It was almost time to go home when Leon appeared in front of Nif’s desk. Only Jemina, the intern, remained at her tiny corner workspace, randomly quality checking a new novel that was set to be released next week. Nif wasn’t sure where Clare had disappeared to, but she suspected the dormouse shifter was curled up in her bottom desk drawer taking a nap.
Everyone else had either left for the day or were in the consultation rooms, the quiet multi-use spaces designed for staff to take phone calls, talk with authors or hold meetings. Charlotte treated one of the rooms like it was her own private office, while Prishna and Pavel had been encouraged to share one as they both had the tendency to be very loud while working. The rooms weren’t sound-proofed though, and usually their laughter formed the soundtrack to Nif’s day.
And Nif had been right. Today had been long.
She’d landed the task of emailing back all the unsuccessful authors Harley and Jude had read over the last month since they’d suddenly -- and they claimed unexpectedly -- needed to go north for a cover shoot. It wasn’t the first time they’d dropped that particular job in her lap, but she did it because she hated thinking of the authors waiting one more unnecessary day to hear they’d not been successful. Harley and Jude never left any notes on the manuscripts about what they did or didn’t like. Just that they weren’t interested in publishing it, so Nif felt compelled to read the first page or two and add a small comment. Something positive, while offering a suggestion on how to improve it.
It ate into her day like nothing else.
So when Leon appeared, it took a moment for Nif to realise he was actually there and not a product of her work-addled mind.
“Oh, sir. Can I help you with something?”
“Please, Jennifer. Call me Leon. Sir makes me sound like my father.”
“Of course. Leon.” Nif waited awkwardly, shuffling the pages in her lap and hoping he didn’t notice the brown stain on her white shirt from this morning’s keep cup incident. At least the chai latte had dried out.
“I would like your assistance on a new project. You may recall this morning how I mentioned I’m keen to bring on board a new author to Never Archives?”
Nif nodded, her mind racing as she tried to predict where this was going. Was he offering her the chance to oversee a high profile author? That would be unprecedented but then she could do it. She’d been itching to start her own list ever since she started here.
“You’ve been with us for over a year now.”
“Two, actually. It’ll be three in March.”
Leon looked startled and then a little ashamed, and Nif’s softly simmering crush for him strengthened by how genuinely embarrassed he was for the mistake.
“Has it really been that long? We should organise something special to commemorate that. A macaroon cake, perhaps?” He winked and at that exact moment, the clouds parted and sunlight reflected off his white smile. Even the weather conspired with people like Leon.
“There’s no need to go to such extremes on my account,” Nif mumbled, flushing deeply.
“Well, this only confirms how perfect you’ll be. You see, I’ve been sweet-talking an author from our rival publishing house Nova and I believe I’ve convinced him our team will be a better fit. He has a handful of novels under his belt already, but he’s currently working on a new series that I predict will have screen potential.”
“Like film? Or TV?”
Leon rested his hands on her desk and Nif fought the urge to start cleaning. She leant back, needing some space and briefly wondered if he could see down her top.
Leon glanced around the office and dropped his voice to a whisper.
“Only a few know of this yet, so I trust you to keep this under your hat for now. Never Archives will be expanding to include its own script development department. We’ll be working directly with authors to develop their work for the screen.”
Excitement fluttered up in Nif’s stomach. Was this what she thought it was? Years of being a glorified personal assistant and to suddenly be involved in a project this huge was something Nif was prepared to chop her own leg off for.
“What would you like from me?”
“My author is a tad sensitive and needs some hand holding. I’m prepared to lead the project, but I need someone who’ll make sure the writer has everything he needs to develop the script. It’s the carrot that’s convinced him to leap from Nova’s ship and join ours. Think you can do that?”
So she was to be an author’s glorified personal assistant. Great. A sharp stab of anger had her gripping her pencil tight, but it passed quickly. This wasn’t new. She’d become used to being overlooked.
“Of course, Leon.”
“I need this to be your priority,” he said, pulling back and straightening his suit. Nif had never seen someone wear one with such ease.
“But…” Nif hesitated, biting her inner cheek and tasting copper.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
“Yes?”
Nif gently set down her pencil and interlocked her fingers together, gathering all her courage.
“Will I still be able to present at the acquisition meeting on Friday?”
“Oh. Right. About that.” Leon glanced around the room, just in time for Charlotte to stride in, her intent clearly on Jemina who often played the older woman’s gofer. Nif had once been it, but her abnormal state left the woman uneasy so when the new intern came along, Charlotte had gleefully turned her attention to Jemina.
“Charlotte. Come over here for a second,” Leon called. Charlotte neatly turned on her heavy heels and approached, her lips painted a soft pink to match the flowers on her skirt. Her stockings were a vibrant aqua.
“Yes, Boss?”
“I need Jennifer’s help on a project so I’d like you to present a manuscript to acquisitions on Friday on her behalf.”
“Sure. I’ll add it to the others I plan to submit. I’ll need it now, though, if I’ve any hope of getting a handle on it in time.” She held out her hand to Nif, waiting.
Nif studied Charlotte’s coral painted nails in horror. She should’ve kept her mouth shut. Just assumed it would still be fine and done it anyway. Her project. The story she had such belief in was being forcefully wrestled from her, and she knew Charlotte wouldn’t do the pitch justice.
