The Publicist Read Online Free PDF

triumphantly; a review in the New York Times was hard to come by, but she’d called in a few favors for this title, knowing how much she needed it to succeed and since it was Mac’s book, she wanted it to succeed for him as well.
    “Oh, bad news Kate,” Pete spoke up, from the back of the room. Without even seeing his face, Kate would know his scratchy voice anywhere, “We just got an advance copy of the review. It’s not good.”
    Kate hated it when Pete embarrassed her in meetings and she could never figure out why he did it, other than he was just a vicious little wanna-be. Mac reached over to touch her hand and then pulled back, knowing a room full of eyes was on them both.
    Kate composed herself before speaking; a bad review in the Times could sink a title: “How do you know, Pete?” she eyed the little twerp in the back as he sucked on his canned soda.
    Pete pushed a thread of red hair out of his face and smiled: “The reviewer called for you earlier and you weren’t there so I took a message.” He seemed almost triumphant, the room was silent.
    “Thank you, Pete.” Kate said quietly, “that’s the end of my report.” Kate lowered herself in her seat and Mac leaned over: “ The Times is a bunch of illiterate know-it-alls anyway, but everyone here is too stuffy to admit they’re passé.” Kate chuckled, a few heads turned in their direction and Kate averted her eyes. Mac could always make her laugh.
    Later that afternoon Kate had a copy of the dreaded review emailed over to her. It was horrible; the reviewer used words like “hideously stagnant.” Kate shredded the review the minute she read it and then realized how stupid it was to do that. By tomorrow millions of people would have a copy of it in their hot little hands and soon, copies of Sasha’s novel would come screaming back into their warehouses by the carton load. Book returns. The scourge of the publishing industry and the quickest way to end any writer’s career.
    It was now two o’clock and Kate wondered if it was too early to start drinking.

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    Chapter Seven
    The phone shrieked to life at three a.m. Kate pushed through a fog of sleep and realized the shrilling was coming from her bedside table. A call in the middle of the night was never good. As she fought to fully clear her mind, she worried that it was her mother calling to tell her it was her father. A heart attack? Or maybe her brother in Afghanistan? None of it was good, she was certain of that.
    “Hello?” she said hesitantly and still half-asleep. There was sobbing at the other end of the phone, which caused her to sit upright immediately.
    “Mom?” she said to the female voice at the other end, “Mom, is that you? Are you ok?”
    More sobbing.
    “Mom, please answer me….”
    “Kate, it’s me…. Sasha….” the sobbing continued. For a moment, Kate couldn’t recall the name. A childhood friend? Neighbor of her parents? Suddenly it hit her: Sasha, her author. But how could she…. “The review, Kate, it’s horrible, the whole world hates me….” Sasha interrupted her thoughts as she continued to sob through the phone.
    “I just picked up an advance copy of the Times ,” she explained, her breath coming out in heaving gasps, “everyone hates me.”
    “Sasha, everyone doesn’t hate you, just the Times .” The minute the statement was out of her mouth, she realized it was a mistake. The sobbing grew more intense as though someone had suddenly cut off her right hand, thereby ending any future attempts at ever writing again. Kate frowned. She could write with her mouth, holding a pencil, Kate had seen someone do it on a reality show once, or maybe it was a biography on Lifetime. She couldn’t recall. The sobbing wore on. Kate knew she needed to say something, “Sasha, listen, I didn’t mean that, the Times doesn’t hate you, don’t put too much credibility in that reviewer, I hear he’s illiterate anyway and wouldn’t know a good book if it walked up and