An elbow nudges my arm. “You look constipated, quit making that face.”
Glaring at my brother, I loosen my shoulders and heft out a sigh. “I’m nervous, Gavin. You would be too if you were in my shoes.”
His smile turns from teasing to serious. “I know you are, but we came all this way. You’ll be fine. You’re just meeting with the woman, right? What’s the worst that can happen?”
My mind conjures a long list of embarrassing things. What if I step into Little’s Literary Agency and vomit? Or sweat through my clothes? Or forget how to talk? The possibilities of things that can go wrong are endless. I get one good chance to make an impression, I hear Jamie Little isn’t an easy woman to impress.
“Everything,” I mumble.
“Could be worse,” he states, pushing me along with him to the spinning glass doors. People power walk by, not paying us any attention despite us sticking out like the middle-of-nowhere natives that we are. Gavin is in jeans and a plaid button-up with dirty work boots on that I begged him to change out of. He just rolled his eyes and ignored me. “Mom and Dad could have come with you instead of me.”
I scrunch my face at the ridiculous statement. “They’d never come to the city, Gav. I’m not even sure why you did. I know you can’t stand this kind of scene.”
He deadpans. “You’re not even eighteen yet, Kinley. None of us were going to let you come to New York City on your own to talk to a woman you’ve never met. You could get kidnapped or sex trafficked.”
I blink. “Uh…”
Shrugging, a slight tilt to his lips appears as we enter the fancy foyer bathed in white with a sleek black desk positioned off to the side. A glass directory hangs on the wall by four sets of elevators. “The more I think about it, the more I realize you’d never get kidnapped. You’re too ugly. Nobody would want you.”
Smacking his arm, I hit the button for the agency’s floor and watch his shoulders shake from laughing. “Dweeb.”
“Dickwad,” he returns easily.
Entering the elevator, I feel my palms get clammy. Wiping them on the fronts of my black jeans, I realize I could have dressed up more. The shin-high brown boots, cream sweater, and red plaid scarf that Mom gave me isn’t very formal. Paired with a burgundy leather jacket that Gavin bought me makes it look a little more put together, but suddenly I’m thinking of any other outfit I could have put on.
I sent a selfie to Corbin before leaving my room and he told me I looked beautiful as always. I’m realizing now that I should have tried for professional—maybe something to make me look older. A dress, heels, something. Beauty isn’t a part of this industry like it is Corbin’s.
When the elevator stops at the eighth floor, I swallow hard and glance at my brother. He gives me one little nod that eases some of my worry. As annoying as he is, he supports me.
“I’ll wait here,” he says, gesturing toward a line of blue chairs by reception. There’s a large fake plant in the corner that he flicks before sitting down, stretching out his legs and making himself comfortable.
The receptionist is a brown-haired woman who’s probably around Mom’s age with a friendly smile plastered on her face. “Can I help you, dear?”
Playing with the hem of my sweater, I give her a timid nod. “I’m here to see Jamie. Er, Ms. Little, I mean.”
Amusement flickers on her face as she holds up her finger and picks up the phone. “I just need your name to confirm you have an appointment.”
After I tell her, I shoot a quick glance at my brother who’s playing on his phone. He must sense me staring because he looks over and shoots me a thumbs up. Rolling my eyes, I turn my attention back to the receptionist as she hangs up the phone.
She gestures toward the open space to the side of her desk. “Her office is all the way in the back to the right. You can’t miss it.”
“Thank you.” My voice is weak, so I clear it and nod my head for good measure like that will somehow help.
Gavin mouths good luck before I begin my venture past offices lining the walkway. Some doors are open with people behind computers, some are closed with others on phones. It smells like coffee and something floral, a relaxing mixture that I soak up as I see Jamie’s name on the side of a glass wall in the back corner.
The woman behind it looks exactly like her picture online. Short white hair styled to perfection, a no-nonsense expression on her face, and a navy-blue blazer over a white blouse that screams business. I’ve done my research on my company ever since I got the email from her after she judged a writing contest I’d been in. She’s been successful since opening the doors to the agency over five years ago, signing names that go on to become bestsellers in the industry.
Jamie is seated behind her desk typing something on the computer when I arrive at her door. Unsure if I should knock or announce myself, I fidget until her head picks up.
“You can come in, Ms. Thomas.”
Breathing a sigh of relief, I smile and take a hesitant step into her office. It’s bright from the large windows behind her and inviting with white bookshelves lining the wall that are filled with multi-colored book spines. On the opposite wall are pictures of Jamie with different authors, some on red carpets from movies based on books she represents, others holding awards. It leaves my lips parted as I study some of my favorite authors showcased in the black picture frames.
“I don’t bite,” she says, leaning back in her chair once I gather the nerve to look at her. There’s humor in her tone, but not her features. It makes me walk further in until she gestures toward two comfortable looking blue armchairs positioned in front of her desk.
The round clock on the wall indicates it’s 3:05, making me squirm a little as I sit. “I’m sorry for being so early. I expected the commute to take longer.”
She rests her folded hands in her lap. “Did you take the T?”