The Retirement Party

Emma stood outside the glass doors of Meridian Publishing, clutching her coffee like a lifeline and trying to convince herself she wasn't having a panic attack. The building's sleek lobby buzzed with its usual morning energy, but all she could think about was Jake Morrison's knowing smile and those four words that had haunted her all night: "This is going to be interesting."

She'd barely slept, alternating between rehearsing professional explanations for yesterday's coffee shop encounter and imagining worst-case scenarios where Jake told everyone at Meridian that their bestselling romance author couldn't write a convincing love scene to save her life.

"Emma! There you are." Harold Morrison Jake's father, she now realized with horror approached with his familiar warm smile. At sixty-two, Harold had the gentle demeanor of a favorite professor, all wire-rimmed glasses and cardigans. Nothing like his sharp-edged son. "Ready for our meeting?"

"About that emergency..." Emma fell into step beside him as they headed toward the elevator. "Is everything okay? Your text last night sounded serious."

Harold's smile faltered slightly. "Let's discuss it in my office. There are some changes coming that will affect you directly."

The elevator ride to the fifteenth floor felt endless. Emma's reflection in the polished steel doors showed a woman trying too hard to look composed her dark hair pulled into a perfect chignon, her burgundy blazer crisp and professional. She looked like someone who had her life together. She looked like a lie.

Harold's office overlooked Central Park, its walls lined with bestsellers he'd shepherded to success over his thirty-year career. Emma's own books occupied a prominent shelf, their colorful spines a testament to Harold's careful guidance. He'd been more than an editor he'd been a mentor, a friend, the one person in publishing she trusted completely.

"Please, sit." Harold gestured to the familiar leather chairs across from his desk. "I'm afraid I have some news that might come as a shock."

Emma's stomach clenched. "Are you firing me?"

"What? Good God, no!" Harold looked genuinely startled. "Emma, you're one of our most valuable authors. Your last three books have been bestsellers. Why would you think"

"Then what's the emergency?"

Harold removed his glasses and cleaned them slowly his tell when he was nervous. "I'm retiring. Effective immediately."

The words hit Emma like a physical blow. "Retiring? But you're only sixty-two! You love this job!"

"I do love it. But Martha's cancer is back." Harold's voice was quiet but steady. "Stage two this time. She needs me, and I need to be there for her. The treatments will be aggressive, and I can't divide my attention between her recovery and my authors."

Emma's anger dissolved into guilt and concern. Martha had been like a second mother to her, always asking about Emma's writing and sending care packages during deadline crunches. "Oh, Harold. I'm so sorry. Of course you need to be with her. How is she doing?"

"Scared but fighting. You know Martha." Harold managed a weak smile. "The doctors are optimistic, but it'll be a long road."

"What can I do to help? Anything you need"

"Actually, there is something." Harold leaned forward. "I need you to trust my judgment about my replacement."

Emma's blood turned to ice. She knew what was coming, but hearing it would make it real.

"My son Jake will be taking over your account, along with several others. I know this might feel sudden, but"

"Jake?" Emma tried to sound surprised. "I didn't know you had a son in publishing."

"He's been with us for five years now, working his way up from assistant editor. He's brilliant, Emma. Harvard Literature PhD, two years at Simon & Schuster before joining us. His authors consistently hit bestseller lists." Harold's pride was evident. "I wouldn't trust your career to anyone less capable."

Capable. That was one word for the man who'd dissected her writing process in ten minutes flat.

"Has he... has he read my work?" Emma asked carefully.

"Every book. In fact, he specifically requested to take over your account when I told him about the transition. Said he had some ideas for elevating your work to the next level."

Emma's coffee cup rattled against its saucer as she set it down. Ideas for elevating her work. After yesterday's conversation about authentic passion and emotional connection, she could imagine exactly what kind of ideas Jake Morrison had.

