Meet Your New Editor

Emma stood outside Jake Morrison's apartment building on the Upper East Side, clutching her laptop bag and seriously questioning her life choices. The elegant brownstone with its wrought-iron details and perfectly manicured entrance screamed expensive the kind of place that came with doormen and marble lobbies and editors who could afford to take risks with their authors' careers.

She'd changed outfits three times before settling on dark jeans, a cream sweater, and ankle boots professional but not trying too hard. At least, that's what she'd told herself. The truth was she had no idea what to wear to a meeting that felt simultaneously like a job interview and a first date.

"You can do this," she muttered, pressing the buzzer for apartment 4B. "It's just editing. Strictly professional editing."

"Emma?" Jake's voice crackled through the intercom, warm and amused. "Come on up."

The elevator ride to the fourth floor felt like ascending to her doom. Emma caught her reflection in the polished brass doors and saw a woman who looked far more confident than she felt. Good. Maybe she could fake her way through this.

Jake's door was already open when she reached it, and the sight of him made her step falter. Gone was the polished businessman from yesterday's meeting. Tonight's Jake wore dark jeans that hugged his long legs and a gray henley that showcased broad shoulders and strong forearms. His hair looked like he'd been running his fingers through it, and there was something dangerously intimate about seeing him in his own space.

"Right on time," he said, stepping aside to let her in. "I was starting to wonder if you'd gotten cold feet."

"Professional meeting, professional editor," Emma replied, though her voice sounded breathless even to her own ears. "No cold feet here."

Jake's smile suggested he wasn't buying it. "Good. Come in."

His apartment was nothing like Emma had expected. Instead of the sterile minimalism she'd imagined, the space was warm and lived-in. Exposed brick walls lined with overflowing bookshelves, a leather couch that looked perfect for reading, and soft lighting from vintage lamps scattered throughout. Classical music played softly from hidden speakers, and the scent of something delicious drifted from the kitchen.

"You cook?" Emma asked, surprised.

"When I'm nervous," Jake admitted, then looked startled by his own honesty. "I mean, when I need to think. I made pasta thought you might be hungry."

Nervous. Emma filed that information away, feeling marginally better about her own jangled nerves. "You're nervous about editing my book?"

"I'm nervous about doing right by you." Jake's honesty was disarming. "My father has a different editorial style than I do. More gentle, more encouraging. I tend to push harder, ask tougher questions. I don't want to undermine your confidence, but I also won't lie to you about what I think your work needs."

Emma set her laptop bag on his coffee table, noting the way Jake's eyes tracked the movement. "What do you think my work needs?"

"Truth." The word hung between them, loaded with implications. "Your technical skills are flawless, Emma. Your prose is beautiful, your characters are compelling. But you're holding back the one thing that would make your work transcendent."

"Which is?"

Jake moved closer, close enough that Emma could see the golden flecks in his green eyes. "Vulnerability. Real, honest, terrifying vulnerability. The kind that makes readers feel like they're witnessing something private and sacred."

Emma's throat went dry. "And you think you know how to help me find that?"

"I think," Jake said carefully, "that you already have it. You're just afraid to let it show on the page."

Before Emma could respond, his phone rang. Jake glanced at the caller ID and frowned.

"I need to take this it's the hospital." He answered immediately. "This is Jake Morrison... What? When?... No, don't worry about it. I'll be right there."

Emma watched Jake's face pale as he hung up. "What's wrong?"

"Martha had a reaction to the new medication. She's okay, but Dad's panicking and the doctors want to adjust her treatment plan." Jake ran both hands through his hair. "I'm sorry, Emma. I have to go. Can we reschedule?"

"Of course. Family comes first."

But as Jake grabbed his keys and jacket, Emma found herself saying, "Wait."

He turned back, eyebrows raised.

"Let me come with you," she said. "Not to the hospital I know that's private. But afterwards, if you want to talk or just need company..."

Jake stared at her for a long moment. "You don't have to do that."

"I know. But I want to." Emma surprised herself with how much she meant it. "Harold and Martha have always been kind to me. And you shouldn't have to deal with this alone."

Something shifted in Jake's expression, a crack in his professional armor. "Thank you. That... that means more than you know."

Two hours later, Emma found herself in Jake's kitchen, making tea while he sat at his dining table, staring at his laptop screen without really seeing it. He'd returned from the hospital with good new Martha was stable and responding well to the adjusted medication but the stress had clearly taken its toll.

"She looks so small," Jake said suddenly. "Martha, I mean. She's always been this force of nature, you know? Organizing charity events, redecorating the house, making sure Dad eats vegetables. Now she can barely keep crackers down."

Emma set a mug of tea in front of him and took the chair across from him. "I'm sorry. It must be terrifying to watch someone you love go through that."

"The worst part is how helpless I feel. Dad's doing everything he can, the doctors are doing their jobs, and I'm just... here. Working. Pretending like everything's normal when it's not."

"You're not just working," Emma said gently. "You're holding things together so your father doesn't have to worry about the business on top of everything else. That's not nothing, Jake."

Jake looked up at her, and Emma saw exhaustion and gratitude in his eyes. "How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Say exactly what I need to hear without making it sound like empty comfort."

Emma felt her cheeks warm. "Maybe because I know what it's like to feel helpless. When my parents went through their divorce, I was living across the country for college. I felt like I was failing everyone by not being there, even though there was nothing I could have done."

"Did they work things out?"

"No. But they're both happier now. Sometimes the scariest changes lead to better things." Emma met his eyes. "Martha's going to be okay. And even if the treatment is hard, she's got your dad and you supporting her. That's not nothing either."

