Making It Personal, Wells, C. [best books under 200 pages .TXT] 📗

his desk, and the smile faded. His father stared out from the canvas, face caught in a warm, caring expression. Blake gazed for a minute or two at Justin Davis, the public face of Trinity Publishing, the man who everyone knew as the driving force behind the fastest growing publishing company in Europe. Blake’s jaw tightened.

“He’s gotta let go at some point, Blake.”

Ed’s tone was warm and understanding. Blake looked across at the earnest young man who was watching him anxiously. Blake pressed his lips together.

“Let’s get on with it, shall we?”

Ed nodded once, message received and understood. The two men sat on the sofa, as Blake ran through the details of the day, including the itinerary for the team meeting at 9.00a.m. Ed took notes, Blake smiling inwardly as he watched Ed trying to keep up with Blake’s fast-paced, efficient delivery.

“When does that new PA of yours start?” Ed asked with a hopeful expression.

“Give me a chance,” Blake retorted. “I’m not even interviewing him until tomorrow.” He glanced down and tapped the manila folder on his knee with his index finger. “But if he’s half as good in the flesh as he is on paper, the interview will be merely a formality.”

“Oh, thank God!” exhaled Ed, causing Blake to chuckle. “And I don’t mean to be rude or nothin’, but please, boss, can you try and keep this one?” Blake’s eyebrows shot up and Ed laughed. “Oh, come on, we’ve all read the exit evaluations from your numerous PAs.”

Blake felt his cheeks heat up. “It wasn’t all my fault,” he declared, stubbornly.

Ed chuckled. “Boss, they all said the same thing: you’re a bleedin’ tyrant.” He grinned at Blake’s expression. “Okay, so they didn’t actually say that,” he acknowledged grudgingly, if amused, “but the general consensus was that you expected a hell of a lot from ’em.” Ed’s tone became sincere. “Maybe you’ve got the right idea, gettin’ yerself a male PA. This one might have more stayin’ power.”

Blake looked down once more at the folder. God, he hoped so.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

“Happy Birthday, boss!”

Blake smiled as the chorus greeted him on entering the conference room, his team already assembled around the polished circular beech table, all eyes on him.

“Thanks, guys.” Blake smiled once more, until he caught sight of the remaining empty chair, festooned with balloons, all bearing the number 30. He groaned. “What did I say? You know I didn’t want this sort of thing.” Everyone laughed, Ed most of all.

Rick grinned.

“Aw, come on, boss, you’re only thirty once.” His eyes gleamed wickedly. “So I take it you won’t be out celebrating tonight with the lovely Melissa?”

Blake let out a heartfelt groan. Everyone chuckled. Damn his father. Justin Davis seemed determined to find Blake a girlfriend, and was forever trying to set him up with various socialites who all seemed to come from the same mold; vacuous, empty-headed, obsessed with celebrities, and not a decent conversationalist amongst them. Melissa Richards was the latest, but the most determined. The entire team was aware of the situation and sympathized with Blake wholeheartedly.

What none of them knew, of course, was that Melissa’s determination would get her absolutely nowhere. Not unless she turned out to be a guy in drag.

“This one seems more tenacious than the others,” commented Lizzie, smirking. Blake leveled a hard stare in her direction, but couldn’t quite control twitch of his lips.

“Now listen, you lot,” he began, trying to sound stern. “If she drops by today unannounced—and let’s face it, based on recent events that’s very likely—play nice!” He stared fixedly at his team, spearing them with his gaze. So much for his hard stares: six pairs of eyes met his, all containing varying degrees of amusement. It was bad enough when his father came by without warning. As for Melissa, Blake had tried to drop hints, but they had simply sailed over her head.

“Enough chat, people,” Blake announced firmly. “Let’s get started.”

The atmosphere changed instantly, as each member of the team delivered their updates on the latest authors and contracts. October seemed to be a bumper month for submissions, and Blake was going to have his work cut out for him in the weeks that followed. His approach was very much hands-on, and he tried to skim through at least twenty fiction submissions a week, which usually meant several late nights spent on his laptop, picking at a meal. He sighed internally: one of these days he really needed to get himself a life.

He looked around the desk at the team of five people, all of whom he’d employed when he’d come into the company at the tender age of twenty-four. His father’s team had all born the same distinguishing marks: fifty-plus, no sense of humor, staid, and with no vision. It hadn’t taken Blake long to see that drastic changes had to be made. And they were a damn fine bunch. Blake had hand-picked them all. Each person had their own team and was responsible for the efficiency and success of every person under them. They dealt with every facet of the business, with absolute authority to run things as they saw fit. No one came bitching or whining to Blake, they just got on with it. Blake glowed with pride. Never mind what his father said—these guys walked the walk.

“Earth to Boss, come in, Boss!”

Blake started, his reverie broken by Rick’s amused exclamation. He gave Rick a mock stern glance, but the tousled-haired young man simply grinned at him, and finally Blake had to grin back. “Sorry,” he apologized.

Peter smiled and winked at the rest of the team. “’S okay, boss, you have to expect these lapses of concentration—at your age.” His eyes gleamed with mischief as the laughter broke out. They all knew Peter was older than the rest of them.

“Right, that’s it.” Blake stood up abruptly. “Are we all done?” Nods from around the table. “Then off to work, people.” He clapped his hands together