Chapter Seven - A First Collaboration

While he generally didn't fit the stereotype that gay men were obsessed with their appearances, Friday morning found Elijah spending far more time in front of the mirror than he usually did. He dressed and groomed meticulously in an attempt to find that perfect balance between professional and casual. Or at least, he hoped that was how he came across. The entire time, the conversation he'd had with Charlotte the day before was running through his head.

"Got plans tomorrow?"

"Just work, why?"

"Any chance you can get some time off? Your new editor wants to meet."

The moment he'd hung up the phone with her, Elijah promptly called into work and cashed in a favor to get the day off. He spent the rest of the evening fussing around the house in a panic. By the time Jane had arrived home from her late class at the Club, the entire apartment had been cleaned from top to bottom. He barely slept that night and was awake by sunrise in anticipation of the meeting.

Elijah decided he needed a distraction before he worried himself into an aneurysm, and crossed the hall to his sister's open bedroom door. Packing for their weekend in the Hamptons, Jane was, if possible, in an even worse state of nerves. She was still in her pajamas, an open suitcase at her feet. Half the contents of her closet were laid out on her bed, and she was staring down at them like they were a particularly complicated math problem. When Jane spotted him in the doorway, her face brightened up.

"Help?" she asked, and her tone was so pathetic he couldn't stop the laugh that slipped out. "It's not funny," she said, but her lips turned up. "I don't know what to take. This dress is cute, but then so is this skirt, and I don't know what to do."

"Relax, first of all," Elijah said, placing steadying hands on Jane's shoulders. She nodded and took a deep breath. "Firstly, we're not leaving until this evening; you've got plenty of time. Secondly, Charlie is not going to stop liking you based on what you wear this weekend, okay? Now let's get you packed."

After thirty minutes of sorting and debated color palettes versus weather forecasts, they had Jane ninety-nine percent packed. Elijah checked the time and swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat. "It'll be great," Jane said, smiling encouragingly over the discarded socks she was meticulously refolding.

Elijah nodded, his returning smile far more confident than he felt. "Want to take the car?" Jane offered.

A soft huff of laughter escaped him. "This time of morning?" Elijah responded. "I'll never get there." He picked up his messenger bag and checked his reflection one last time in the mirror of Jane's wardrobe. "Okay, wish me luck."

"Not that you need it," Jane said, "but good luck."

The sidewalks of downtown Manhattan were crowded with the Friday mid-morning rush when Elijah jogged up the steps from the subway station, clutching his bag against his hip. The familiar drone of voices and cars made a comforting backdrop, but today they did nothing to ease his nerves. He took a steadying breath before starting up the road.

It wasn't difficult to find the right building, and he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, tilting his head back to look up the face of the business structure. Number 3287 was a towering edifice of stone and wood amid the steel and glass, a bit of old New York still clinging on in the new century, although it had definitely been restored and updated recently. A swiveling glass door led into a cavernous lobby with parquet floors and gold embellishments.

Hugging his messenger bag closer to his side, Elijah walked up to the massive sign that hung opposite the doors. According to the white typeface, Pemberley Publishing occupied the top floor of the building. He was going to be a little early, but he figured that was safer than being late. The elevator doors opened with a cheery ding, and he stepped in, followed immediately by a large man in a business suit that made Elijah feel underdressed.

The other man got out on the fourteenth floor, and Elijah rode the rest of the way up in silence, drumming a staccato rhythm on his bag while he watched the little light tick its way up through the numbers over the door. Finally, the circle labeled forty-five lit up and Elijah straightened up, smoothing down the front of his sweater self-consciously.

When the doors slid open, it revealed a large office space of mahogany and white. Most of the floor was filled with cubicles, only half of them occupied by people tapping away at computers or poring over printed pages. A receptionist sat facing the elevators, and she looked up from her keyboard when he stepped out.

"Welcome to Pemberley Publishing," she said brightly. "What can I do for you?"

"Hi, my name's Elijah Bennet," he said, suddenly uncertain. One of the people in the room was the one, the person who had chosen his book when everyone else had rejected him. "I'm supposed to be meeting with my editor today. I think my agent said Mrs. Reynolds."

"Oh, that's me," an older woman said, walking over from where she was talking to one of the editors at their desk. She was a composed older woman, her conservative business look softened by a friendly smile and pink scarf. "Mr. Bennet?"

