Heaven for Everyone (Queen/Roger Taylor)

29.

January 1993
- Part 2 of 2 -

Halfway to the car, I realize that I should have stayed home.

The reporters shout, the photographers step in my path in the hopes that I'll make eye contact with the camera. Nothing sells like a panicked woman trying to go to work, after all. Especially one whose boyfriend fled the country the very day it was revealed that I've traded him in for a former flame. What a slut, what a bitch, etc etc etc.

But I play it cool: my head remains down, a neutral expression on my face. God forbid that I'm photographed throwing a strop on a day like today. A photographer gets too close, prompting a loud move the fuck away from Tim, who quickly heaves me into the backseat.

As we drive through London, I watch the cityscape go by in a blur, not really believing what my life has turned into.

"Are they following us?" I call up to Tim, who takes a quick glance into the rearview mirror to check. Then, making brief eye contact with me in the mirror, he nods. I can hear the road of motorcycles just behind us, and all I want to do is scream, who the fuck cares about any of this?

A few moments later, Tim deposits me on Woburn Lane as close as humanly possible to the entrance to my office. My mind is full of sludge as if I've taken a mild sedative. Walking quickly to the building, I show my badge to the security guard and am nearly at the lift when a tall man runs into me.

"So sorry, I didn't see you, I...." I trail off, realizing who's standing in front of me.

"Sebastian?" My voice is incredulous and confused as I look at my star author. My eyes flicker over to the lift that he just exited and then back to him.

"Did we have a meeting this morning? I didn't know you were in London this week, but maybe Sabine did? Sorry, my mind's been in the clouds all morning."

The author winces slightly, looking supremely uncomfortable. The longer we look at each other without speaking, the greater the look of guilt on his face. I slowly put two-and-two together.

"You weren't here to meet me," I say, not even bothering to add a question mark at the end of the sentence. Because it's written all over his face: he's dropping me as his editor. He's not the first, and he won't be the last, but fuck me if it doesn't hurt because I didn't do anything wrong.

"The thing is, Cassie--" he starts off, his stupid American accent making my name sound somehow crass. Then he stops as if he doesn't know what to say. I nearly laugh out loud, realizing that he hadn't actually planned on seeing me and thus hadn't rehearsed a nice breakup speech.

This fucking day. I really should have stayed in bed, cocooned away from the world.

"Well, the thing is..." he finally says, having regained his undeserved swagger. "I just think that Paul is a better fit for this particular novel since he has, y'know, expertise in--"

He has expertise in how to weave Oxford and Harrow into each and every sentence. That's about it. But you two can fucking have each other.

"It's just that he--" Sebastian continues doggedly as if he won't be able to sleep at night if he doesn't let me down easily. "He's going to be the next editor-in-chief of the imprint, so--"

His lips keep moving, but I've no idea what he's saying because all I can hear is static. I'm supposed to be the next goddamn editor-in-chief. Not Paul. Me.

"--and, well, Cassie, if I'm honest, you have a lot going on in your, uh, personal life right now. I really need someone who's on their A-game, someone whose... issues won't overshadow the book."