January 7th, 2013

New Years Resolutions I've Already Broken:

(1) Be less obsessed with work

I broke this well before the first of January, I knowingly broke this resolution when I packed seven manuscripts to read over the holiday at Downton. While being an editor in the fiction department at Pemberly Press may not be the most glamorous of professions, as Mary, granny, and mother like to remind me. But I love it. I get to read for a living even if the books are occasionally dreadful.

The family is so taken with Mary practicing law and Sybil working as a journalist. In a strange twist of fate my father was the only one pleased with my career path, having been in the field himself once.

(2) Drink less

I'm two glasses of wine in at this moment.

(3) Absolutely no flirting with the egotistical, philandering, misogynistic, megalomaniacal embodiment of sin that is my boss Michael Gregson…

Failing. Miserably.

I don't know what it is about the man. He is my boss and I should have absolutely no interest in him. The man is a cad who has refused to consider my promotion, opinion, or existence for the past five years. But he is handsome… Dirty blonde hair that, no matter what he does, manages to fall across his forehead. His smile is wide and given rather freely, usually to any woman who passes. And of course his office is located across from mine.

Which would be tolerable if I didn't work in one of those modern architecture monstrosities, the ones made of glass walls and shiny white floors. Thanks to the latter I know for a fact that Michael never gives me a second thought, let alone salacious ones.

When one wipes out on a wet floor, spilling hot coffee down the front of her blouse and managing to rip the back of her skirt… well, we can all agree that an incident such as that doesn't scream 'sexy!' His reaction didn't scream gentleman, mind you. After helping me up he informed me that my knickers and bra didn't match. Charming, right? Of course Sarah O'Brien was there to shake her head in disgust at me. Ever so slightly senior because she has been at the company longer than me, so believes herself to be my boss as well.

But he did manage a charm some how. For all his more... smarmy tendencies, he could charm the bloom off the rose. Unlike his boss, Richard Carlisle… more like Richard Carl-arse. A man who insists on forgetting my name but never fails to stand inappropriately close to me while glancing down my top. He would be handsome were it not for these tendencies. He did also insist on publishing the ridiculous novels of whichever twit-ish young lady he was running around with that month. Which is how we have been responsible for such moving works as "Powerful Men and How to Land Them" (ironically that woman only lasted one more month after the book went to press), then there was a little novel that turned out to be an unfortunate rip off of 50 Shades of Gray… that it made the original seem well written should give you an indication. And then there was this month's gem, "Prude & Persistence" a so-called sexy take on Pride and Prejudice, pointing out where Elizabeth Bennett went wrong and why she should have carried on a torrid affair with Wickham until she was able to land the money and brooding prowess of Darcy…

I hate my job. I hate girls who sleep their way to the top and some how manage to have their ridiculous books published. I hate my life. I hate that the last run through the washing machine seemed to have shrunk the skirt I chose to wear today…

DING

Ah, new mail. That should add to the tedium of proofing P&P.

Crawley,

I don't mean to alarm you but you seem to have forgotten your skirt today. Or has skirt taken a sick day?

- MG

What is happening? Is he flirting with me? Via email?

Dear Management,

Skirt is demonstrable neither sick nor absent. Perhaps it is management who has left all sense of propriety home sick today.

Regards,

E.

Well… this was a turn to the day.

Crawley,

So sorry to offend. Will cease all concerns for poor skirt from hereon out. Do so hope you might forgive.

-MG

P.S. hope knickers and top match today.

I was so keen to continue emailing with him, but naturally this was the moment for my phone to ring.

"Eeds?" Asked a sorrowful voice.

Ethel. Wonderful girl, fantastic friend, does tend to lock herself in the bathroom at her work with relative frequency to cry over her loser of the month.

"Oh, darling. What has he done now?"

"It's not him. He's perfect. I manage to fuck it all up some how. I asked him if he could drop me off at my flat instead of slowing to a stop at the curb…"

We would undoubtedly cover this topic at dinner tonight with our friends Thomas and Anna, but I could hear the locking of the door in the background. Of course this meant a situation that had to be dealt with immediately.

"Ethel, stop right there. He's a bastard. Accept this fact and dump him, for your sake as well as ours. He's not perfect, you're perfect. He's just a big knob head with no knob…"

While giving my sage advice I didn't realize that Michael was standing in my doorway, holding a manuscript in hand to go over notes.

"Is a rather crass position to take on Mr. Herbert and his new book… but frankly that's a small minded point of view. Thank you for your call." I hung up the phone as quickly as possible. "Need something, boss?"

"Your notes on the lovely young Amber's attack on Pride and Prejudice."

"Yes?"

"While entertaining and worthy of being published with the actual text to keep a riot of Austen fans from boycotting the book… I'm sorry, were you talking about Charles Herbert just now?"

"Yes."

"He has a new book?"

"Yes."

"I thought he had died…"

Fuuuuuuuuck.

"Hmm, anyway. The book is what it is. Richard isn't allowing for any editing aside from grammatical and spelling."

"Of course."

As he walked away I let my head drop to my desk. Charles Herbert had died months ago. I attended the funeral. Why did I have to pick that name?

DING

Crawley,

Had to check close up. Sad to see the skirt is in fact present.

-MG

Perhaps not the worse resolution to have broken.