"Elijah, please," he said. "Are you Mrs. Reynolds?"

"Patricia. A pleasure to meet you," she said, offering her hand. "I read your book; it's absolutely fantastic."

"Thank you," he said, fighting against the blush that was creeping up the back of his neck. "And thank you for accepting it."

"Oh, I'm not your editor," said Patricia. "I'm just a personal assistant. I just passed your book along to the boss; he's the one who chose it. Speaking of," she glanced at her watch, "we should get you back there. You're a little early, but he has a tight schedule so that'll help."

Confused, Elijah followed her through the rows of cubicles to an office door in the back wall. Mrs. Reynolds knocked twice on the door and then opened it. She led the way in and addressed the chair behind the desk, which was turned toward a back wall comprised almost entirely of windows. The room was beautiful, with its carved desk and large shelves built into the walls that housed books of every era. Elijah's fingers itched with the desire to browse the shelves and see what treasures lay there.

"Elijah Bennet is here to see you, sir," Mrs. Reynolds announced.

"Thank you, Patricia," a cool, British voice responded. Elijah's stomach lurched in recognition just as the chair swiveled around slowly to show its occupant, like the villain reveal of an old James Bond film. William Darcy stood and nodded briefly to Mrs. Reynolds, who smiled and left the office, shutting the door behind her. "Mr. Bennet," he greeted.

"Mr. Darcy," Elijah said, struggling to hide his confusion.

"You seem surprised to see me," Darcy noted, peering at Elijah over the top of the black-frame glasses perched on his nose. Elijah's heart did an unpleasant double beat; he'd always had a weakness for guys in glasses.

"I wasn't aware that you were the one who bought my book," Elijah said. His mind went back to the night of the Netherfield ball and the conversation he'd overheard. It was decent enough. Elijah felt his hackles rise indignantly and it took everything he had not to let the flash of anger show on his face.

"Perhaps you should've done more research into the company," Darcy suggested, his lips twisting up just slightly at the corners in a condescending smirk. Elijah bit his tongue to stop himself from responding. "Hopefully this arrangement is still to your liking."

Decent enough. Elijah was half tempted to tell William Darcy exactly where he could stick his arrangement, but the practical side of him managed to grab hold of the words before they reached his tongue. If he refused this offer, what were the odds that he'd get another chance? After all of the rejection letters he'd gotten, did he want to risk his book never being published just because his editor was a vile, patronizing jerk?

"Works fine for me," Elijah said, forcing on a friendly expression. He could play nice. If he was lucky, they'd only have to meet in person a few times. Most editors worked purely through email nowadays anyway. He'd be civil while they fine-tuned the details of his story, and then he'd never have to deal with William Darcy again. Next book he could find another editor. Charlotte had assured him it was always easier once an author was established.

"Excellent," said Darcy. He gestured at the seat on the other side of the desk as he dropped back down into his own. "I thought we could use this first meeting to set up a basic foundation. Get to know each other a little better since we'll be working together over the next few months, go through the preliminary edits, and establish what we're both expecting from this."

Elijah nodded silently, trying very hard not to be charmed by Darcy's accent. It wasn't your typical London accent, slightly rougher and richer. Shame such a nice package housed a cold soul.

Darcy picked up a manuscript from the pile on his desk and tapped a finger against the top page. "It really is an excellent book," he said, staring across the desk to fix Elijah with a piercing, ice-blue gaze.

Decent enough. "Thank you," said Elijah. He couldn't help but wonder what Darcy thought he was playing at. One minute his book was merely decent, and the next he was saying that it was good. He was clearly someone important in the company, having his own fancy office in the building. Why would someone so high up in the company take on his "decent enough" novel?

"I genuinely expect that this book could make it onto the bestsellers' charts," Darcy continued. "It has some rough patches, but overall it's a terrific story. After all, I only take on the very best."

Elijah smirked at the smarmy comment. Could he be more full of himself? "Alright then, let's talk about those rough patches," he said, setting his bag down next to his chair.

Darcy nodded and opened up the manuscript to the first page, scanning over his notes in the margins. "I noted down a few inconsistencies with the narration here..."

They spent the next few hours glossing over all of the pieces that Darcy felt needed some work. For the most part, Elijah grudgingly had to admit that he made good points. The guy might be insufferable - and the curt, forward way that he laid down his expectations about the changes naturally put Elijah on the defensive - but he at least knew what he was doing. There were a few parts where Elijah firmly put down his foot, resistant to the changes that Darcy had suggested, but overall the edits would serve as considerable improvements.

