"Yes, Sonya?" He picked up his phone, putting down a chapter he got this morning.

"Sir, your sister would like to have lunch with you." He sighed into the phone and rubbed his temple.

"Sonya, I don't want to play Chinese whispers, but could you please tell her to annoy me after work and leave you out of this." Whatever this is.

"I'll try, sir, but I don't think I'm that convincing," she chuckled.

"Well, you got me to hire you," he replied with a grin, which she could sense in his voice. He hung up before she got a chance to chat him up. That day he got to work on a great piece – the best one in a while – and he planned to enjoy it in peace with a cup of his favourite coffee.

Somehow Lizzy dragged him out to dinner. He loved his sister as annoying as she was and he missed her. It was not like she was away from him – they lived in the same city – yet leaving in different sides of town with different jobs and friends, they barely got any time to hang out.

"I doubted you missed me," he told her with a humorous smile, "so it must be about that story."

"Hey, I did miss you unless you didn't miss me then I didn't miss you, either." She stuck her uvula out at him, causing him to laugh at her childish behaviour. She hadn't change over the years. "But yeah… the story thing, too." She opened her purse and dipped inside, looking rapidly through it. She smiled as she took out a blue folder.

"I know how freakish you are," she related to his preference to read and check chapters on paper. Newt took the folder from her. He opened it to check how long the chapter was - few pages, he noted.

"It's not the shortest I've seen, but still might not be enough for me to grade it," he theorized. He watched in shock as her lips twisted up into a joyous smile.

"So you really do intend to read it," she almost laughed up his sleeve in excitement.

"I promised, didn't I? But remember this is the last time and that piece better be good," he warned her again.

"Believe me, it is amazing."

"I'm the judge here. Anyway, how are you?" She started talking about her new job. She got it last month and she couldn't have been happier. Her salary wasn't the highest, but it was enough to pay the rent and save up some money. "What matters now is that you enjoy it. You'll worry about the money later," he advised.

"It's easy for you to say," she huffed dismissively, "you got promoted so quickly."

"You mean dad's contacts?" His brows furrowed. He couldn't deny the fact their father was well acquainted with Alby helped him get the job. But he loved what he was doing and he sure as hell was good at it. He'd dreamt of working for publishing house since he turned sixteen. Of course, almost no-one knew of it back then, thinking he'd go to college with lacrosse, or basketball, or that he'd return to England and go back to playing football.

"I mean I know you deserved it, but also that dad helped you get the job," she explained. She wasn't even trying to hide her enviousness. It wasn't her and neither their parent's fault they were able to help him but not her.

"They'd help you if they could." He put his huge palm on her hand and squeezed it lightly. "But you can't deny how good it felt to accomplish something on your own." She looked up from her salad with a humble grin.

"Bloody hell…" she chuckled, "yeah. Yeah, it does."

He got home when it was already dark outside. He slipped off his jacket and let it fall to the floor. He walked to his small office just to drop the folder off. He left his on his desk too tired to pay any attention to the screed. Instead, he threw himself onto the couch and turned the TV on.

He must have fallen asleep considering the screen of his TV had turned dark (it tended to do that after it wasn't commanded for a while). It was dark outside and he glanced at his watch briefly. He had an hour before he would have to get up for work.

He considered going back to sleep but dismissed the thought quickly. He wasn't feeling dozy enough. He stood up and made his way to his drawer. He changed into a training suit. It'd been a while since he last ran not on a treadmill and only when he got out and sensed the light breeze on his skin, while the sun arose he realized how much he missed it.

It took him half an hour to circle his neighbourhood five times. He came back covered in sweat and his hair stack to his forehead. He took a quick, hot shower and drove straight to work with his hair still damp.

"What do I have scheduled for today, Sonya?" Newt asked walking inside the building. She welcomed him with a cup of coffee – like every other day.

"Actually, Sir, Mark Andrews is coming today," Sonya surprised him.

"Really? I thought he was on a break." Andrews was his first client and his success got Newt promoted. "Did he tell you why?"

"I don't really now, Sir. He didn't want to tell me. But he mentioned it was urgent." Newt frowned, wondering what this could mean.

"When's he coming?"

"In two hours."

"Alright." He sighed. "Thanks, Sonya." He walked into his office and checked his email. He found nothing from Mark, only a few chapters from different authors. He printed one of them and began working on it.

Every time he'd notice a mistake or think the sentence sounded odd, bad or cringy he'd circle it with a red pen. Unlike that one, he used the green one to highlight the parts he liked the most. It was either how the sentence was built or if it was a felicitous remark.

This one was full of mistake and dull and dialogues were unrealistic. He'd have to ask Sonya to arrange the meeting with Ann.

"Struggle much?" Newt looked up from the paper and focused on the intruder. Mark was standing with a briefcase stack between his side and arm.

"Mark! Hi, didn't hear you coming." He stood up and shook his hand. "You want something to drink?"

