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Forster over at Logan, Richardson, and Monk has dark hair and the last time I saw him he had a goatee. I spoke to him the other day and I might have mentioned you." "Did he ask about me first? Is he cute?" I must have sounded like a crazy woman, but I was determined to find out. Linda hummed and hawed. "Yeah, he might have asked if I was editing you. In fact," her face lit up, "he did ask if I knew who was publishing a writer named Imogen Wallis. He sounded surprised to hear it was me." "Is he cute?" Linda looked askance. "What is this about, Imogen?" "Is he cute?" "Yeah, hes freakin gorgeous. A little young for me maybe, but I wouldnt kick him out of bed for eating crackers if thats what youre asking." Linda was starting to look worried. "Wheres Logan, Richardson, and Monk?" I asked. "Fourth and Finch," Linda said slowly. "Youre not leaving me for the competition are you? Cause they dont do erotica." "No, its not business," I reassured her. "Thanks. Ill have the final chapters for you by the end of the month. And I owe you one." I tore from her office as quickly as Id entered. There was sure to be a confused voice mail from her on my machine when I got back to my apartment, but Id deal with that later. It was only a few blocks to the corner of Fourth Street and Finch Avenue and I walked them unseeingly. My mind was reeling. I was half excited and half so pissed off I couldnt see straight. I had no idea what I would say or do when I was face-to-face with Mr. Simeon Forster, but I was sure Id think of something. Logan, Richardson, and Monk is the largest publishing firm in the city and part of a much larger international publishing house, but Id never bothered myself with them before; mostly because they didnt print smut, Pulitzer Prize winners are more their style. Their office building was a gleaming monolith of glass and steel, and as I stood outside on the sidewalk with my stomach a swirling mass of knots, I realized it was only a few blocks from the café where all this had started. I took several deep breaths, patted uselessly at my messy curls, and slipped nervously into the lobby. The security guard didnt look at me twice but the receptionist smiled coldly as I greeted her. "Id like to see Simeon Forster, please," I asked as calmly and politely as I could. The perfectly dressed and coiffed blonde looked me over blatantly. "Do you have an appointment?" I smiled as sweetly as possible considering the roiling state of my insides. "No, but were old friends. Im surprising him and taking him out to lunch." She arched an eyebrow. "Youre not a writer with a manuscript are you?" "No," I lied smoothly, "were just friends." I laced the word with as much innuendo as I could muster. The haughty expression cracked slightly but I


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couldnt tell if she was amused or disgusted. "Fine. Ill just call up and tell him youre here." "Oh no," I interrupted quickly, watching with trepidation as her perfectly manicured fingers hovered over the phone. "Id really like to surprise him, if thats okay." There were chattering voices and the click of high heels behind me, a line was forming and the receptionist pasted on her bored expression once more. "Fine," she waved at me dismissively. "Fifth floor." "Thanks," I smiled widely and my cheeks hurt with the effort, but shed already turned to the next lady in line and I made my way to the elevators unnoticed. I half expected to have to run another gauntlet of secretaries or receptionists when I hit the fifth floor, but apparently Blondie and the lax security guard were my only obstacles, because when the elevator slid open on the no one even looked at me twice, which is how I found myself wandering aimlessly among the cubicles, undeniably lost. Finally, after ten minutes of going in endless circles looking for non-existent nameplates I stopped a harassed-looking young man holding a stack of manuscripts who breathlessly directed me down a short hallway. He nodded silently at the dark mahogany door which stood closed before us, but before I could open my mouth to thank him hed scuttled back the way wed come. I knocked on the door before I got too nervous and entered when the deep voice within bade me to, only to realize my mistake instantly. The man behind the desk wasnt my shaggy-haired nemesis; he was much older, tall and dark with a distinguished dusting of grey hair, an expensive suit, and a suave smile. "Oh!" I cried, trying to back out of the door as quickly as possible. "Im sorry; Ive got the wrong office." The handsome older man behind the desk stood and shot me a cocky grin. "Nonsense, that isnt possible. Im quite sure I put in an order for a pretty redhead. Come in." I laughed. "Im sorry to have bothered you, I was just looking for Simeon Forster and someone pointed me in this direction." The dark-haired man spread his arms welcomingly, his smile mega-watt bright. "Well you found him, so please come in." I stood frozen in the doorway. "You... youre Simeon Forster?" He nodded, eyeing me up and down. "And Im going to guess and say youre a writer." "H-howd you know?" I sputtered unthinkingly. Mr. Forster chuckled lowly. "I see a lot of writers in the course of a day, Miss...?" "Wallis. Imogen Wallis," I supplied automatically. "Miss Wallis; although I must say the lost, innocent little girl trick is a new one for me." "I beg your pardon?" I asked feeling very lost indeed. His smile dimmed considerably. "Why dont you just pull your manuscript out from under that little sundress of yours and tell me all about the next Great Canadian Novel youve written, and Ill pretend to listen; and then when youve gone your merry way Ill pass said manuscript on to one of my junior