceradon.
“Your publisher mailed it to me this morning,” Marcus said. “They’ll mail the rest of your author copies soon. But I wanted you to have that copy now.”
Nick ran his hands across the smooth cover and turned the book over, reading the praise from media outlets on the back. He found N.R. Strickland’s brief bio on the inside of the jacket. There was no picture.
He felt it again. That sensation he’d experienced when he’d spotted his cover flash across the screen at M&M’s office weeks ago. He wished his photograph were on the jacket of the book. He wanted people to know that he was N.R. Strickland, the creator of Deko’s story. But then he’d be completely exposed. Albert would probably show up on his doorstep the day the book published.
“Your editor asked again if you were open to meeting,” Marcus said. “And she asked if you’ll be coming to M&M’s party at the end of the month. What do you want me to tell her?”
Nick flipped through his book, marveling that he’d given up on this story and yet it had taken on a new life. As corny as it sounded, maybe there was some kind of analogy here about not giving up on himself either.
Even though revealing the truth to Lily had ended in disaster, he had to admit that he felt somewhat relieved it was all out in the open now. Keeping the secret had been eating him up. Coming clean to the M&M team scared the shit out of him, but he was so tired of carrying the weight of his lie.
“I still don’t want to go to the party,” he said. “But I want to meet my editor.”
“Great,” Marcus said, smiling hopefully. He didn’t even sound surprised.
Nick placed the book on Marcus’s desk. “Do you think you can mail this to someone in Amsterdam for me?”
“Uh, sure.” Marcus raised an eyebrow and spun to face his computer screen. “Who are you sending it to?”
Nick gave him the address for Jolijn and Christophe Davids.
* * *
? ? ?
Hours later, after Marcus tore Nick’s chapter draft apart and sent him on his way with notes, Nick walked the forty blocks back home in an attempt to jog his creativity. He had three months left until his deadline.
It was late evening by the time he reached his building. He ambled through the lobby, both physically and mentally exhausted, his mind on Deko.
So as the elevator doors began to close, and he ran forward, holding his arm out to keep the doors open, he was wholly unprepared to see Lily standing inside of the elevator with her eyes closed, leaning her head against the wall.
19
Lily had spent most of her day in the mail room, sending books to authors. She was avoiding Edith, who’d come to work on a warpath. Unfortunately, IT was bearing the brunt of Edith’s attitude. She’d locked herself out of her email account no less than three times before noon, and whenever the poor IT person came to assist her, Edith snapped at them as if it were their fault that she couldn’t remember her password.
Secluded in the mail room, Lily was able to work in peace, wearing her headphones. Jazmine Sullivan blasted in her ears and she packed boxes full and taped them closed over and over again. It took all of her attention, which was a blessing. It meant she didn’t have to spend the entire day thinking about Nick. She was avoiding him too.
She hadn’t seen him since he’d given her the stool and items for Tomcat the other morning. She couldn’t trust herself to be around him and make sensible choices. Because no matter how hard she tried not to, she kept thinking about Nick and how he’d shown up at her door the other morning with a kitchen stool and medicine and a toy for Tomcat. She’d been meaning to buy a new stool for the apartment, but she hadn’t gotten around to it. Then Nick had just appeared, knowing exactly what it was that she’d needed. Tomcat usually hated toys and preferred jumping in baskets and smacking around a balled-up piece of paper as a source of entertainment but she couldn’t get that feather toy away from him if she tried. And she couldn’t stop thinking of Nick’s face as he stood in the hallway.
I won’t lie to you again. I swear on my life. You mean too much to me.