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door to Jenks & Hall Publishing. “Are you at Keens?” she asked.
    â€œHow could you know that over the phone?”
    She smiled. “Tell Randall I said hello.”
    Joseph relayed her message to his dinner companion. As if from underwater, Leigh could hear the voice of her boss answering back, could barely make out her friend and mentor saying, “Tell Leigh to hurry up and come home already. All your moping is making me bored, Joseph, honestly.”
    Leigh smiled. “I miss you, too, Randy,” she said. She didn’t tell him she was home. To Randall Jenks, one of the most brilliant minds in publishing, anything west of Manhattan might as well have been the moon. The thought of his protégée, Leigh, growing up on the Colorado, swimming naked in Lake Lyndon Johnson, riding horses on hot afternoons, would have filled him with horror. All he knew was that Leigh had graduated from Harvard, and that was enough for him.
    It was business she turned to for comfort now. “Are you talking about the fall list?” she asked. Another voice at the table: deeper, a rich baritone with a musical Scottish lilt. “Is that Marty?” Martin Hall was Randall’s partner. The two of them had forged the most prestigious boutique publishing house in New York once upon a time, but Marty had been in ill health recently. He rarely came to the office anymore, much less went out for lunch. She felt a sudden cold fear spread through her belly. Were they selling the business? Shutting everything down now because of Marty’s cancer? There’d been some talk about it around the office, but nothing she’d taken seriously, not until now. “What’s going on?” she asked, nearly breathless. “Joseph, I can hear Marty there. What’s happening?”
    â€œWe were halfway into our salads when they sprang it on me.”
    â€œPlease tell me you’re talking about a promotion.”
    â€œBetter. Leigh, they want to make me a full partner. Name above the door and everything.”
    A partner. Well, there was probably no better person in New York than Joseph Middlebury to turn to if the old guard was looking to make a change. He had a terrific track record, even when the market was bad. Also he had his own money, family money, to invest in the company. It made sense that they’d make him a partner, a man who’d overseen the company’s transition to e-books, who’d pioneered book-club chats all over the country, who’d seen what Internet sales had to offer before anyone else. Randall and Marty weren’t going to shutdown the company, they were going to step back and let the next generation take over. “That’s amazing. I’m so proud of you. Jenks, Hall, and Middlebury. I like the way that sounds.”
    â€œThat’s not all, Leigh. We’re talking about giving you your own imprint.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œLeigh Merrill Books. For real.”
    She sat unsteadily on the bed, feeling a strange floating sensation, as if she were being picked up and carried on a huge wave, higher and higher, cresting above her head, the dark blue water below. Her own imprint, at twenty-nine years old. It was more than she ever dared to imagine. “That’s—I don’t even know what to say. Thank you.”
    â€œI told him you’d be thrilled. It shows a real commitment to you, Leigh. To keeping you at the company.” She could almost hear what he wasn’t saying: And to keep you near me.
    â€œI am. I’m thrilled. I’m a bit flabbergasted, too. I mean, that’s a lot of pressure. I was figuring in ten years, maybe . . .”
    â€œIt’s a great opportunity, Leigh. Your own imprint. You can shape the whole literary discussion in this country.”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œDevelop your own list, your own authors. It’s every editor’s dream.”
    â€œYes,” she said, switching the phone to her