Read Online Confessions of an Ex-Girlfriend by Lynda Curnyn - Free Book Online Page B

editor with four years’ experience under my belt and the most seniority, I was the most likely candidate to apply. So Marcy had come on a verification mission. I decided not to give her the satisfaction.
    â€œSandra quit?” I began, leaning back in my chair. “That’s wild.” I paused, pondering this for a moment to increase the dramatic tension. “Huh. And I thought she’d be a lifer. What has she been here, five, six years?”
    â€œSeven and a half, ” Marcy said, glee in her voice at the scandal created by such a long-term employee’s leaving. “I heard that she and Patricia had it out.”
    Now I knew she was embellishing. Our editor-in-chief was soft-spoken, poised, and probably the least likely person to start a brawl at Bridal Best, the magazine that was her life’s blood. Which made me wonder about this battle she’d allegedly had with Sandra, who wasn’t exactly a brute, though she had been rumored to have a temper. “Huh. That’s hard to imagine.”
    â€œYeah, well, you know Sandra. She can be a bitch when things aren’t going her way. And they haven’t been, ever since her husband left her.”
    â€œHer husband left her?” I asked, suddenly sucked in, in spite of myself.
    Marcy rolled her eyes behind her square frames. “That was six months ago. God, Emma, where have you been? ”
    I snapped my gaping mouth shut. “Well, usually I’m too busy with work to pay attention to the gossip,” I replied, deciding now was probably the perfect time to put Marcy in her place.
    Marcy swallowed hard and began backpedaling. “Yes, you do work a lot. I’ve even seen you here late a few times,” she said, changing tactics when she realized ridicule wasn’t going to get her anywhere with me.
    â€œYeah, well. Once in a while. When I’m on a deadline,” I replied, embarrassed that someone might think me one of The Devoted, some of whom had given up their lives, their dreams and, apparently, in the case of Sandra, their husbands, for the sake of getting out a monthly magazine on how to make happily-ever-after a reality.
    â€œNo, you work hard,” she protested, gazing at me steadily and making me notice for the first time that her eyes were actually gray behind those thick black cakes of liner. “I read your piece ‘The Cinderella Syndrome: Finding the Perfect Wedding Day Shoe.’ It was amazing.”
    Now she had me. “Ah, well, thanks. I kinda liked working on that piece.”
    â€œI just loved the way you captured the anxiety of finding a shoe that’s both comfortable and captivating. And the fairy-tale angle was very clever. What was that line you opened with?”
    Leaning back in my chair with something close to an embarrassing pride curling my lip, I quoted, “‘Now that you’ve found a Prince Charming who’s your perfect fit, it’s time to get serious about the shoe you step into to take that long—and potentially painful—walk down the aisle.’”
    â€œYes, yes!” Marcy said, sitting up higher in her chair. “That was awesome. ”
    â€œThanks, Marcy. Gosh, I hadn’t even realized you read the magazine.”
    â€œAre you kidding?” Marcy leaned back in her chair once more. “You’re good, Emma. Really good. How long have you been here now? Three and a half years?”
    â€œFour years and two months next week.”
    â€œWow.” She beamed at me, then her eyes narrowed speculatively. “You know, you’d be a shoo-in for the senior features position.”
    â€œThat’s nice of you to say, but—”
    â€œI mean, you’ve got the most seniority of all the contributing editors.”
    â€œI know, but that doesn’t mean—”
    â€œAnd everybody knows you’re the best writer we have on the staff,” she finished, throwing in the pièce de