My Sort-of, Kind-of Hero by Harper Emily

Author:Harper, Emily [Harper, Emily]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2014-08-21T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

“Ms. Hart will see you now,” the young receptionist alerts me.

This is it. I can feel it in my bones.

I open the door to Ms. Hart’s office and look around.

My dad was right: I wore the perfect outfit; my skinny jeans, a cream blouse and black blazer with little leather trims around the collar, paired with my little black ankle boots. I look the perfect combination of business artsy. My hair is secured in a casual bun at the back of my head that looks like I just whipped it up there. Fashionable, yet practical.

That bun took me forty-five minutes to do.

Lisa’s office (I now refer to her as Lisa in my head because I have basically turned her into my best friend forever… I even tried calling her Lissy last night, but I felt it was a little too soon) is super trendy. The far wall is original brick and the one adjacent has floor to ceiling bookshelves with an awesome metallic ladder that slides across for easy access to the higher shelves. The ceiling has to be at least fifteen feet tall.

And there is my Lisa, sitting behind her desk, reading a book. I knew she would be this cool. She has bright red glasses on, her hair is in a messy bun (not unlike mine) and she’s wearing a tight leather dress. A leather dress on a Tuesday.

She looks up as I make my way into her office and smiles at me.

“You must be Henrietta,” she says, standing up.

I walk over to her desk and take her outstretched hand.

“My friends call me Etty,” I say.

“Etty,” she says, nodding. “I’m so glad you were able to come in today. I’ve read your latest novel and I was pretty impressed.”

“You were?” Okay, I know it was in the letter, but honestly, after all the rejections I have received I’m not going to say no to someone actually complimenting me.

“You have a unique voice. You’re funny.” She takes her seat again and indicates for me to take the seat in front of her desk.

She moves so gracefully in that leather dress. I once had a pair of tight leather pants and anytime I went to sit down they slipped right over my bum. Maybe she’s wearing some sort of garment adhesive. I’ll have to dig my pants out the closet and give them another try. Then when we go out together to get lattes and talk about my latest novel deal we could be like the leather sisters.

“But your voice isn’t right for historical romance,” she says, and suddenly all thoughts of leather are out of the window.

“Sorry?” I say, confused.

“Let’s be frank with each other,” she says. “Do you like writing historical romantic fiction?”

“I−” I shrug. “It’s all I have ever written.”

“And you started writing it because there was a gap in the market for it at the time?” she guesses.

Damn, she’s pretty good.

“I thought I would have a better time selling it.”

“When I read your work, I heard an irony in your voice.

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