Chapter Text
“I’m telling you this in confidence because you’re my friend,” Nitta said, taking your hands in hers. “Promise me you won’t say anything to anyone.”
“Cross my heart,” you assured, your brow furrowing to give her your best serious business face. Nitta’s eyes drilled into yours and you dropped your façade for a more genuine response. “Nitta Akari, I swear I won’t say anything to anyone.”
“I’m leaving,” she said. You raised a brow in confusion.
“Uh, yeah? I knew that,” you replied, gesturing to her swollen belly. “Twelve weeks maternity leave. We talked about this months ago.” Nitta shook her head.
“No, I mean I’m leaving leaving - “
“WHAT?!”
“Shh!” she hushed. You clamped your mouth shut and curled your lips inwards to prevent another outburst. Nitta peeked over your head to make sure no one in the hallways had heard you and her tense shoulders relaxed when she realized you two seemed to be the only ones in the general area.
“What do you mean you’re leaving?” you whispered, the shock still clearly evident in your voice. “I knew about your maternity leave but…”
“Listen, you can’t tell anyone about this, okay? The last thing I want is for the boss-man to find out and screw me over and not give me my paid twelve weeks of leave,” she explained. “I have worked too damn hard for too damn long for them to not pay me my dues.”
“Nittaaaaaa,” you cried. You threw yourself at her feet dramatically and latched onto the trousers of her smart pantsuit. “You can’t leave – you’re literally the only person here who isn’t a totally nightmare to work with!”
Nitta sighed and shook you off.
“Quit overreacting, you’re going to be okay!” she consoled. She relaxed in the seat of her desk chair and you scrambled up to stare at her with the best puppy-dog eyes you could muster. Nitta rolled her eyes. “That’s not going to work on me, you know.”
You lowered your gaze to her stomach and pouted.
“Traitor.”
“Hey!” Nitta chided, whacking you on the head with the notebook she held in her hands. “Don’t call my kid a traitor!”
“Nitta,” you said solemnly, and far more serious than you were before. “I’m fucked without you.”
Noticing the change in your tone as you threw yourself back into your seat, Nitta flipped through the pages of her notebook until she landed on the page she had been searching for. She ripped the sheet of paper out and slid it across the desk.
“I’ve got you covered,” she assured. Nitta smiled and tapped her index finger on the page she had presented you with. “I wanted to make sure you were taken care of when I was gone and managed to hook you up with a top-notch editor!”
You eyed the paper in front of you and quirked a brow.
“Nanami Kento?” you buried your face in your hands and groaned. “My new editor is a man? Men in their forties aren’t exactly my main demographic, you know. How’s this guy supposed to know anything about romance novels?”
“I never said he was forty,” Nitta quipped. You stared at her.
“Really? That’s the part you decide to focus on?”
“He’s really good at what he does!” Nitta reassured. “The higher-ups are literally transferring him here from Denmark – that’s gotta count for something!”
You groaned again and threw your head back.
“Great. So, my new male editor is on good terms with the same people who have been itching to get rid of me. Great. Great. I’m so totally fucked.”
“Listen up!” Nitta scolded. You sat up at attention and watched her pace as she spoke. The way she waddled was comical, but the stern expression on her face kept you from giggling. “You need to have some faith. This guy has a ridiculous resumé and it’s honestly a freaking miracle that I managed to hook you up with him. I mean, shit, this guy is the only person that the Gojo Satoru is willing to work with!”
“I know this was supposed to be a pep talk, but if you’re telling me that this Nanami guy is going to expect me to be on par with motherfucking Gojo Satoru, I’m not just fucked, I’m extra fucked.”
“Watch your language!” Nitta rubbed her stomach and shot you a playful glare. “It’s bad for the baby.”
“I hope you know that if your baby doesn’t turn out as cool as you, I will literally never forgive them,” you joked. Nitta laughed and tucked her short blonde hair behind her ear.
“You and me both. Do you know how much being pregnant sucks? I would kill someone with my bare hands for some caffeine – I’m desperate. The other day I almost drank the coffee from the break room, it was that bad.”
Your hand flew to your mouth as you gasped dramatically. You had heard that Miwa, the office administrator, prepared coffee for the whole office every day. Unfortunately for everyone but her (she’s strictly a tea drinker), every morning, she would brew an inconsumable liquid(?) poison that somehow ended up having the same consistency as molasses – how she managed to do this was truly a scientific anomaly.
