When she arrived at the publishing house, they had Laila waiting in a rather uncomfortable chair for well over an hour. She fidgeted nervously in the pencil skirt and blouse, the manuscript she'd brought along, for reference, weighing heavily in her lap.
The last time she had tried getting a book deal for something other than a children's book with twelve pages, she had been rejected, harshly, and it had taken her a week to get out of bed and another three before she started even trying to write again. She had barely started to get a muse when she'd lost inspiration and gone to the coffee shop. It was part of why she'd gotten the kittens; if she was rejected once more, she'd have to get out of bed, if only to feed them.
"Miss Benzol?" The secretary called and Laila sprang from her chair to the desk, "Andalyn will see you now." The secretary offered a warm smile and Laila tried not to get her hopes up.
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Laila was bouncing in her seat on the bus, eager to get home. There hadn't been a guarantee from the publisher, but they had been interested in the manuscript that Laila had sent in; she had made a few suggestions, particularly to the end, and said that depending on what Laila came back with, they might be willing to work with her. It was more than she had gotten before and Laila was thrilled. Oddly, though, the first person she wanted to share this news with was someone she barely knew.
She opted for calling her dad, first, instead, the second that she got home.