Page 1 of Royal Trouble
Chapter One
Everly Wilson flashed a bright smile and straightened her spine as she took a seat across fromOn Pointmagazine’s Editorial Director. She was a firm believer in the power of first impressions, and her first impression of Guy Larson told her this might be another dead end. He hadn’t even acknowledged her when his assistant—who looked like she wanted to curl up under her desk and die—shoved Everly into the office and announced she was the last candidate.
So the company culture here sucked. At least she was going into the interview with eyes wide open. That was something, right?
She’d known when she applied for the position that Mr. Larson had a reputation for being a hard ass, but he was a legend in the industry, and the sad truth was she couldn’t afford to be picky. If she didn’t land this job, she’d have to tell her mom the truth about…well,everything, and risk disappointing the only person who’d ever loved and supported her.
“You’ve got ten minutes,” Mr. Larson said, his attention fixed on the computer monitor, fingers flying over the keyboard.
Ten minutes? Sweat coated her palms, and her confidence faltered. She’d have to talk fast.On Pointwas the crème de la crème in New York, and adding her name to the list of staff writers would give her instant credibility.
Smile fixed in place, she introduced herself and pulled a copy of her résumé from her bag then offered the crisp white paper to Mr. Larson. The jerk just kept pounding away on the keyboard.
Well then, all the rumors about him were really true.
Everly took a deep breath and dropped her résumé on the desk. She wasn’t exactly thrilled to work for a magazine focused on celebrity news, but she could suck it up for a few months. Once she sold her novel, more doors would open, so until then, she’d do whatever it took to make ends meet.
Besides, the posting was for a human interest writer. Which meant zero celebrity exploitation. She could do the job without sacrificing her integrity—ifshe could win over Mr. Larson.
Which was looking like a big freakingif.
“Mr. Larson, I hold a BA in Creative Writing from Columbia University, as well as an MFA, and graduatedmagna cum laude. During my time at Columbia, I was an active contributor to theColumbia Journal, the university’s literary magazine, writing both fiction and nonfiction stories.” She paused to catch her breath, the ticking desk clock sawing at her frayed nerves, and watched in horror as Larson’s eyes glazed over.
Dammit. She was losing him.
“As I’m sure you know,” she said, pushing on despite his clear lack of interest, “the program is renowned for its esteemed faculty and rigorous coursework, which has helped prepare me for the challenge of working as a staff writer atOn Pointmagazine.”
Crickets.
“I brought my portfolio, if you’d like to take a look at some of my work?” Hopefully, he’d be more receptive to writing samples, since he clearly didn’t give a damn about her credentials.
“That won’t be necessary.” His eyes flicked to her briefly before darting toward the clock.
The interview from hell would end in approximately seven minutes. Assuming he didn’t cut her loose right now.
He offered her a patronizing smile. “Your education is impressive, but you don’t have the experience—or the connections—we expect our feature writers to bring to the table.” He gestured to her résumé. “The gal down in HR saw your Ivy League education and put you right on through, but an MFA doesn’t make up for the fact that you simply aren’t qualified.”
Her stomach clenched. The feedback wasn’t anything new. She’d heard it on no less than a dozen interviews, but she’d hoped—okay, desperately prayed—that this interview would be different. That Guy Larson would see her talent and give her a shot.
Was that too much to ask?
Apparently.
If she didn’t turn this around, she’d end up dressed like a cartoon princess and hustling for tips in Times Square. Frustration burned the back of her throat, and for an instant, she considered name-dropping her father. But she squashed the idea immediately. She’d promised herself a long time ago that she’d make it on her own, and she’d been doing a damn fine job of it until only recently.
No way was she giving up now.
“Mr. Larson.” She scooted to the edge of her chair and leaned forward. “I can assure you there is no one on your staff who will work harder than I will. I’m a quick study, and what I lack in experience I’ll more than make up for in dedication, if you’ll just give me a chance—”
“Do you know how many times I’ve heard that same pitch?”
Everly flinched. Okay, clearly the man was going to dock her points for originality.
He hit her again with the patronizing smile as he stood and buttoned his jacket. “Come back in a few years, after you’ve cut your teeth and have a few bylines under your belt.”
She didn’t have a few years. Hell, she didn’t have a fewmonths. Her savings was nearly wiped out, and the bills weren’t going to pay themselves.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m late for a meeting.” Mr. Larson grabbed his briefcase and moved toward the door. He didn’t even look at her as he reached for the doorknob.