"I'll send a complete copy of all my recommendations through to your agent," Darcy said when they had finished talking over the climax of the novel. "You have two months to make the changes and then resubmit your new manuscript."

Elijah cringed. That many revisions and three whole sections that needed rewriting in only two months? "How long does this whole process usually take?" he asked curiously.

"Depending on how well your revisions go," Darcy said, giving him a significant look, "the editing process takes about six months. Then things move on to marketing and design, and then production. All in all, the whole process lasts about a year. If everything works out according to plan, this book will be on shelves next summer."

Letting out a heavy breath, Elijah slumped back in the chair. One year. Twelve short months and his book would be sitting on the shelves at the bookstores and libraries. Just one more year and he'd be a published author. It was finally sinking in that this was real; he'd actually done it. He couldn't stop the euphoric grin that broke out across his face at the thought.

"Would you care to join me for lunch?"

The out-of-the-blue question startled Elijah from his fantasies, and he blinked across the desk at Darcy in surprise. "Pardon?" he asked, sure he'd heard wrong.

"I was planning on taking my lunch as soon as our meeting was over," Darcy said, leaning forward and propping his elbows on the edge of his desk. "I was wondering if you'd care to join me. We could discuss any other questions you might have."

Elijah fought back a frown. What exactly did this guy think he was doing? Was this some ploy to find more reasons to criticize Elijah? Either way, he wasn't looking to spend any more time with Darcy than he absolutely had to. He checked his watch and shook his head. "No, thank you," he said, scrambling for an excuse. "I actually have plans so I should probably go soon if I want to get across town on time."

Darcy nodded, standing up and removing his glasses. "Thank you for taking the time to come in and meet with me," he said. "I'll pass that information along to your agent."

"Thanks for making time for me," Elijah said. When Darcy offered a hand, he shook it, determinedly ignoring the leap of his stomach at the warm grip.

"Mrs. Reynolds will contact your agent to set up another time to meet after we receive your edits," Darcy said, wiping his palms on his pants like he wanted to clean them before burrowing them in his pockets. "Feel free to contact me if you have any questions about the revisions. Good day, Mr. Bennet."

"Goodbye, Mr. Darcy," Elijah said and then slung his messenger bag over his shoulder. He slipped back out of the office and smiled kindly at Patricia Reynolds before making his way to the elevator. His mind was humming as he rode down to the ground floor. One year. One more year.

There was a grin on his face as he stepped out into the busy New York rush.


The moment the office door closed behind Elijah, William slumped back into his chair. What was wrong with him? The goal of meeting with Elijah - apart from the actual work, of course - had been to find reasons to stop his infatuation, and instead, all that he'd done was make it worse.

A tap at the door made him look up, and he saw Mrs. Reynolds standing in the doorframe. "Everything went well?" she asked curiously.

"Yes, it was quite productive," he said.

"That Elijah Bennet, he's rather charming, isn't he?" Mrs. Reynolds asked. "So sweet and friendly. And rather handsome, too."

"He seems to be a good man," William agreed. "As for his looks, I am not a good judge." Mrs. Reynolds gave him a pointed look, but William remained unflinching even as his mind raced with images of gentle brown eyes with a fiery spark.

Sometimes he wondered if Mrs. Reynolds didn't already know his secret despite the fact that he'd never told anyone. The older woman had been working with him since he had begun Pemberley Publishing right out of university, helping him to get the business off the ground both in London and now in New York, and she treated him more like a son than an employer. She never came right out and said anything, but when she gave him looks like that or made comments about certain men, he thought she must at least suspect.

"Of course," she said. "Anyway, I was just coming to tell you that I'm going to take my lunch break. Would you like me to pick something up for you while I'm out?"

"That would be wonderful, thank you," he said, bestowing a rare smile on the woman. Mrs. Reynolds nodded and closed the door behind her as she left.

William swiveled his chair to face the window again and looked out at the towering steel buildings. This was getting ridiculous. It was just a stupid infatuation; it would go away as quickly as it came. All he needed was a little time and space, and this silly crush would fade. He had two months before Elijah's revisions were due and no reason to see him again before then. That was plenty of time to clear his head.