Hello Lovelies,

Back to SIP and normal life for Ana...

I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Much Love,

Chelsea x


I pushed through the double doors of SIP at 11am on Monday morning, coming straight from the airport. Our plane was delayed by two hours due to the stormy weather circling over Las Vegas, something that infuriated in each of us. While we were grounded I called Mark, explaining that I was going to be late and I apologised profusely. I panicked, not wanting to piss him off, especially with the prospect of redundancy lurking over my head, but Mark was fine with it. He agreed that not even Christian can control the weather. Gratefully, he emailed over a new project for me to sink my teeth into, so I could at least do something productive with my time.

Leaving Sawyer in the lobby, Jaz followed me to my office. She settled into her corner while I fired up my computer and emptied my purse of my belongings.

"I'm going to grab a cup of tea before I sit down. Would you like a drink?" I asked Jaz, passing her chair on my way to the door. I blew my hair out of my face, feeling sweaty from rushing around. "Something to eat?"

"A water would be great, thank you," she replied, giving me a soft smile.

Both Jaz and Sawyer had been all smiles this morning, and I couldn't help but smirk at them. I wondered if they had spent the weekend together. They looked tired and flushed in the face. The kind of glow that only comes from hours spent in your lover's arms.

I walked the length of the office floor, heading for the kitchen, and came to a grinding halt in the doorway.

My eyes rolled into the back of my head as I caught sight of Maria hovering by the refrigerator. She was propping herself against the fridge door, her ankles crossed and her arms folded under her chest.

Her dark lips parted into a snarl at the sight of me.

"Oh, I didn't realise you were back today," she drawled, her beady eyes staring at me from behind her wide-rimmed glasses. "I thought you'd be away all week."

"Just wishful thinking, I'm afraid," I shot back, forcing a quick smile. I pointed to the refrigerator. "Do you mind?"

She sighed and peeled herself upright, scuttling a few paces away.

"You're hardly ever here anyway," she added, as if stoking a fire. I bit down on my tongue. "It's actually a surprise when you bother to show up… Not that you contribute anything worthwhile…"

I didn't reply, instead pouring all my energy into making myself a drink.

"Where was it this time?" Maria persisted. "Vegas, right? A shotgun-wedding?"

"Keeping tabs on my whereabouts?" I huffed, throwing her a glare over my shoulder.

"No, it's your boyfriend who does that," she smirked, her eyes narrowing. "Does it ever get annoying, having babysitters watch your every move? Do they report back to him?"

I pressed my lips together, my jaw clenching.

"She's just been to the bathroom. She's eaten a banana and a cookie. She's tapping her pen against the desk…" She let out a loud cackle. "I would freak out if that was me. Not even prisoners get watched that much!"

"My life is none of your business," I said, willing my voice to stay calm despite the frustration building inside me. "And I doubt you will ever have to worry about being in my shoes. Someone would have to love you enough to bother concerning themselves with your safety."

She was about to bore me with yet another belittling comeback but I stopped her in her tracks, holding up my hand.

"If you don't mind, I have stuff to do today," I cut in. "And I don't have the time to trade petty insults with you."

She moved, closing the gap between us. I instinctively straightened myself up, bringing my chin to the same height as hers. I was glad for my three and a half inch heels today.

"That stunt you pulled in front of everyone a few weeks ago did you no favours," she whispered, her tone sharpening with the lowness of her voice. "The few friends you had have seen you for exactly what you are."

"And what am I? Please, enlighten me."

"You're just a cuckoo," she snarled. "Worming your way into the nest and trying to oust those of us who have been here for years. Everyone hates you."

"I doubt that," I shook my head.

"They're all waiting for you walk out and realise you're not wanted here." She scanned the length of my body. "I'm looking forward to the day you leave. It'll be even sweeter if you get fired."

"You'll be waiting a very long time for that to happen," I laughed, rolling my eyes. "You'll leave before I do. Mark my words."

"We'll see about that," she growled. She sucked her teeth at me and backed up a step, before turning on her heels and exiting the kitchen.

I kept my focus straight ahead, looking at the bare wall opposite.

"God, it's nice to receive such a warm welcome," I muttered to myself on a heavy sigh.


"Hey, you free to talk?" Mark blurted, popping his head around my door. I looked up and found him leaning over the divide, gripping the door handle. "I need someone's ear to chew for a few minutes."

"Yeah, sure," I nodded.

He entered my office as Jaz exited, instinctively giving us some privacy. Mark closed the door behind her. He lingered there for a moment, his hand pressing into the wood.

