Blogger Girl

B
LOGGER
G
IRL

M
EREDITH
S
CHORR

Booktrope Editions

Seattle WA 2013

Copyright 2013 Meredith Schorr

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License
.

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— You must attribute the work in the manner specified by the author or licensor (but not in any way that suggests that they endorse you or your use of the work).

Noncommercial
— You may not use this work for commercial purposes.

No Derivative Works
— You may not alter, transform, or build upon this work.

Inquiries about additional permissions should be directed to:
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Cover Design by Loretta Matson

Edited by Gabrielle Roman

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.

PRINT ISBN 978-1-62015-157-0

EPUB ISBN 978-1-62015-253-9

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013946451

I SLID MY MOUSE
back and forth between 4 and 4.5 pink champagne flutes. I couldn’t decide if the book,
Gladly Never After
, was 4.5 flutes worthy. The ending was a bit abrupt and the hero was kind of obvious from the beginning. At the same time, it was certainly an engaging story, so much so that I took every available opportunity to turn on my Kindle to see what happened next, even while squatting on the toilet between beers at happy hour.

“Long!”

I saved a draft of my review and stood up. “Yes, Rob?” I walked into his large fishbowl shaped office knowing he wasn’t going to come to me. “What’s up?”

Rob handed me two sheets of paper. “Can you scan this to Bartlett?”

Removing the papers from his hand, I said, “No problem. Should I include a message?”

He scratched his thick head of brown hair. “Nah. He’ll know what it is.”

Rob’s recent takeover of a high-profile litigation was definitely getting in the way of my blogging. I had four books scheduled for review in the next two weeks and had received several more on my Kindle from publishers and authors in the past couple of days. Then again, it was my day job as a legal secretary at a mid-sized New York City law firm that paid my $1800 rent, not my voluntary – albeit immensely more satisfying – side gig as a chick lit book reviewer/blogger.

“Also, send an email to the team about squad drinks around the corner at Banc Café at 5.”

My heart skipped a beat. “Who should I include in the email?”

Rob was now facing his computer and without bothering to turn around, he said, “The whole team, Lucy, David, Nicholas, Blah, Blah, Blah, Blah.”

Rob probably didn’t actually say, “Blah, Blah, Blah, Blah” but that was all I heard after “Nicholas.” Ordinarily, I preferred the company of friends over the partners, associates and paralegals that made up Rob’s team, but I’d make an exception if Nicholas was going to be there. I took stock of my outfit, exhaling a sigh of relief that I was wearing a flattering low-cut black top and form-fitting black skinny pants. I fingered my necklace, a platinum chain with an opal pendant that conveniently fell right in the line of my cleavage. “Sounds good. Uh, I forgot who else you mentioned after Nicholas.”
Not that it matters.

Rob waved me away. “Just the team. The usuals. Add a sentence at the end about inviting anyone I forgot.”

“Gotcha.”

When I got back to my desk, I emailed the team about happy hour, casually adding Nicholas’ address somewhere in the middle. It was very short notice, but (a) it was free drinks and (b) Rob was the boss and by virtue of him being the boss, sufficient advance notice was not required. Once I confirmed that the email went through, I practically ran to the copy room to scan Rob’s documents and quickly emailed them to Bartlett. I glanced at my Movado watch, a gift from my parents for my 28th birthday earlier that year. It was 4:42. After I grabbed my enormous leather pocketbook from the bottom drawer of my desk and told Rob I was stepping away, I headed to the bathroom and called Bridget.

She picked up after one ring. “Is everything okay?”

I ran a brush through my long light brown hair and shook my head from side to side to give it some bounce. “Why would you ask that? Because I called instead of texted?”

“Bingo!”

Bridget had been my best friend since the 7
^th
grade. Text messaging often won out over actually talking on the phone, but it wasn’t like telephone conversations were reserved for emergency trips to the hospital or anything. I removed the pink monogrammed makeup case I’d had since junior high school from the bottom of my pocketbook. “Having drinks with the team tonight after work.”

“The team, huh? Does that include your work crush? What’s his name again?”

“Nicholas!”

Bridget snorted. “I know! Nicholas
Strong
,” she repeated. “Rhymes with Long. I remember.”

“Ha ha. Be nice.” Mentioning the rhyming of my last name with Nicholas’ wasn’t one of my proudest moments, but it was after two flirtinis, and two flirtinis for a 101-pound girl were like five flirtinis for an average sized woman.

“Well, have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Bridget said dryly. Gun shy after an uncharacteristic one-night-stand generously left her with a case of crabs, she hadn’t done anything with anyone in over a year.

“I’m not entirely certain he sees me as anything more than that ‘chick’ who occasionally connects him to Rob’s voicemail, but he’s serious eye candy. Chances are, we’ll exchange less than four words, I’ll end up extremely frustrated and regret going in the first place.”

“There you go, Ms. Positive! Good luck.”

“Thanks. See ya.” I hung up the phone and wiped the corners of my lips before applying a shiny but translucent gloss. I dusted a little powder over my nose trying unsuccessfully to hide the constellation of freckles that appeared at the tip. I zipped the case and returned it to my bag. I wished I knew how to apply dramatic makeup but every time I made an attempt, I looked like one of those freaky pageant kids.

When I returned to my desk, I noticed that Rob’s light was off. It was only 5:05.
Someone needed a beer
.

I opened my saved post to finish my review.

In closing, I would highly recommend Gladly Never After to all lovers of chick lit, particularly those who prefer books with more action/dialogue and less description/ backstory.

Rating: 4.5 Pink Champagne Flutes

I set my blog to post the review at 6 the next morning and logged off of my computer. At least I’d be fashionably late.

***

I spotted my crew immediately upon entering the dimly lit restaurant. They had taken over the left side of the semi-circular bar. I stood up as tall as my 4’11” frame allowed and approached the crowd. Although my eyes looked straight ahead towards Rob, always the center of attention at these events, I used my peripheral vision to confirm that Nicholas was in attendance. He was talking to Lucy, a junior associate in the group. Lucy was actually really nice, but her straight blonde hair was always pulled back into a tight bun and her daily attire consisted of stodgy business suits. She looked like a librarian and I couldn’t imagine Nicholas being interested in her as more than a colleague.
On second thought, maybe Lucy is one of those stereotypical librarian types who’s kinky in the sack.
I had often wondered if Nicholas had hooked up with any of the female associates in the office while pulling an all-nighter or after one of the many firm-hosted parties. As I glanced back at Lucy in jealous paranoia, I was surprised to catch Nicholas looking directly at me. Could he tell I was thinking about him? Bridget and I always said guys had radar.

“There she is. My right hand. What are you having?” Rob asked.

I tore my eyes away from Nicholas and focused my attention on Rob. “A glass of Prosecco. Thanks.” I considered asking for a cocktail menu but wanted a drink in my hand too badly to spend the time considering my choices.