Blind Submission Read Online Free PDF

extremely busy office, and while I don’t expect my employees to work twenty-four hours a day, there will be plenty of reading to do outside of the office and occasions when you may have to come in early or stay late. And as my assistant—” Lucy stopped herself short, her eyes narrowing, a new question working its way to her lips. “You understand that this position is that of
my assistant
?”
    â€œYes, of course,” I said, but I was confused by her emphasis.
    â€œBecause if you are thinking of being hired as an
agent,
we should probably terminate this interview immediately.”
    â€œOh no,” I rushed to assure her, “I understand the position. And I’m not interested in agenting.” I gave Lucy a broad smile to underscore my words, but I questioned, if only for a fraction of a second, just how truthful they were.
Would
I be interested in being an agent myself? Who knew? I hadn’t even seen it as a possibility until that moment. I was surprised, and maybe even a little intrigued, that Lucy had. But no, I thought again, I could never—
    â€œGood,” Lucy said, drilling me with her laser eyes.
    Nora entered the room once more. “Lucy,” she said, “Natalie Weinstein’s on line two for you.”
    â€œI have to take this,” Lucy said, leaping from the couch. “This is a
very
important editor. I’ve been waiting for this offer.”
    Craig rose from his seat in tandem. “I’m going to make a couple of calls while you get this,” he said. “I’ll be back in a few.”
    â€œFine, go, go,” Lucy said. “You can make yourself comfortable, Angel. Have a look at all of our books.” She made a sweeping gesture at the room around us and then sat down at her desk to take the call.
    â€œNatalie, my dear,” she began, “are we in business on this delicious book? I’d love to tell the author that you have won the prize….”
    My head had started to buzz and I found myself unable to focus on Lucy’s conversation. I felt my interview had started badly, but I couldn’t explain why. I distracted myself by looking around the room. There was a display on my left, a virtual shrine to Karanuk that I hadn’t noticed earlier. Nestled between various animal pelts and a costume I assumed was native Alaskan garb was every edition of
Cold!
in print. Beside all the English editions in hardcover and paperback there were two shelves of foreign editions. I studied the spines for title changes.
Fa Freddo!
screamed the Italian title in red. The French copy was much quieter.
Le Froid,
it said in beige lettering. There was no exclamation point.
    â€œNo, it’s certainly not a bad offer,” Lucy was saying, “but this payout schedule is simply not going to work. Frankly, the author’s no spring chicken, if you know what I mean. Is she going to live long enough to get this money? I can’t say.” Lucy flashed me a toothy grin. I smiled back and turned my head, afraid to be caught eavesdropping, even though she was clearly speaking loud enough for me to hear every word. But some poor writer’s fate was hanging on the outcome of this conversation and it just seemed wrong for me to know how it would all turn out before the writer did.
    â€œNo, I’m not implying that she’s ill,” Lucy went on. “What I’m saying is that we might
all
be dead by the time this advance is paid out.”
    I turned my attention to another shelf of books. A slim volume caught my eye. I recognized it immediately as
Long Shadows,
the one book I’d always said I’d want with me on a deserted island. It was a short but densely written novel about three generations of women who were all writers. Through the different voices of her characters, the author gave a layered, intricate account of women, history, and the writing process. I’d first read it in college and still kept my