"Nah, I'll pass." He smiled gladly.

"So what brings you here?" Newt asked curiously, taking a sit again. He put one leg on top of the other awaiting an explanation.

"You remember how I told you I wanted to take a break?" When Newt nodded he continued. "After my last book it I couldn't think of any story-"

"Why bring the briefcase then?" Newt smirked.

. "So, one day I was on holiday with my wife and I just felt this sudden need to write, just take a look and tell me what you think." A dozen or so sheets later Newt glanced at Mark from his work.

"Thirty pages of a prologue? Writing brake is working out for ya."

"I can send you the rest if you want."

"How much is the rest?"

"Well, I almost finished it. It's around five hundred pages." And Newt knew he should have said no. He had to work on Ann's book, and Filipe's, And Olive's, and Jake's and he should take a look at Lizzy's friend's work.

"That'd be a succor."

"I'll send it to ya as soon as I get home."

"Nice, shank," Tommy told him. "You've already got so much work to do, so many authors who send you their chaps, and you get an almost finished book to check, not to mention a favour you own your little sis."

"Are you listing me my chores?" Newt chuckled at his friend. He was damn-well aware he got himself a pile of work unbearable to handle on his own, but it was an opportunity he'd never let slip through his fingers. Besides, Mark was his friend – an absolutely talented one for that matter – who helped Newt get his career on the right track. They started this together and if only Mark wished Newt planned on finishing it together.

"I barely manage with four authors and a book promotion."

"Actually, I don't mind working on Mark's book at home, you know how good his books are-"

"-But they're shucking long!" Newt rolled his eyes and took a sip of his cappuccino. Sometimes he wondered what Tommy was even doing there. He got his job done well, probably as well as Newt, but with less satisfaction.

"-And," He continued, dismissing Thomas' interruption. "Lizzy brought me one chapter and I promised to only read this one. And maybe say something affable to her friend..."

"What if you do and she'll think you'd be interested in publishing it?" Thomas awaited an answer with a raised eyebrow.

"Then I'll tell her it's not exactly what I'm looking for and dismiss her with some fake phone numbers."

"You won't get laid that way." Thomas smiled sardonically.

"I don't sleep with my sister's friends. That's against the rules," Newt explained, "you'd know that if you had a sibling." He shrugged. "Besides, I still said maybe."

"Do you even know that friend?"

"Nope."

"So you never got with any of your sister's friends?"

"No." Liar - his inner voice whispered like a void, it didn't matter how much he tried to shut it down it would only continue to torment him.

It was almost a half-time break when he heard practically mute footsteps. He frowned wondering who could be entering a basement in a middle of a night.

He glanced from TV up at the stairs and noticed slim, wiry, and bare legs, feet covered with no-show socks. Soon a white shorts with a flowery pattern and he realized who it was.

"Lillian?" He half-whispered. It must have startled her for if she weren't holding onto a guardrail, she'd have tumbled down.

"Oh, hi," she exhaled in relief, "sorry, I was just looking for some orange juice, and I know you guys have a second fridge in here." Of course, she knew. She'd spent a night in their house so many times she probably learned it by heart.

"It's fine." He didn't really get to know her. It'd been four months since they moved to the USA and Newt didn't bother to even acknowledge his sister's friends. He saw no point in the action since all those back in England annoyed the hell out of him. He didn't need it here.

He stood up and made his way towards the fridge. He quickly checked it out and took out a half-filled bottle with orange liquid. He opened a cabinet and took out the most average glass possible and poured some in.

"Here."

"Thanks, Newt." She smiled kindly, taking the glass from him.

"Why ain't you asleep? Please - and I by no means try to sound rude - that it's because Lizzy's a big snorer. I'm trying to prove that she is, so it could actually be bloody helpful." She laughed heartedly.

"No, it's not that." She waved her hand dismissively. "Though, she is," they both chuckled, "but I can just listen to some music on my headphones to shut her out or watch something on youtube. I'm just watching a broadcasted soccer match."

"I didn't know cheeks do that. Which one?" He had to admit she caught his attention. He knew there were girls who were into sports or at least into watching them, but he'd never brought a girl home who'd be willing to watch it with him – not that he minded, he disliked many girly stuff, too .

"Spain vs. France." He grinned. It was most likely he'd regret it later, but she seemed nothing like the other Lizzy's friends so he decided to try it. After all it could be a one-time thing.

"Me, too, want to join?" He offered. "I bet it's a much better quality, besides, you'd be free of Lizzy's skeevy noises," she snorted with a shake of her head, trying to compose herself.

"Sure, if you don't mind," she shrugged, but a smile lingered on her face, because the offer was absolutely enticing.

"Well, I did just offer." He heard her giggle. They took their sits on the couch. She put the juice on a coffee table. He expected her to be timid or self-conscious, but she relaxed on the couch putting her legs on the couch and she did not hold back on comments and remarks. A smug grin formed on his face as they indulge in small talks or speaking ill of the referee.