"The thing is," Harold continued, "Jake can be a bit more... direct than I am. His editorial style is different—more challenging. But his authors produce their best work under his guidance. I think you might benefit from a fresh perspective."

"Benefit" was a generous way to phrase what Emma suspected would be professional humiliation.

"When do I meet him?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.

Harold glanced at his watch. "Actually, he should be here any moment. I wanted to introduce you two properly and"

A knock interrupted him. Emma's heart stopped as the office door opened and Jake Morrison walked in, looking even more devastating in a perfectly tailored navy suit than he had in yesterday's casual clothes. His dark hair was styled but still looked like he'd run his fingers through it, and those green eyes immediately found Emma's with an expression she couldn't decipher.

"Sorry I'm late, Dad. Traffic was" Jake stopped mid-sentence, his gaze locked on Emma. "Brutal."

"Jake, I'd like you to meet Emma Chen, one of our most successful authors. Emma, my son Jake."

Emma stood on unsteady legs, extending her hand with as much professionalism as she could muster. "Mr. Morrison. It's... nice to meet you."

Jake's hand was warm and firm as it enveloped hers, his thumb brushing across her knuckles in what could have been accident or intention. "The pleasure is entirely mine, Ms. Chen. I'm a tremendous fan of your work."

The way he said "tremendous fan" made Emma's cheeks burn. There were layers to his words that Harold couldn't hear but Emma felt in her bones.

"I was just telling Emma about the transition," Harold said, settling back into his chair. "Jake, you mentioned you had some thoughts about Emma's current project?"

Emma's eyes flew to Jake's face. He couldn't possibly bring up yesterday's conversation, could he? Not in front of his father. Not when it would reveal that they'd already met, that she'd inadvertently confessed her deepest insecurities to her new editor before she even knew who he was.

"I do have some thoughts," Jake said slowly, his gaze never leaving Emma's face. "But I think Ms. Chen and I should discuss them privately. Editorial feedback can be quite personal."

Personal. Emma's mouth went dry.

"Of course, of course." Harold smiled, oblivious to the tension crackling between his son and his author. "I'll leave you two to get acquainted. Emma, Jake will be in touch about scheduling regular meetings. And please" Harold's voice softened. "Don't hesitate to call if you need anything during this transition. I know change can be difficult."

Change. If Harold only knew that the most difficult part wasn't his retirement it was the fact that his replacement had already seen through every professional facade Emma had spent years perfecting.

Harold gathered his things and headed toward the door. "I'll let you two discuss Emma's current project. Jake, remember what I said about being gentle with the feedback."

"I'll keep that in mind," Jake replied, but his tone suggested he had his own ideas about what constituted appropriate feedback.

The door closed behind Harold with a soft click, leaving Emma alone with the man who could destroy her career with a few well-chosen words. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken implications.

"So," Jake said finally, moving to perch on the edge of Harold's desk. "This is awkward."

"You think?" Emma's professional composure cracked. "Did you know who I was yesterday? At the coffee shop?"

"Not until you told me your name." Jake's expression was unreadable. "Though I should have recognized you from your author photos. You're much more beautiful in person."

The compliment caught Emma off guard, but she refused to be distracted. "So this is all just a horrible coincidence?"

"That depends on your definition of horrible." Jake stood and moved closer, close enough that Emma caught that same warm, masculine scent that had flustered her yesterday. "I prefer to think of it as serendipitous."

"Serendipitous?" Emma's voice pitched higher. "You know things about me now personal things about my writing process. Things that could ruin my reputation if"

"If what? If I told people that Emma Chen is a dedicated professional who cares deeply about the authenticity of her work?" Jake's voice was calm, measured. "That she's willing to acknowledge her limitations and seek help to overcome them?"

Emma stared at him. "Is that really what you think happened yesterday?"

"What I think," Jake said, moving closer still, "is that you're one of the most naturally talented writers I've encountered in five years of editing. What I also think is that you're holding yourself back from writing the book you're really capable of."

"Meaning?"

