Don't Look Down

one: don't look down

This is it. The moment I've been waiting for.

Sitting across from the president of Wright Publishing, I'm at ease even though it's my first time in his office. I've busted my ass since day one at this book publishing company, proving my worth and waiting for what I'm sure is about to come from Timothy Wright's mouth.

"Thanks for speaking with me, Ellie. We're all extremely impressed with the pieces you've assisted on since joining our company."

Yeah, I'm a wonderful editorial assistant. Let's get to the point.

Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled by the compliments—have come to expect them—but that's what happens when you live, eat, and breathe work.

I'm ready to become an acquisitions editor. I've fucking earned it.

"It shouldn't come as a shock to hear you've been on our radar for quite some time."

No, it doesn't.

"And I'm happy to tell you that despite budget cuts—"

Here we go.

"We're going to be keeping you on part-time."

Wait. What? Part-time? As in a demotion from my current full-time position?

My fingers fumble with the hem of my slate pencil skirt as I keep my eyes from widening. "Excuse me, sir?"

Timothy fidgets in his leather chair and leans slightly forward. "I know this wasn't what you were expecting, but the economy is not helping our company and sales are down. With the abundance of personal blogs and social media outlets, everyone thinks they're a literary genius. And since the uneducated masses tend to agree, they're not dishing out the money to buy written works when they can read them online for free."

What he's saying makes sense. But still, I've devoted my life to moving up the publishing ladder. I'm no longer stuck on the second step, but being shoved back down to the first. I might as well be a damn intern again.

Where's the justice in that?

I keep my voice level, never revealing how much I'm internally freaking out. I'm the epitome of professional. "How many hours a week will I actually be working?"

"Twenty."

As in half of what I'd previously been paid for. After pulling seventy-hour workweeks and only being paid for the standard forty, this is how I'm being rewarded.

"I really am sorry." Timothy's eyes reveal the slightest hint of sincerity and despite my growing urge to punch him in the jugular, I swallow down the reality that his hands are tied. "If it makes you feel any better, we're letting go of a third of the office. Be grateful you still have a job."