Day 30 – Your Life
A/N: All right, guys, this is as close to my real life as I will ever get on the internet (minus the hot author on the phone, unfortunately). Not my private life, rather my professional one, but, trust me, a truly depressing amount of RL went into this piece. Let's just call it therapy, okay?
Megan felt her feet get heavier with each step she took toward the front door. Going to work used to be so much fun. For years, she'd told everybody she'd landed her dream job, here at Vigil Press, a small but distinguished publisher of fantasy novels. Lovely colleagues, understanding bosses, and interesting tasks – it had been all a girl could have asked for. Nowadays, though…
She yawned as she unlocked the door to her office and switched on her computer. A cup of tea first. Velanna was already in the kitchen pouring a cup of coffee, her face even paler than usual, her lips set in a thin line.
"What's the matter?" Megan smiled at her without expecting a smile in return.
"Fucking new system is down again." Velanna kicked the bin open with her high-heeled shoe, an expression of pure disgust on her aristocratic features. "That's it. That's the last straw. I'm not touching the sodding thing anymore."
Of all her colleagues, Velanna was the one who hated the changes most. Not that any of them were happy with last year's developments. It had started innocently enough, with a perky mail from management, announcing that they would become "part of the successful Weisshaupt Books family". Apparently, the giant publishing company from the Anderfels had made an offer that the shareholders couldn't refuse. But, of course, they'd assured everyone that nothing would change. "Our core values will remain intact."Megan snorted at the memory.
Weisshaupt had sent in a new CEO straight away. Alex Stroud, "a highly successful manager from Orlais, with lots of experience in implementing structural reforms." He had arrived in a big shiny car, surrounded by ambitious young men in dark suits and impeccably polished black shoes. She had looked up his credentials on the internet and had found no ties whatsoever to the publishing world. Just a long string of companies he had led through "change processes," leaving behind only empty husks.
Old MacTir had been offered a seat on the board, but had declined with a contemptuous snarl. Mrs. Woolsey, his secretary, had relayed his parting words to the other employees in a hushed voice. "I won't stay and watch as everything I've worked for goes down the drain. And I certainly won't support any of the measures you have in mind."
Mrs. Woolsey had been among the first who'd had to leave, replaced by a pretty young brunette with long legs and a vapid smile. Mr Stroud's personal assistant, Miss Bryland.
"Come on, Vel." Megan did her best to soothe her colleague. "You can't refuse. They'll fire you, and then what will become of me in this madhouse, without you to keep me sane?"
"Honestly, Meg, I don't care any longer." Shit, Velanna sounded really desperate this time. "Maker knows, I've tried to put up with the craziness for as long as I could. But I haven't even gotten around to looking at my manuscripts once all week. I spent all of yesterday trying to sort out the content management system, and then it crashed again, and I could kiss all my work goodbye. I've got three training courses coming up next week, and about ten forms to fill in. My authors are starting to ask if I no longer care about their work." Velanna took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. "Let them fire me. The sooner we all get out of here, the better."
Megan didn't answer. If she was honest, Velanna's words were nothing but the truth. Not for the first time, she wished she'd been among the first batch of editors who had been offered generous severance packages last year. Anything to get rid of them without a fuss.
Within days after Stroud's arrival, the place had been crawling with consultants from at least three different firms. Blackstone LLP, Flint Consulting, Kadan & Fe – they had all wanted their share of what had been one of the most successful publishers of urban fantasy at that point. They had turned up in every office, interviewing people about their work processes, taking notes and drawing up elaborate diagrams to prove without a doubt that at least half the staff was superfluous and needed to go.
Oghren had been the first. An overweight, short, pipe-smoking veteran like him, with a penchant for Scotch whisky, didn't fit into the brave new world of publishing. Garevel had disappeared as well, his caretaking job outsourced to a firm from the Blackmarsh that paid minimum wage and promised maximum service. Sigrun and Kristoff had been next, and then so many others that she'd lost count. By now, they had all gotten used to seeing e-mails titled "Goodbye" or "Farewell" pop up in their inbox on a regular basis.
Sometimes Megan wondered whether they should have put up more resistance. But what would be the point? Even Mr Varel, her head of department, was powerless to do anything about the changes. She herself was nothing but a simple copy editor, at the lowest level of the food chain. Stroud probably didn't even know she existed and, if he did, he didn't care.
