𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝟏𝟎𝟏 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐗𝐗𝐗𝐈𝐕

• 34 •

I'm already starting to get the hang of this manuscript reading thing. Mia, who's five years into the job, taught me a few techniques to make my life easier. First, to check if the story starts with the right scene. Next, to see immediately if they're fond of telling rather than showing—that's a no. Then, check for information dumps—it's not a textbook, it's a novel. The details should not be laid all at once. That is, unless your character is the type to randomly blurt out their life story. To come is to distinguish if the writing is too flowery. That's just someone showing off, said Mia, surprisingly salty for once. Aside from these are checking the dialogue, checking for overuse of adjectives and adverbs, and tropes.

If the story has these in the first few pages, best believe that it's not ready for publishing yet. Of course, the specifics are generalized. The book might have a few of the aspects mentioned present, but might also have the storyline of the year. With that, honest opinions of what may improve are greatly appreciated. They can try again, send again, and finally succeed. I was guilty for not giving every set a chance, but the criteria of Contented is the criteria of Contented, similar to those of other houses.

With that, I was on my fourth read of the day when Keenan Travino dropped by. I did a double take, glancing from the page to the open door, to the page, and to the open door again. Keenan stood in the hallway, obscured from everyone else's view—not that any of them were paying attention. Keenan's gaze was demanding mine back, not theirs. Narrowing my eyes, I confirmed that the fucker in black and navy blue with a churro to his mouth truly was Ki and not his secret twin brother or alien clone. The mocking face looked too real.

I stared at him, unbelieving and confused. As a response, he nodded at the hallway. Somehow, as if our minds were synced, I already knew where he meant: the breakroom. Without another word, I got up and followed the man who had rounded a corner. Only Vince paid effort to watch me leave.

I rounded a corner quickly enough to see Keenan close the door behind him. Stopping in front of it, I took a deep breath, preparing myself for whatever the fuck the man had in store. Then, I entered, two thoughts quickly filling my mind: shit, that shirt does wonders to his body, and two, he's only here for one thing, Gia—one thing that'll get you fired if you give in.

I crossed my arms in front of me, stopping a meter away from Keenan who was chewing the last piece of his churro. I spoke, "There are cameras in the hall, you know, and this door doesn't have a lock."

Instantly, Keenan looked amused. He crossed his arms and leaned his behind against a counter, "And? It's not like we're gonna fuck."

Keenan sensed that I didn't believe him, "You think that low of me?" the man asked. For me, it was a rhetorical question.

"Why are you here?" I truly was curious, "If it's not for sex, why are you here?" I asked. I became conscious of how much we're rubbing off on each other with the matching stances and looks on our faces. Oh, god, I'm turning into a sleaze—a salty sleaze.

Travino looked offended, "I can't visit?"

I stared him down, distinguishing what looked different."Of course," I told him, "you can visit Dominic."

His favorite glare appeared and I was able to put my finger on the slight change: he was growing his beard out. I liked it, but I wouldn't tell him that. Keenan spoke, "You're upset about something, aren't you?" He took a step closer.