Chapter Text
Kate rode her Peloton bike as images of wooded trails played across the screen, rereading a manuscript balanced on the handlebars. Her apartment was hot and stuffy and she kept forgetting to turn the AC on, never home long enough to remember.
She glanced at a dying succulent under the pale glow of the sunrise.
“Sorry,” she murmured, frowning at the dead thing.
When she returned to the manuscript, it was a lost cause.
As she looked back up at the Peloton screen she remembered riding horses in India, long days under the sun, dust clinging to her skin. She missed her late father and she missed Mary, her stepmother, who now lived in London. But most of all she missed her sister Edwina. They hadn’t spoken much in the last few years while Edwina was traveling for her anthropology studies.
Her mind was everywhere today.
Today she would have to fire Cressida Cowper, senior editor of Mayfair Books.
Cressida was supposed to book Penelope Featherington, author of the wildly successful Lady Whistledown series, an anonymous gossip columnist who told stories while trying not to get caught.
However, Cressida had lied to Kate, claiming Penelope had said no. One phone call with Penelope’s agent had secured an in-person meeting. Penelope had concerns. She hadn’t done much publicity, and signing with Mayfair Books would upset her current publisher, Gunter's Press.
She needed time.
In that meeting, Kate learned Cressida had never even tried to contact her.
Kate never enjoyed firing anyone. However, she had a reputation to maintain.
She was the first woman and the first person of color to serve as editor-in-chief in the company’s history. She took her job seriously and was deeply proud of it. She understood her employees didn’t like her but, she wasn’t there for that.
She was there to represent the books that came through Mayfair Books and that was final.
Her watch beeped on her wrist. The analog face caught the light. Edwina had given it to her for her 18th birthday and 8 years later it still held strong, a deep teal strap with gold accents while Edwina’s was a light pink.
“We Sharma’s sure do love our family colors” Edwina laughed.
As Kate made her way into downtown Manhattan, her phone rang with Penelope’s caller ID appearing.
“Hello, Penelope. How’s my favorite writer?”
Penelope scoffed, though Kate could hear the smile beneath it. “I’m sure you say that to all the writers.”
“Have you thought about our talk?”
“I have,” Penelope said, hesitating.
“Look, Penelope, people in this country are busy, broke, bored, and hate reading. They need your writing. They need someone to say, Hey, instead of rewatching The Office for the eightieth time, read my book. And that person is you. Once we get you on The Queen Charlotte Show, of course! We’ll get you publicity training. I’ll be there with you.”
A pause.
“Promise?”
“It’s a promise.”
**
Kate didn’t need to look up to know she had arrived. The shuffle of shoes, the familiar chime of Teams notifications rippling across the floor, it always happened when she walked in.
She didn’t look at a single employee as she headed toward her office. They parted like the Red Sea.
Inside, Benedict Bridgerton her executive assistant and favorite person was waiting with a coffee already in hand.
“Morning, Ms. Sharma,” he said. “You have a conference call in thirty minutes.”
“Oh, I’m Ms. Sharma now, am I?” She took the coffee from his hand and passed him her bag.
“Yes. It’s about the Gunter's Press marketing strategy. I know.”
“There’s also a staff meeting at eight-thirty.”
Kate groaned, barely focusing on one movement to the next. “Did you call the one with the smelly hands—the onion hands?”
“Joan? Yes. I told her if her manuscript isn’t in on time, you won’t give her a release date.”
Kate nodded absently, unwrapping a book.
“Kate, stop.”
She jumped in her chair, startled by Benedict’s touch. He immediately pulled his hand back.
He always forgot she didn’t like to be touched.
“Sorry,” he said quickly. “Your immigration lawyer called—”
“Cancel the call. Push the meeting to tomorrow. Keep the lawyer on the line,” she said briskly. “And call PR. Penelope Featherington is doing The Queen Charlotte Show.”
Benedict laughed. “Nicely done, boss.”
“Thanks. Not that I asked for your praise.”
She raised the coffee to her lips.
As Benedict turned to leave, she stopped him calling out:
“Who’s Henry, and why does he want me to call him?”