Miwa was so damn sweet, though, that no one could ever bring themselves to tell her that her coffee sucked. Instead, everyone would pour themselves a cup, thank her on their way to their offices or cubicles, and immediately dispose of the black sludge (rest in peace to all the indoor plants caught in the crossfire). If you knew where to look, you could find secret stashes of k-cups and mini Keurigs that the employees shared whenever Miwa wasn’t looking.
Your eyes scanned Nitta’s form and you smiled. Over the last five years, she became more than just your editor; she was a trusted friend and confidant, your coach whenever you needed a pep talk, and the one person who could talk you down from the ledge whenever you thought about abandoning writing.
It’s true what they say about pregnant women glowing – she really was beautiful. You were so happy for her – she had always wanted to start a family and she was finally getting what she had always dreamed of.
Plus, the pregnancy hormones did wonders for her hair and her jugs were huge.
“You’re gonna be a great mom, I hope you know that,” you muttered, temporarily forgetting about the previous subject matter. Nitta’s gaze softened and she smiled shyly at you.
“You really think so?”
“Absolutely! Just look at the way you handle my annoying ass,” you smirked. Nitta chuckled and you let out a deep sigh when the reality of your situation sprang back to the forefront of your mind. “I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me and I’m really, really going to miss you… you’re the only one here who hasn’t totally given up on me.”
“I know you haven’t been very happy with your work lately, and I know that everyone here hasn’t exactly been… supportive,” Nitta said. She placed a hand on your bicep and squeezed comfortingly. “But I also know that you’re a great writer. Once inspiration strikes, you’ll pump out another bestseller and show these dumb fucks that you’re not a 26-year-old has-been.”
“Watch your language, it’s bad for the baby,” you teased. Half a second later you frowned. “Did they really call me a has-been?”
“Not the point!” Nitta replied, clearly flustered by your question which, as a result, answered your question. “I actually think this will be really good for you. It never hurts to have a new set of eyes look over your work and maybe help you see things neither of us could see before!”
“I guess you’re right,” you sighed. You grabbed the paper Nitta had handed you earlier and scanned its contents.
-
Nanami Kento
Don’t forget!!! Meeting with him 7/6 at 8:30AM!!!
-
“His transfer is being worked out super quickly but, in the meantime, you’ll be corresponding strictly through email… because time zones,” Nitta explained, eccentrically gesticulating with her right hand. “Wouldn’t want to piss off your new editor, right?”
“The last thing I need is another person here hating me,” you groaned. Nitta balled up a sticky note and chucked it at your forehead.
“No one here hates you, you drama queen. Anyway, I set up an in-person meeting for the two of you so you can meet face to face once he makes it over here. Maybe you can get coffee or something, I don’t know, just promise me you’re not going to be a total downer about all this.”
“I promise,” you said, rolling your eyes. You crumpled up the note and shoved it into the back pocket of your slacks.
“I need you to promise me one more thing,” Nitta said. You gawked at her.
“What more could you want from me?”
“I need you to promise me that the second I pop this baby out, you will show up to the hospital with a giant platter of sushi,” she said. The incredibly serious look on her face caused you to burst into a fit of laughter.
“I’ll also make sure to fill an IV bag with espresso for you,” you joked. Nitta tossed her head back and moaned, the thought of caffeine being pumped directly into her veins sounding absolutely orgasmic.
“Honestly, I’m going to hold you to that.”
***
The next day, Nitta officially began her maternity leave, meaning that, from now on, this Nanami Kento character was your editor.
You tapped your phone to check the date – May 29th – and grabbed yesterday’s pants from the pile of clothing in the corner of your bedroom to rummage through the pockets for the slip of paper with Nanami’s contact information on it.
Per Nitta’s note, it appeared that the two of you would be working together virtually for a little over a month. You weren’t sure if you should be relieved or anxious.
On one hand, having a month to prepare meant that you could get to know him a bit and avoid looking like a nervous, bumbling idiot during your first meeting. On the other hand, you weren’t nearly as charming via email as you were in person, and you wanted to make the absolute best first impression.
You grabbed your laptop and plopped down onto the old sofa in your living room, the springs crying out in protest under the weight of your entire body (you’d replace it eventually). Flipping the lid open, you were met with the blank document that had been haunting you for the last three weeks and you groaned, quickly switching windows so that you could compose an email to your new editor. You wiggled your fingers, warming them up, and began typing.
-
Dear Mr. Nanami
-
Was “dear” too casual?
