Guest Author: Excerpt Time!

Posted May 5, 2009 by Casee in Giveaways, Promotions | 0 Comments

Libby Malin is with us today, talking about her new release, Fire Me. To get you as excited about the book as we are, here is Chapter 1 in its’ entirety. Check back later for an excerpt that Libby herself especially loves.

Chapter 1

From Mitch Burnham’s book Use It or Lose It:
Think of your employees as children. You might let them sit behind the wheel, but you’d never give them the keys to the Maserati. Sure, let them pretend if it makes them feel good. But in the end, there’s only one driver and it’s not one of the kids.

Monday, 7:02 a.m.

Sometimes Anne Wyatt wished she could feed parts of her life into a shredder.

She stood staring out at the crystal blue sky from her seventh floor Crystal City, Virginia apartment, fingers warming around a Burnham Group mug, thoughts jammed in first gear as they outstripped her ability to process them all. Her short reddish hair was still damp from the shower and she wore one navy pump but couldn’t find the other.

Should I call my brother to apologize for getting angry with him last night? Should I give up on Lean Cuisine and start eating regular frozen meals? Should I have handed in my resignation earlier when I’d first gotten word I’d landed the California job? Should I start drinking decaf or will I get a headache? Am I spending too much time with Rob when I know the relationship’s not going anywhere? Should I forget about finding the other shoe and just change my outfit entirely?

Her thoughts danced and fluttered like the blossoms outside her window, eventually landing gently on the argument with her brother. Her brother was in the military, and headed out for deployment overseas.

Her cat meowed gently from the short hall to the bedroom.

“Maisie, don’t you think I should be able to suppress minor irritations at a time like this?” she asked without turning to look at her. She took the cat’s silence as a yes.

But no, no, she had to jump in with verbal fists flying and rhetorical arrows zinging. She came from a family of fighters, after all. Her father had been a full-bird colonel and his father a general. Her mother had been an Army nurse.

Anne had not followed their path but had spent most of her young adulthood carving out a road that led in the opposite direction, away from rigidity and structure toward freedom and flexibility. She’d pursued a degree in the arts.

But she was Corporate Girl now, having forsaken flowing skirts, velvety jackets, and bangly earrings. Sometimes she wondered if her previous life had been a dream, or if she’d really wanted that life, or merely wanted to rebel or…or what?

It didn’t matter anyway. She might be a responsible contributor to society now but in her brother’s eyes, she would always be…Irresponsible Anne. She wished she was.

I should call Jack and smooth things over, but that’s tantamount to surrender. Surely he’d lose what little respect he has for me if he senses I’m waving the white flag.

Noticing a smudge on the flat pane of glass, she quickly retrieved a bottle of window cleaner and square of paper towel. Here, at least, was a problem she could quickly solve. She’d become fastidious about her apartment lately, since she was going to need to sublet it. As she rubbed the glass, she admired the lush green landscape of spring, the earth so thick with new growth it looked like you could scoop it up with a spoon. She stepped back to admire her work just as a flash of deep blue broke away from the paler blue sky.

Bluebird of happiness—an omen! She smiled. What message do you have for me?

Bump! Splat! Bluebird of happiness ran into transparently clean window.
Omygod. She dropped the window cleaner as if it were a smoking gun.

Get out of here, Anne, before you slay any more harbingers of spring. She hustled to her bedroom, searching for that other shoe and rehearsing her speech.

“I’m resigning, Mister Burnham, because…”

Kenneth Wright Montgomery III growled to himself as he threw drawings and pencils into a large leather portfolio. Simple enough to get going early, Ken. Just means waking up when the alarm goes off the first time.

Let’s go, man!

As he closed the portfolio, a corner of heavy paper stopped him. Okay, no go. He pulled out a sketch to right it, but spent a few seconds smiling at the beginnings of a pencil drawing of his co-worker, Anne Wyatt. If he could just find the time, he’d capture those big eyes perfectly…

He shook his head, repositioning the drawing before zipping up the bag.

He’d be lucky if he had time to think, let alone sketch at the office today. The workload was preposterously heavy and his boss a mercurial maniac who changed his mind about graphic designs as often as Britney changed hairstyles. But it paid extremely well and that was all he was interested in right now.

Ken was all about the “right now” right now. Let’s go, let’s go!

He stepped forward, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror by the door. His thick hair dampened his blue Oxford shirt. His dark hair wouldn’t take so long to dry, of course, if he’d cut it. Not likely. Then he’d really look like his father. He straightened his blue and gold tie and reached for the doorknob. And stopped cold, remembering.

Okay, no go.

Today was “Pizzazz Day” at the Burnham Group. Staff members had been exhorted to wear something unique, crazy, fun, even weird. A blue blazer, tan Dockers, and varsity-striped tie didn’t exactly shout: “Here stands a creative man.”

He growled again and rushed back into his bedroom, screeching hangers on a desperate hunt for The Wild Outfit. Shirts, suits, blazers, neatly pressed pants—no go, no go, no go, dammit!

Finally, his gaze lit on a bright lime green tie with Santa design. Okay, that would have to do, something that expressed his “inner child.” He yanked off the old and threw on the new.

Let’s go, let’s go, let’s freakin’ go!

But as he hurried to the foyer of his Silver Spring, Maryland one-bedroom, his toe caught on a stray piece of parquet tile. No. Go! He’d have to call the landlord to get that fixed. Damned if he’d lose his security deposit. Every extra bit of cash he made now was going toward The Escape Plan. Escape Corporate World. Escape his Father’s Clutches. Escape…oh hell, other stuff he couldn’t think of now.

He’d come to the conclusion, after working for his father’s financial services business in Baltimore for two years, then for an arts consortium in DC for another five, and now for the Burnham Group for a scant six months, that he had to approach life the same way he approached painting and drawing. He couldn’t just stare at the canvas waiting and imagining. He had to make the first stroke and let it both limit and free him at the same time. He had to make choices.

Okay, here was a choice—he’d call the landlord later. Let’s get going!

He grabbed his portfolio, opened the door and raced to the elevator, stepping on just before the doors glided close. A business-suited woman nodded a quick hello.
“Morning,” he said, leaning his portfolio against the wall while he finished knotting his tie. Triggered by the motion, the tie burst into cheerful electronic song. They zoomed to the lobby to the tune of “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.”