Page 58 of A Kiss from the Fae (Mistress of Magic #2)

‘Think again, love. April, first week issue.’ Emery flashed her an uncomfortable grin.

‘April? You have got to be kidding!’ Zelda covered her eyes with her hands, with a nervous laugh.

The girls on the other side of the office looked up, in case they were missing any juicy scandal.

‘I’m deadly serious. We’ve got to shoot within ten days. You haven’t read your emails yet, I take it,’ Emery replied in a low voice.

‘What’s this replacing? We had all the April features planned out already.

Oh, no.’ The newspaper’s features were a mix of things booked in way ahead of time, like exhibitions and author interviews for upcoming books, and some other bits and pieces that were dropped in more last minute, like reviews and local news stories.

Zelda opened her emails. She found one titled URGENT from Mira, read it and groaned.

‘Seems like Mira wants to keep a big advertiser sweet.’ Emery raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow. ‘You know how this works, darling. Smile and say yes. Mira’s way is the only way.’

Zelda sighed. This kind of thing was happening more and more frequently.

She would sign off an issue in advance with Mira, and then Mira would either postpone or cancel her editorials altogether because she had met someone at a dinner who she thought was the next big thing , or had a phone call from an advertiser who harangued her into rearranging the issue.

As the Features Editor, it was Zelda’s job to organise all the main stories – if it was fashion, she’d decide how to style the clothes, choose the models and the setting, call in the right jewellery and hairdressers, and a thousand other details.

If it was a restaurant or an exhibition review, she’d find a time to visit the gallery or the restaurant with Emery, get the photos done, have a meal or look around the artworks and write up a piece for the paper.

She also had to book in and write up interviews, attend book launches and parties.

And, like everyone at The Village Receiver , she also did a million other little things: made coffee, tidied the office, kept the office birthdays calendar up to date and baked cakes when it was a special occasion.

‘I was really proud of the New York fashion graduates story I had planned,’ she muttered.

The article, about graduates from some of the top fashion design courses in New York, had really made her feel like she was doing something important.

‘We were profiling local young professionals. And she wants to replace that with…’ Zelda read the rest of Mira’s email.

‘This designer’s not even New York based!

’ she protested. ‘These outfits… I mean, I don’t mind tartan.

But, it’s kinda… cringy, don’t you think? All these bodices and mini skirts?’

‘I will pretend you didn’t say that.’ Emery faked a scandalised expression as he fluttered his hand over his chest.

‘You know what I mean. What chance do young designers have nowadays?’ Zelda sighed.

‘Earth to Zelda. Like it matters what we do.’ Emery sighed back at her.

‘You know Mira by now. You know what she’ll say if you go in there and try to argue.

If you don’t want to do your job, there are a thousand Zelda Hickses out there, ten years younger than you, waiting to jump into those white leather boots and do it for less money and longer hours. ’ He mimicked Mira’s nasal twang.

‘You’re fun today.’ Zelda pulled a face at him.

‘I love you, darling. You know that. But you don’t need me to tell you any of this.’

‘No, but it’s so great to hear it. As if I didn’t already have nightmares about some twenty-year-old stealing my life,’ she added, glumly.

What Zelda hadn’t told anyone was that she was exhausted.

She felt like she’d hardly slept for months, and she hardly ate.

Grieving for her mom and working at the same time was harder than she would ever have expected.

She knew she had lost weight, and there were grey circles around her eyes.

She knew Emery and the rest of her friends in the office were worried about her, and she tried to keep it together.

But, every day, it was more and more difficult to get out of bed.

‘They wouldn’t want your bunions,’ Emery tutted. ‘Or your roots.’

‘I don’t have roots! This is my natural colour! Look, I’ve got mere days to replan a whole story here.’ Zelda plaited her black hair over her shoulder and tapped her phone. ‘I need your help, okay? And I assume you’re coming with me? To Scotland?’

‘Wild horses couldn’t keep me away, darling,’ Emery drawled.

‘Well, that’s something. Let’s talk hiring models in Scotland, whatever that involves.

’ Zelda reached for her cup, draining her coffee.

On top of trying to deal with her constant, crushing sense of grief, an out-of-the-blue trip to Scotland with Mira breathing down her neck with regular calls and stressy texts was precisely what she didn’t need.

She knew exactly how it was going to go: Mira would try to micromanage her from afar, then complain that Zelda hadn’t got the shots she should have.

There would be some kind of criticism about the choice of models, the location or the fashion itself, and how Zelda had styled it.

Mira was notoriously hard to please, and Zelda couldn’t think of a time when she felt she had actually had done so.

You know what, Zelda thought, as Emery clicked through a modelling agency website based in the UK. I used to love this job. But I don’t know if I still do.

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