His shoulders sagged.

"What's up?" I queried, feeling a knot form in my stomach at the sight of him. "Is something wrong?"

"What's right?" he sighed. He pushed off the door and dropped into the armchair Jaz had vacated. He ran his fingers through his dark curls. "I just took a call from the consolidators. Things aren't looking good."

"What did they say?"

"They've got the financial records for the past three years," he said. "They've checked all of the invoices, receipts, expense forms – you name it, they've got it. It's not good. It shows how bad things got. SIP was pissing money up the wall until you came along."

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.

I knew what he meant. My name – or rather, Christian's name – had brought attention to the company and it consequently brought readers to our books. I hadn't done in particular, aside from being connected to Christian. His name travels fast and wide.

"They have taken into consideration that recently the situation has improved, but they don't believe this is a long-term shift in profits," he explained. He shook his head. "They have reconsidered the asking price in the hope of bringing in a buyer."

"Right… Well, I guess that might help -"

"We're running out of time," he grimaced, interrupting me. "Savidge's widow has brought forward the deadline. She needs the money and wants SIP out from under her feet."

"How long do we have?" I tentatively asked.

"The 12th," he replied.

"Of December?"

"November," he shook his head. "As in one week from now. We have until five o'clock next Monday."

"What?" I gasped. My eyes widened in horror. "No, that can't be right. One week?"

He confirmed it with a sad nod.

"What happens if there isn't a buyer?"

"I'm assuming it'll be a quick process," he said. He shrugged. "There will be a chance for people to volunteer to leave. They will probably be offered a pay-out, but I imagine that option will be reserved for senior management only… There will be a lot of redundancies. They could choose to shut up shop immediately, closing us down."

"Fuck…" I slouched into my chair, my body deflating. "What the hell do we do?"

"I've been trying to strike up meetings with some corporate publishers," he revealed. "They could turn SIP into an imprint."

"Mark," I sighed, shaking my head. "You know what that'd mean for SIP."

He looked at me with glassy eyes. They were full of desperation.

If SIP is bought out by a larger publishing house, SIP as we know it will disappear. It will be condensed to a skeleton crew, working only on a select number of projects with only a handful of authors. Considering the majority of the books we produce are non-fiction, it seems likely that's the route it could take. All of the unknown fiction writers we support will be left in limbo, along with the hoard of potential others who could have stood a chance at achieving their dreams of being published.

While it would mean a part of SIP would live on, my job would become redundant. We already have a working, fully efficient non-fiction team.

"It might be our only option," Mark continued meekly. "I'm desperate to keep this place going. It's been my home for years. I can't see it become just another empty building."

I gritted my teeth and wracked my brain.

"Have you exhausted all the possible investors you were looking at?"

He snorted a noise and threw his head back.

"Everyone I've met with practically laughed in my face," he grumbled. "You know, I even went to the bank and asked for a loan? I was willing to invest myself."

"And?"

"I can't raise enough," he shook his head. "I was willing to put down everything I own as collateral. Damn it, I'd sell my soul if I have to."

"What if one than one person chipped in?" I suggested. "If everyone added something, surely –"

"I've asked everyone on the management team," he grimaced. "No one is willing to pitch in… I think I'm the only one who cares enough. To everyone else, this is just a job."

"It means so much more to me," I muttered under my breath.

I sat quietly as Mark continued to grumble about Savidge's widow and the consolidators, before moving onto the notes from this morning's meeting. His words began to jumble together as my mind thought over the situation.

I love my job, and the prospect of losing it makes me feel sick to my stomach. I feel happy here – in spite of the bitchiness and snide looks. I feel like I do something meaningful here.

SIP needs a buyer.

Fast.

I glanced out of my window and stared at the skyline, to the grey tower dominating the view.

I had put my foot down before, but what if he is the only option?

I swore it wouldn't happen, that I would never even contemplate asking Christian for help. I had fought long and hard to avoid any crossover between my personal and professional life. But that line is starting to blur and the clock is ticking.

Do I go back on my word and do the very thing I swore I would never do?

In the early days, Christian asked if I wanted a job with him. It would have been a quick way of getting out of bar work, but I turned him down. I didn't want us to be in each other's pockets 24-7. Our relationship has thrived on us having aspects of our lives that are separate.

Will it ruin everything if he takes over SIP?

Do I take the risk? It would certainly help solve a problem named Maria...

I closed my eyes and felt my temples throb.

Bloody hell.