Benedict spun on one foot, holding his clipboard in front of his mouth to hide his grin. His gray eyes sparkled.
“As the lovely assistant I am, I get the same coffee order as you.”
“And?”
“Well… your coffee spilled.”
“Do you enjoy Christmas in a cup, Benedict?”
“Absolutely not. Too bad about Paul though. I wish I could—”The phone rang.
“Ms. Sharma’s office,” Benedict answered. “Hey, Cressida.”
Kate flicked her hand, a signal only he understood.
“Actually, we’re heading to your office. Now.”
He hung up his cell phone, frowning. “Why are we going to Cressida’s office?”
Kate hmmphed.
“Hmph,” Benedict mocked.
Kate didn’t dignify that with a response.
Cressida’s office smelled faintly of hairspray and something floral.
“Ah! Ms. Sharma, how are you?”Cressida’s shark smile stretched wide, all teeth and no warmth.
“Hello, Cressida.” Kate smiled tightly.
Benedict elbowed her ribs.
“New breakfront?” Kate asked, pointing to the cabinet at the back of the room.
“It is English Regency Egyptian Revival,” Cressida said proudly. “Built in the 1800s! But yes, it is new to my office.”
Kate smiled wider.
Witty.
“Ms. Cowper, I am letting you go.”
Benedict froze.
The shark smile faltered on Cressida, then steadied. “Pardon?”
“I asked you to book Penelope Featherington. You didn’t,” Kate said calmly. “You’re fired.”
Behind Kate, Benedict reached back and quietly shut the glass door.
“I told you it was impossible.”
“That’s interesting,” Kate replied. “Because I just spoke with Ms. Featherington this morning and she’s in. She said you never even called her.”
Cressida’s smile fell completely, her eyes flicking to Benedict, searching for an ally.
“Stop looking at him for help,” Kate added coolly. “You did this.”
“Now, I will give you two months to find another job, and you can tell everyone you resigned. Ok?” Kate walked to Cressida’s desk and picked up a book—a book about birds.
Interesting.
Kate turned and flicked her hand for Benedict to open the door for her and stepped out of Cressida’s office.
“What’s she doing?” Kate asked quietly as they walked down the hallway not looking back. She could hear Cressida’s heels clicking behind them, pacing back and forth, but Kate continued to look forward, unbothered.
“She’s moving… oh, she has crazy eyes,” Benedict muttered.
Don’t do it, Cressida. Don’t do it.
Kate could hear the heels stomping behind her. “You poisonous bitch, you can’t fire me!” Cressida hissed, her words slithering between clenched teeth as she followed them out of her office.
Kate stopped and turned to look at Cressida, leaning casually against a cubicle, sipping her coffee.
“You just want to look good to the board. You’re threatened by ME! And just because you have no semblance of a life outside of work, you think you can treat all of us like your own personal slaves!”
Kate chuckled softly and blantly rolled her eyes for Cressida to see.
“You know what you’ll have on your deathbed?” Cressida spat. “Nothing and no one!”
The words hit hard, a sharp punch to Kate’s stomach. However she held her composure as she set her coffee down.
“Listen carefully, Cressida. I didn’t fire you because I feel threatened. I fired you because you’re lazy, entitled, rude, and incompetent. If you say another word, I will have Benedict film it and put it on Instagram." Cressida opened her mouth.
Kate cut her off"—another word. With an armed escort. Is that what you want?”
Cressida closed her mouth and shook her head no.
Kate turned away. “Great, now I have work to do.”
And just like that, she whipped her hair around and in her peripheral saw the employees shuffling, pretending they hadn’t just watched what happened. Benedict rushing to keep up with her stride.
“Benedict, I need you around this weekend to help review her files and manuscripts, and have them move the breakfront into the conference room.”
“This weekend?”
“Is there a problem?” Kate stopped in front of the bathroom door, staring him down.
“No, I—” Benedict began.
“Just my brother Anthony’s engagement party,” he continued. “So I was gonna go home and… never mind.”
Impatient, Kate turned and slipped into the bathroom.
Alone.