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Mr. Nanami,
It’s so great to “meet” you, and congratulations in advance on your transfer to the Panda Publishing office in Tokyo! I’m very much looking forward to working with you! :)
-
Okay, no, that’s way too many exclamation points, you didn’t want to come across as an insane person.
-
Mr. Nanami –
It’s great to “meet” you. I look forward to working with you and
-
And what? You were a writer, for Christ’s sake, why was typing up a stupid email so hard? You just needed to stop overthinking things.
-
Mr. Nanami –
I hope this email finds you well. Congratulations in advance on your transfer to Tokyo!
I have attached a document containing the first five chapters of my current project, A Taste of Sugar, for your review.
Looking forward to working with you!
-
You added your signature and made sure you included the attachment before pressing “send”, not bothering to dwell on it any longer lest you spend the next five hours pulling your hair out. You opened the blank word document back up and stared at it, hoping the words would flow into your brain and out of your fingers.
Twenty minutes later, you let out a sigh of defeat as you slammed your laptop shut and grabbed one of the many throw pillows on your couch. Burying your face into the plush, knit fabric, you groaned loudly in frustration before tossing the pillow to the opposite end of the room and jumping off the couch to make your way to the kitchen.
A Taste of Sugar (title subject to change) was the story of a young, ambitious baker who develops an unlikely friendship with one of her regular customers – an overworked businessman who had no sense of purpose or passion.
And that was it. That was all you had. You had literally no idea where to go from there.
It was a romance novel, so obviously they were going to fall in love and have a ton of sex, but you had been stuck on how to move their relationship forward for three weeks and had no idea how you were going to drag it out into a 300 to 400-page novel.
You opened the fridge and pulled out the small white take-out box containing the leftover lo mein from you favorite Chinese restaurant and a beer. Hands full of food, you used your foot to nudge the fridge door shut and dropped your meal onto the small island in your kitchen so you could grab a bottle opener and chopsticks.
The beer let out a satisfying hiss when you popped it open and you took a long, refreshing swig of the golden liquid. Not even bothering to heat up your leftovers, you stuck your chopsticks into the cold noodles and ungraciously shoved them into your mouth as you pondered over the current state of affairs.
Nitta had made you promise to not be a downer so you made a wholehearted attempt to put a positive spin on things.
First, you had just lost your editor and your greatest ally at Panda Publishing.
A new editor could be a good thing… after all, getting a new perspective on your work could only help you, right?
Second, you were totally stuck when trying to write another chapter of A Taste of Sugar and your deadline was rapidly approaching.
You crammed more noodles into your mouth and frowned; you really couldn’t find a way to put a positive spin on that. You’ll skip that one for now and get back to it later.
Third, you had a three-book deal with Panda Publishing so they were stuck with you until you released two more books.
At twenty-two years old, you had published your first novel, Eternal, which was actually a rewrite of an old and extremely graphic Lord of the Rings fanfic you had written when you were nineteen. The original fic gained some notoriety online thanks to your fellow horny Ringers, so, when you had replaced all mentions of Arwen, Aragorn, and a bunch of other Tolkien-specific details with details of your own invention, the book was published. With the power of all your followers online and a stroke of dumb luck, Eternal became a bestseller and garnered sparkling reviews like “I would also give up eternal life for that dick” and “I’m going to show this to my husband so he can learn a thing or two”.
After the incredible success of your debut novel, Panda Publishing was eager to pump more content out of you, and you signed the contract that now legally bound you to them. Which, at the time, seemed like a really good idea on their part.
As much fun as you had writing Eternal, you wanted to switch gears for your next book. In all honesty, you were a huge dork, and your dream was to become the next big name in fantasy. You wanted to be the next J.K. Rowling minus the transphobia, you wanted to create worlds and languages as beautifully as Christopher Paolini, and, of course, you could only aspire to come even remotely close to being like the absolute legend that was John Ronald Reuel Tolkien.
So, for book number two, you decided to be ambitious and wrote a 600-page tome to introduce your made-up world to the real world. Of course, you couldn’t deviate too far from the content you were known for, so you made sure to include lots of elf-banging throughout. Panda Publishing had spent an unholy amount of money promoting the book, expecting it to fly off the shelves even faster than Eternal had.
Turns out that, no matter how much smut there was, no one wanted to have to sift through the other 502 pages of boring worldbuilding.
And, yes, you had counted 98 pages of hot elf-on-elf and human-on-elf action.