“Well?” Charlotte cooed, smile forced.
Slowly, Nif reached for her desk drawer and opened it to reveal Sarah’s manuscript. She’d already started compiling a working document for it, including her estimation on budget and figures, as well as a pitch and blurb. There were even rough sketches for a potential cover. What she envisioned when she read the first three chapters and had to read more.
Sick and exhausted in a soul wrenching way, Nif gathered up her proposal and the manuscript and handed it over to Charlotte. The woman had to jerk it from her grasp.
“Excellent. Thanks, Lottie,” Leon said and shooed her off. He turned back to Nif, pleased as punch. “Now that’s sorted, I’ll need you to clear out the third consultation room in preparation for the script development, but remember, mum’s the word. We won’t be making the announcement until next Monday and then it’ll be full steam ahead. Any questions?”
“No, sir,” Nif managed through the tightness in her throat.
“Wonderful. I’ll be off then. I’ve a meeting with the other chief editors at the Dalton and punctuality is key. Have a nice evening.”
“You too, sir.”
After he’d left, Nif sat staring at the now empty drawer, fighting the pressure behind her eyes and wondering when her life was meant to start. Was it thirty? Was that the magic number? Then why did it feel like she was treading water?
Through the film of tears, Nif spotted movement in the drawer and a dormouse scurried out and up the edge to sit on the pile of rejected manuscripts.
“That’s where you were hiding, Clare,” Nif whispered. Clare was a tiny thing. Her fur was ginger around her face and ears and a warm cream across her belly. When she raced up Nif’s arm, her tail was thick and fuzzy. She settled in the crook of Nif’s neck and the feeling of a warm, tiny heartbeat against her neck eased the chaotic burning emotions churning in her chest.
“I should’ve known better,” Nif whispered to the mouse. “As soon as I opened my mouth, I knew it was a mistake. But he never even gave me a choice.” She sighed, imagining all her frustration and disappointment leaving her body to dissipate in the afternoon sunlight.
“I think I’ll go home now.”
Clare scurried down her arm and Nif shrugged on her jacket, buttoning it up over the stain on her blouse. The fragmented pieces of her coffee cup were carefully gathered into a zip lock bag and placed inside her purse. When she got home she’d order herself a new one in the exact same colours, but she didn’t have the heart to tell her mother what had happened to it.
“It’s not because of who you are,” Clare said from the coat rack. She wore a pale green cloak that reached mid-calf, her ginger hair a frizzy mess around her head from her quick shift back to human.
“It may seem that way sometimes,” she continued. “But it’s not your fault you never shifted and anyway, having a shift doesn’t make you more or less human. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, of course.” Nif had heard similar things throughout her teen and young adult life. Her parents had been desperate to reassure her she was just as valued as the next kid. But sometimes she wondered if the people who loved her were trying to convince themselves more than her.
“Well,” Clare continued. “This project Leon is working on has plenty of potential and it’ll be a great opportunity for you to work directly with an author and the chief-editor. Take advantage of it and prove to them you’ve got what it takes.”
“Thanks,” Nif whispered, accepting the older woman’s hug. It was just as warm as the hug she’d given her in her dormouse form. But she was already thinking of how she’d get Sarah’s A Lonely Star back off Charlotte. Charlotte wouldn’t care if she had one less manuscript to present and if Nif couldn’t attend Friday’s meeting, then she could damn well attend next month’s one. She’d emailed Sarah a few times since the initial full manuscript request, and maybe the author wouldn’t mind waiting until the next acquisition meeting if she knew she’d have a higher chance of being accepted if presented by Nif?
Nif just knew Charlotte would not do the book justice. Not like she would.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Clare said gently, squeezing Nif close one more time.
“Yeah. See you.”
Thankfully Stan wasn’t in the foyer when Nif left the stairwell, and she hurried to catch her bus only to arrive just in time to see it disappear around the corner.
“This is my life now,” she mumbled and found a spot within the bus shelter to huddle as a cold, brisk breeze whistled around buildings. At least it wasn’t raining. The app on her phone said the next bus wouldn’t arrive for another ten minutes, so she settled to watch the afternoon commuter rush ebb and flow.
There weren’t as many people travelling home in their shifted form as there were in the morning, many having forms that were too small to carry work home with them. A messenger bird caught the attention of a tall man wearing a hat, dropping an A4 package into his waiting hands. Across the street, a tourist couple were trying to get a perfect shot of the ancient clock tower in their shifted form. Nif looked away as they giggled, naked in the street as they tried to scramble back into their clothes before the tourist double decker bus left without them.
That was when she spotted the poster on the bus shelter. It had been almost completely plastered over, but with some careful picking at the edges, she was able to make out the time and an address. Non/Problematic Shifters Support Group, 6pm Tuesdays at the Juniper High School hall.
Her bus eased up to the curb -- a massive ad of a model in both her human and lioness form selling perfume was plastered along the entire side -- and Nif spontaneously took a photo of the support group poster. What was the harm? And she didn’t need to go if she didn’t feel like it. She was just curious. Were there many people out there who were like her?