Sentimental Value

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I barged into Stan’s office, pushing off Ian and Scott as they tried to hold me back. As I slammed the door behind me, I heard muffled shouts of “Stan, watch out!” coming from the two of them.

Stan looked up. He was sitting at his desk, a pile of slush perched precariously on top, all the way up to his chin. He blinked, rubbed his head, tugged at his beard, and smiled. His eyes twinkled.

“Michael!” Stan got up, allowing the manuscripts to fall over and onto the floor; it turned out that his chin had been holding them in place. He walked over to me and shook my hand warmly. “It’s a pleasure to see you. Glad you finally made that first sale, eh? Wish I could’ve been there when you heard the news. I’ve always wanted to see the joy in my writers’ faces when they find out.”

I stared at him for a second, goggle-eyed. Of course, he didn’t realize yet that the jig was up. “Knock it off, Stan!” I exclaimed. “I know as well as you do that you practically were there.”

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