Needless to say, the bigwigs at Panda were not pleased when they didn’t see a large enough return on their investment and they had made it perfectly clear that they were not exactly happy with you. Unfortunately for them, their dipshit lawyer made your contract airtight – so airtight, in fact, that he forgot to include an escape clause in case Panda wanted to drop your ass.
You had made a mental note of the name of the law firm so you could actively avoid calling them if and when you needed legal representation.
So, here you were, struggling to pump out another bestseller while trying not to crumble under the immense amount of pressure being put on you.
You couldn’t find a way to positive spin on that either, so you decided to skip it for now and get back to it later.
And, fourth, it had been almost two whole years since the last time you had sex and you really needed a freakin’ outlet right now.
The last person you had had regular sex with was a former coworker who, despite your agreement to keep things casual, had fallen in love with you. We’re talking: showing up on your doorstep unannounced with half a dozen cupcakes with so much sickly sweet frosting, it made you sick when you just looked at them; writing you a love song which he awkwardly performed in front of you and eight of his friends; and calling you at odd hours of the night to leave messages of him yelling at you for not hanging out with him more.
After all that nonsense, you told him you were done with whatever the hell that whole thing was, blocked his number, and coincidentally, you were already in the middle of moving so he wouldn’t even have your new address in case he wanted to mail you printouts of angry emojis or something.
You stuffed your mouth with the last of your lo mein and chased it with the rest of your beer.
Well, if you wanted to put a positive spin on the whole “no sex for two years” thing, you could at least say you had managed to discover a whole bunch of new ways to get yourself off, and that you had become incredibly comfortable with your body.
Sure, you could go on the prowl for some dick, but who even has the energy for all that? Not you, that’s for sure. Plus, you got bored of dating apps super quickly and ended up ghosting 100% of the people you matched with.
But you were okay with celibacy!
Most of the time.
Definitely not right now, though.
You tossed the empty glass bottle of beer into your recycling bin and dropped the empty takeout container into the trash before making your way back to your couch to stare at your blank document some more.
Two minutes passed and you decided to call it for the day. You shoved your laptop under the coffee table so that you didn’t even have to look at it, and turned on the television to pick Howl’s Moving Castle right back up from where you had left off.
***
It was just before 1:00 AM Tuesday morning when the buzz of your phone rattling on your nightstand woke you up. So much for an early night.
Your retinas burned under the glare of the aggressive blue light of your phone screen, and you rushed to lower the brightness and turn on night-mode. Once the spots had left your vision, you noticed that you had one new email in the inbox of your business account – an email from none other than your new editor himself, Nanami Kento.
Your stomach churned with the excitement of hearing from your new editor and the nervousness of seeing what he thought of A Taste of Sugar.
The email lacked a greeting and he had only typed your name at the top in the exact way that you had addressed your email to him – very formal. You read over the message once, his words not properly registering in your brain in your half-asleep daze, and were about to drop your phone back onto the nightstand when your single working braincell fired.
You read the email a second time and suddenly you were wide awake, and if you didn’t shove your face into your pillow in the next .004 seconds, the whole damn neighborhood was about to wake up, too.
-
I hope you enjoyed your weekend. Going forward, I ask that you refrain from reaching out during off-hours, unless the subject matter is of the utmost importance, as I take work/life balance very seriously and believe everyone else should do the same.
I read over the document you sent me and would like to get straight to the point: the dynamic between your two main protagonists is, quite frankly, unrealistic and forced. The characters lack substance and the plot is uninspired.
Attached, you will find a PDF of your manuscript with more notes. Please review them and have the rewritten chapters ready for our in-person meeting so we can discuss further.
Looking forward to working with you.
Nanami Kento
-
Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
Your new editor was an asshole.
Your pillow muffled the sounds of you screaming “WHAT THE FUCK, WHAT THE FUCK” over and over again, and you only stopped your yelling when you had to come up for air.
You flopped back onto the bed, your limbs outstretched and your body ready to be smote by whatever higher being would be kind enough to do so.
The same words bounced around your brain for the next several hours as you struggled to fall back asleep.
Unrealistic and forced.
Lacks substance.
Uninspired.
You were so angry and insulted that you felt like screaming and vomiting and crying all at the same time, but in the end, all you could do was lay in the darkness of your room and stare at the boob-shaped light on your ceiling.
At least you had five weeks to work on those fucking rewrites for fucking Nanami Kento
Nana-mean Kento was more like it.