Jake reached across the table and covered her hand with his. The touch was warm and sure, sending electricity up Emma's arm. "Thank you. For staying, for listening, for..." He paused, his thumb tracing across her knuckles. "For being here."

"Jake..." Emma's voice was barely a whisper.

"I know we're supposed to keep this professional," he said, his voice rough. "But sitting here with you, having you care enough to stay... it doesn't feel professional."

Emma's heart hammered against her ribs. She should pull her hand away, remind him about boundaries, suggest they reschedule their actual meeting for a more appropriate time and place. Instead, she found herself asking, "What does it feel like?"

Jake's eyes darkened. "Like something I've been waiting for without knowing I was waiting."

The words hung in the air between them, dangerous and intoxicating. Emma knew she was at another crossroads she could laugh it off, blame the emotional evening, retreat to safer ground. Or she could be brave enough to admit that she felt it too.

"Jake," she started, but he was already pulling his hand away.

"I'm sorry. That was inappropriate. You came here as a professional favor, and I'm taking advantage of an emotional situation." Jake stood abruptly, pacing to the window. "We should reschedule our actual meeting. When I can be more objective."

"What if I don't want you to be objective?"

The words escaped before Emma could stop them. Jake went very still, his back to her.

"What are you saying?" he asked quietly.

Emma stood, her legs unsteady. She was about to cross a line that couldn't be uncrossed, and the terrifying part was that she wanted to. "I'm saying that maybe this isn't just about editing for me either."

Jake turned slowly. "Emma..."

"I've spent three years being careful, keeping everyone at arm's length, protecting myself from getting hurt again." Emma's voice grew stronger as she spoke. "But watching you tonight, seeing how much you care about your family, how you're trying to hold everything together while falling apart inside... I don't want to be careful anymore."

"You don't know what you're saying."

"Yes, I do." Emma took a step closer. "I'm saying that whatever this is between us, I want to find out what it could be."

Jake closed his eyes. "This is a terrible idea."

"Probably."

"I'm your editor. There are professional boundaries, power dynamics"

"I know."

"If we do this and it goes badly, it could ruin both our careers."

"I know," Emma whispered, taking another step closer.

Jake opened his eyes, and the heat she saw there made her knees weak. "If we do this, there's no going back. I won't be able to pretend I don't want you when we're in meetings or talking about your work."

"Good," Emma said, surprised by her own boldness. "I'm tired of pretending."

For a moment, they stood frozen, the air between them crackling with possibility and danger. Then Jake closed the distance between them in two quick strides, his hands framing her face as he searched her eyes.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his thumbs tracing her cheekbones. "Because once I kiss you, Emma, everything changes."

Emma's answer was to rise on her tiptoes and press her lips to his.

The kiss was nothing like the careful, controlled passion she wrote about in her novels. It was desperate and consuming, Jake's hands tangling in her hair as he pulled her closer, Emma's fingers clutching his shirt like she was drowning. When they finally broke apart, both were breathing hard.

"My God," Jake whispered against her forehead. "Emma..."

"I know," she managed. "I know this is crazy, but"

Jake's phone buzzed on the table, interrupting her. They both froze, the spell broken by the intrusion of reality. Jake reluctantly released her to check the message.

His face went white as he read.

"What is it?" Emma asked.

Jake looked up at her, his expression a mix of shock and something that might have been fear. "It's from my father. He says there's something about your contract that we need to discuss urgently. Something he just found out tonight that changes everything."

Emma's stomach dropped. "What kind of something?"

"He doesn't say. Just that we need to meet first thing tomorrow morning, all three of us." Jake set the phone down with shaking hands. "Emma, what if this isn't just about editing? What if there's something else going on with your contract, your career?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know. But the timing is suspicious, don't you think? Dad retires suddenly, I take over your account, we meet by 'accident' at that coffee shop..." Jake's voice trailed off as a terrible thought seemed to occur to him. "What if none of this is coincidence?"

Emma felt the blood drain from her face. "What are you saying?"

Jake moved to his laptop, opening it with sharp, decisive clicks. "I'm saying maybe I should have asked more questions about why I was specifically assigned to your account. Why my father was so insistent that I take over your work personally instead of passing you to another senior editor."

"Jake, you're scaring me."

He looked up from the screen, his eyes dark with a realization Emma didn't want to hear. "Emma, what do you know about your publishing contract? The terms, the clauses, the specifics of your relationship with Meridian?"

"Harold handles all that. I just write the books and sign where he tells me to sign." Emma wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold. "Why?"

Jake's face was grim as he turned the laptop toward her. On the screen was her contract, pulled up from Meridian's internal database. "Because according to this, there's a clause I've never seen before in any other author's contract. A clause that gives the publisher unprecedented control over your work, your career, and your personal image."

Emma stared at the legal language swimming before her eyes. "I don't understand."

"Neither do I. But I think," Jake said slowly, "we're about to find out that everything we thought we knew about this situation is wrong."

The room fell silent except for the distant sound of traffic below and Emma's hammering heartbeat. The kiss, the connection, the promise of something real between them suddenly it all felt tainted by the possibility that they were both pawns in some larger game.

"Jake," Emma whispered. "What have we gotten ourselves into?"

He reached for her hand, his touch now feeling like both comfort and conspiracy. "I don't know. But tomorrow morning, we're going to find out."

Emma looked into his eyes and realized that in the span of one evening, she'd not only risked her heart but potentially her entire career. The question was whether Jake Morrison was her salvation or her downfall.

And she was terrified she wouldn't know until it was too late.