"Meg? Can I bother you with this for a moment?" Carver popped his head through her office door, holding up a bundle of papers; print-outs from the newly introduced planning software, by the looks of it. "I can't really make sense of this."
"Well, you'd be the first," she muttered under her breath, taking the papers from him and frowning at the long columns of numbers.
Carver smiled apologetically, his large brown eyes fixed on her with a hopeful expression. Poor sod. He was actually one of the more capable interns they'd had in the past few years but, with things going the way they were, he didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of staying around once his time was up. Which was really bloody unfair, considering he'd slaved away at this post for more than a year for next to no money in the hope of landing a permanent position.
Quickly, she scanned the numbers until she found what she was looking for. "See? Someone swapped those two digits. The system can't figure it out and comes up with what we commonly refer to as total bullshit."
Carver grinned. "Is that the technical term?"
"Absolutely." She smiled back. He was such a nice guy. Handsome, too. It was a pity, really. "Anything else?"
He shook his head. "Unless you'd like to have lunch together?" He seemed nervous, his hand shaking slightly, and he was avoiding her gaze.
"I'd love to. But I'm expecting an important phone call at noon." She made a face.
"Howe?" Carver guessed, correctly. "Well, then I'll see you at our team meeting later in the afternoon." He did his best to sound nonchalant, but there was no mistaking his disappointment.
"Sure." As the door closed behind him, Megan dropped into her desk chair with a sigh and pulled a stack of papers toward her. She'd pretended to be mad about having to take a call at lunchtime but, if she was honest, it would be the highlight of her day.
Nathaniel Howe. "Her" author. She'd never even met him in person, but she had spent untold hours on the phone with him, discussing the latest instalment of his hugely popular Waking the Dragon series. He had such an amazing voice, rough and gravelly, and a lovely wry sense of humour. And, of course, she adored his writing, so witty, so full of fascinating references and vivid descriptions. Megan had never told anyone, but she'd spent hours fantasizing about the man, trying to imagine what he looked like.
When the phone rang, she picked up the receiver with a bright smile. "Nathaniel. What can I do for you?"
"Megan." Maker, just hearing him say her name made her all hot and bothered. She really needed to get a grip on herself. "I was going to go through the changes you suggested with you, but something has come up." He sounded… different, a little upset maybe? "This morning I found a letter from Vigil Press in my mail. Signed by your new CEO. Apparently, he wants to 'discuss the terms of my contract in more detail.'"
Shit! Megan felt a hot surge of fury. Just like Stroud, to do such a thing without even bothering to inform her. "I'm sorry, but-" For a moment she was lost for words, trying to find a way to say this without violating her code of loyalty. But then the anger won over. I'm sick and tired of pretending everything's fine. "I'm sorry, Nathaniel, but I have no idea what this is about. No one saw fit to tell me about it, and I'm really-"
"It's okay. I know it's not your fault." He sounded so understanding that she immediately felt ashamed for her little outburst. "I just wanted to let you know I'm coming over next week. Tuesday, I think. Can you get this organized for me? If Vigil Press can still afford my travel expenses, that is."
"Of course we can." She clenched her teeth. He wasn't far off, really. After all, none of the editing staff got to travel to conferences or book fairs anymore, because it was considered a waste of money. "I'll set it all up for you."
"Thank you. And, Megan?" She could hear him smile. "I look forward to finally meeting you in person. I really do."
"So do I. Meeting you, I mean." Maker, she was babbling. "I'll call you tomorrow with the details."
"Right." There was a moment of hesitation, as if he wanted to add more, but then he just sighed. "Bye, Megan. I hope you have a good day."
"Bye, Nathaniel." She put down the receiver, closing her eyes as the realization hit home. He's coming here. Next week.
Suddenly, the future didn't look quite as dismal anymore.
That's it. The last one. This challenge is over – well, not quite, I have a bonus chapter waiting for you ;). This was so much fun! Some of these AUs definitely have the potential to grow into longer stories, I think.
Also, this is the moment for a big resounding thank you to those of you who've stayed with me all through the 30 days. Special thanks go to Apollo Wings and Melysande for reviewing every single chapter and cheering me on, and extra super special thanks to my wonderful, patient and invaluable beta, Suilven!