Page 34

“You and Christopher have become pretty close these last couple of years.” Frankly, it surprised me. They were very different—not counting their propensity for getting themselves into hot water.

Adrien grinned. “I think he enjoys mentoring me.”

I chuckled. “Very droll.”

“I thought so.”

We strolled to the elevators, still chatting. Adrien said goodnight and disembarked on the third floor. I was on my own the rest of the trip.

On the fifth floor, the elevator dinged and I stepped out.

At the sound of the service door down the hall, I glanced back and my heart froze at the sight of a tall, silvery figure coming my way.

My gasp must have carried, because Rudolph called, “Keiran, my boy. Did I startle you?”

Hell, yes, he’d startled me.

After my conversation with Adrien, I’d leaped to a horror movie scenario with Colby, butcher knife in hand, lying in wait, ready to pounce.

In fact, it was only Rudolph, damp hair in tufts, wearing a navy hotel robe cinched neatly at the waist. A towel was slung over one shoulder, and he carried a pair of swim goggles.

“I’m getting nervous in my old age,” I said lightly.

“Old age!” Rudolph scoffed. “Believe me, your best years are yet to come.”

Hopefully, I wouldn’t be spending them in a maximum-security facility.

But no. I was not going to give into those thoughts. I was not going to indulge my fears.

“Did you have a nice swim?” I asked.

“Excellent. The view from the pool is magnificent. Like swimming in the stars.”

“I’ve been swimming most mornings.” I nodded down the hall. “It’s chilly on the terrace tonight. I’m going to grab a jacket.”

Rudolph hesitated. “I was just about to fix myself a nightcap. Would you like to stop in for that drink?”

At the moment? No. I wanted to get down to Finn. I wanted to spend every possible minute I could with Finn, seeing that there was some uncertainty as to how many minutes were left.

Plus, I wanted to update him on the new and troubling revelations regarding Colby.

But something about the way Rudolph stood there, composed but a little wistful, silently dripping on the plush carpet, got to me.

He must be so lonely at conferences, now that Anna was gone.

As nice as being revered by your colleagues must be, it would still feel lonely crawling into an empty bed at night.

I could identify with that only too well.

“Sure,” I said. “I’d love to.”

His eyes lightened and he smiled. “Excellent! I always enjoy our little chats.”

The Presidential Suite occupied the quietest corner of the top floor, and featured wraparound views of the bay.

Like all the fifth-floor suites, the interior discreetly whispered old money and refined taste.

Hardwood floors gleamed beneath Persian rugs, and the living room was anchored by a curved fireplace of sea stone and copper.

Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the ocean like a painting in constant motion, and the furniture—deep leather chairs, carved side tables, and a dining nook set for four—looked less like hotel décor and more like the reading room of a private club.

The lights were dimmed to a mellow golden wash. The balcony doors stood cracked, letting in the scent of brine and fog. Rudolph poured us each a finger of something amber—presumably scotch—no water, no ice.

He handed me a short tumbler. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.” We clinked glasses and wandered over to the chairs before the fireplace.

“That was an excellent interview today,” Rudolph remarked. “It’s nice to go out on a high note.”

Presumably he meant himself, but these days I couldn’t be sure.

“You’re a very generous interviewer.” I held up my glass. “And this a very good scotch.”

He smiled. “Macallan 25.” He set his glass on the low glass and iron table, and began to briskly towel his hair. “You’re very well-liked within this industry, Keiran. More importantly, you’re very well-respected.”

“That’s very kind. Thank you.” I sipped my scotch.

“Just stating facts.”

I smiled politely.

“Between us—you have my word it will go no further—how do you really feel about the merger with Wheaton & Woodhouse?”

I sighed, and I think that sigh said it all, because he grimaced.

“It’s unfortunate,” Rudolph agreed. “I blame Daniel. He should have forced Millie to rise up through the ranks, just as he had to do. Instead, he simply handed the company over to her, and the silly girl ran it right into the ground.”

Pretty much. I said nothing.

He finished drying his hair, which looked wilder than ever, and picked up his glass again. Staring into the golden liquid, he said casually, “Have you considered your other options?”

I smiled faintly. “If we’re being honest, I’m not sure I have many.

I appreciate the kind thought, but I’m forty and ours is an age-biased industry.

I don’t think most companies would agree that my best years are still ahead of me.

Plus, there’s a scarcity of equivalent roles.

A lot of houses are downsizing or folding editorial departments into publishing teams. I suspect W&W have something like that in mind.

It’s highly unlikely I’m going to find a position with the same salary, healthcare, and retirement benefits. I’ll be lucky to hang onto this one.”

“ Ah, ” Rudolph said thoughtfully.

“And it’s not as though I can bring my author list with me.” I thought of Adrien English. “A few authors would probably follow me. But I wouldn’t have the leverage I have now—assuming I still have that leverage.”

“Yet, you’ve always struck me as an optimistic personality.”

“Usually. Right now, I’m trying to temper wishful thinking with pragmatism.”

He smiled absently. “Did you sign a DNC?”

“No.”

“Very wise. However, knowing Vaughn, were you to strike out on your own, it’s very possible he might try to blackball you.”

I hadn’t even considered that sickening possibility.

Considering the fact that I might be going to prison, maybe I needed to stop worrying about my lack of options and be grateful for my remaining days of full-time employment.

Into my silence, Rudolph said, “Suppose a reputable publishing house were looking for an editor of your caliber, someone with your experience and social media cachet? A house that could match your salary, healthcare, and retirement benefits?”

“What house is that?” I asked skeptically. A light bulb went on in the dusty corridors of my brain. “ Theodore Mansfield ?”

Rudolph raised his brows.

I blinked. “Is that even a possibility?”

“As you know, I’m retiring at the end of the year. Thankfully, TM is not planning to fold our editorial department into a publishing team.” He shuddered, although maybe that had to do with his damp clothes. “They’re very wisely planning to fill my position.”

“But wouldn’t that happen from within house?”

“Dear God, no. Our editors are all bright young things we hired for their fresh perspectives and next-gen voices. We need an actual adult in the room, someone to bridge the gap between the old fogeys on the board of directors and the children in the playpen. You would be the perfect solution.”

I can’t deny, my heart jumped at the idea—and then plummeted.

Even if I didn’t go to prison, didn’t have a trial, wasn’t arrested…

could I contemplate starting from scratch?

Editorial director was a big step up—was I really qualified to take that step?

If I went to another publishing house, it would be all-out war with W&W, and God knows what that would mean.

Also, regardless of what Rudolph believed, a lot of TM’s editorial staff, inexperienced or not, would deeply resent that top position going to an outsider.

And finally, could I really contemplate abandoning what was left of Millhouse?

Abandoning my remaining colleagues? Abandoning my remaining authors?

Authors who were going on record in order to remain on my list?

Rudolph watched me for a moment, then said, “You don’t have to decide now. I admit I’ve proposed your name to the board.”

“Rudolph…”

“No. I’m not asking for an answer. I don’t plan to leave until the end of the year. I’m just reminding you that there are always options.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Nor do you need to say anything at this point. It’s simply something to consider.”

“Yes. Thank you for even thinking of me.” I finished my scotch and set the glass on the table. “I should probably get going. I’m meeting people for drinks.”

“Yes, you should go enjoy yourself.” Rudolph waved a languid hand, and then reached for the decanter on the table between us. “I’ll tell you this. If I had it all to do over again, I’d have spent more time drinking with friends.”

I laughed, but I think he was serious.