Jake walked over to Harold's bookshelf and pulled out Emma's latest novel, *Dangerous Devotion*. "This is good. Very good. Your prose is elegant, your dialogue snaps, your pacing is excellent." He turned to face her, the book in his hands. "But it's safe. Controlled. You write passion like you're describing it from outside a window instead of feeling it yourself."

Emma's cheeks flamed. "That's not"

"The love scenes are technically proficient but emotionally distant. Your heroine surrenders to desire, but we never feel her genuine vulnerability. We never believe she's truly at risk of losing herself in the experience." Jake's voice was professional now, but his eyes held something warmer. "You have the skill to write devastatingly authentic passion, Emma. You just need to stop being afraid of it."

"And you think you can help me with that?" The question came out more breathless than Emma intended.

Jake set the book down and took a step closer. "I think we could help each other."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I want to edit your next book. Really edit it not just polish your already excellent technical skills, but push you to dig deeper. To write the book only you can write." His voice dropped. "The question is whether you trust me enough to let me."

Emma's heart hammered against her ribs. Everything about this conversation felt dangerous, charged with implications she didn't fully understand. Jake wasn't just talking about editing there was something else in his tone, his proximity, the way he looked at her like he could see straight through her carefully constructed defenses.

"What if I can't?" she whispered. "What if I try to go deeper and there's nothing there?"

"Then you'll have learned something important about yourself." Jake's smile was gentle now, almost tender. "But I don't think that's what we'll find."

Emma wanted to ask what he thought they would find, but before she could form the question, Jake's phone buzzed. He glanced at it and frowned.

"I have to take this it's Martha." He answered the call. "Hi, Martha. How are you feeling today?"

Emma watched Jake's expression shift from professional to personal, his voice softening as he spoke to his stepmother. She'd forgotten that Harold's retirement wasn't just a career transition it was a family crisis. Jake was stepping into his father's role while watching someone he cared about fight for her life.

"Of course I can pick that up for you," Jake was saying. "Don't worry about it. Dad's taking good care of everything here."

When he hung up, Emma saw something vulnerable in his expression before he shuttered it away.

"How is she?" Emma asked softly.

"Scared. But trying not to show it." Jake ran a hand through his hair. "This is all happening so fast. Dad's retirement, taking over his authors, Martha's treatment schedule..."

"I can find another editor," Emma said suddenly. "If this is too much"

"No." Jake's response was immediate and firm. "I want to work with you, Emma. I need the distraction, honestly. And your book..." He paused, studying her face. "I think it could be something special."

"You haven't even read the current draft."

Jake's smile returned, and with it, that dangerous glint in his eyes. "Then I guess we'll need to schedule that first editorial meeting soon. Say, tomorrow evening? My apartment. We can work without office distractions."

His apartment. Emma's pulse quickened. "Is that... professional?"

"Everything I do is professional, Ms. Chen." But the way he said her name suggested otherwise. "The question is whether you're ready to trust me with your work."

Emma looked into those perceptive green eyes and realized she was standing at a crossroads. She could play it safe, ask for a different editor, maintain her careful boundaries. Or she could take the risk and see where Jake Morrison's dangerous brand of editing might lead.

"Tomorrow evening," she agreed, though her voice shook slightly. "But just to be clear we're talking about editing. Strictly professional."

"Of course," Jake said, but his smile suggested he knew something she didn't. "Strictly professional."

As Emma gathered her things to leave, Jake called her name.

"Emma?"

She turned back, and for a moment, the professional mask slipped from his features entirely.

"For what it's worth," he said quietly, "I don't think you're as inexperienced as you believe. I think you're just afraid to let yourself feel what you're capable of feeling."

Emma fled the office with Jake's words echoing in her mind, her heart racing with equal parts terror and anticipation. Tomorrow evening, she would find out exactly what Jake Morrison meant by "strictly professional."

And deep down, she suspected they both knew there would be nothing strictly professional about it.