Katherine is outright fuming now. She glares at her father, tucked away behind his elaborate wooden desk, which is out of place in the otherwise contemporary building of Pulitzer Publishing. He's giving her that look again, the one he gives her when it's apparent he's not seeing her as anything more than the child she no longer is.

She curls her hand in to a fist at her side, fighting the urge to slam it down on her father's desk. The action would gain her no more than a hurt hand, so she uncurls it and pulls the manuscript out of her bag instead, slamming it down on her father's desk.

"This is what I want to publish, father. My novel. My good novel, which you would know if you would actually look at it," she spits out, all attempts at composure thrown out the window.

Her father doesn't even glance at the thick stick of bound paper that had just been thrown on to his desk, instead clasping his hands in his lap and crossing one leg over the other. He looks absolutely bored and it's just making Katherine more furious.

"Kitty-" he begins.

"Don't call me that. I'm not five anymore. I'm twenty and I just fast-tracked my way to an English degree-" she argues.

"It's not fast-tracking if you start a year early and still take three years to get your degree. Anyone with a brain could have done it," her father coolly rejects.

Katherine groans in exasperation. Why she even bothers to try and impress her father anymore is beyond her. She should know better than to expect anything else from him by now.

"Regardless, I am an adult now. And it's Katherine Plumber, not-"

"Not Katherine Pulitzer. Yes, I understood you the first time you made that change and were under some delusional belief that it would remove any whispers of nepotism if I magically decided to publish your book. As if everyone in this office, or even this industry, didn't already know that you are my daughter," her father coolly continues.

"There won't be any claims of nepotism if my book's good and well-received and-" Katherine halts herself before she can continue rambling. Rambling will just earn her more scorn from her father and she's already had enough of it today.

"And that's why I'm giving you this chance to prove yourself. The children's book market is one of the most competitive we've got. If you can write something that is received well there, then I will consider publishing your novel. And if it isn't well received, well, then the children's book market is oversaturated and no one will notice the failure. I'm doing you a favor; giving you a good chance to get your feet wet without hindering your chances at a future in this industry."

Katherine huffs, unimpressed by her father's self-assumed generosity, "Only you won't define what you mean by successful. How many does it need to sell? How much profit does it have to make? What do I have to do to have you consider it a success?"

Her father smiles and Katherine is tempted to roll her eyes, "You see, I knew you would warm up to the idea eventually." He rubs at his chin while dramatically looking up at the ceiling, "and you do have a point." He returns his gaze to her and his hands to their position in his lap. "Let's say one award or listed on one of the major bestsellers lists."

Katherine feels her eyes widen in shock and point at her father across his desk as she refutes, "You just said yourself how competitive the children's book market was. That-that will be nearly impossible."

"Well then you better make sure it's good," her father rebuttals as he turns back to his large desktop computer, clearly indicating he is done with their conversation.

Katherine wants to scream in frustration as she snatches her manuscript off her father's desk and storms out of his office, letting the door slam behind her. Her father is more concerned with his company's reputation than he is with her. Typical. She turns her gaze to the floor in an attempt to hide her eyes. She knows they are glistening; threatening to drip tears down her cheeks. She won't cry. She won't let him win.

It's not until she slams in to something – no, someone, that she jerks her gaze up from the floor. She jumps back from the person and pays him just enough attention to meet his eyes, stutter out an apology and continue on her way down the hall towards the front waiting area where she knows Darcy is waiting for her.

Her friend winces as she approaches, "Not good, huh?"

Katherine just grabs his hand and continues bee lining out of the high-rise. She wants fresh air; to be somewhere not under the control of her father.

"No. Not at all," she grumbles as she finally releases her friend's hand.

They've made it to a small outdoor eating area filled with assorted food trucks and Katherine hastily slumps down in a chair by the first open table she sees. She waits for Darcy to settle himself on the other side of the small metal table before continuing her rant.

"He wants me to write a children's book. A children's book!" She repeats for emphasis as she runs her hands through her hair. "Says if I can prove myself in that market he'll consider publishing my novel."

Darcy's fiddling with his phone on the table, picking it up a centimeter or so and letting it fall back down with a small rattling sound. "At least he didn't say no outright?" He questionably asks, his voice conveying his uncertainty.

Katherine slumps back in the chair and crosses her arms in reluctant acceptance. "I guess, but it's the hardest market there is, even said so himself, and he's requiring an award or a spot on a bestsellers list as proof that it is successful."

Darcy raises an eyebrow at her and purposefully suggests, "Well. Make sure you have a good illustrator then. Isn't something like half of the awards for children's books aimed at their art?"

Katherine perks up a little as she jumps on to her friend's train of thought, "He didn't specify what type of award it had to win. Oh my gosh Darcy, thank you so much!"

She jumps up and around the table to hug her friend before pulling her phone out of her pocket.

Darcy smiles as he asks, "Who are you calling?"

"Pffffft. No one. I'm texting my father's assistant asking her to send me the illustrator's portfolios they have on hand."

Darcy raises an eyebrow at her as she glances over the edge of her phone at him, "Isn't she-"

Katherine nods and hums, "The crazy cat lady? Yep. But my father literally just keeps her around to keep people out of his office, so she's the person most likely to be able to get me the portfolios the fastest."

Darcy nods as Katherine hastily finishes up the last couple words of the text. "Well, I'm glad you're at least a little excited about the project now." He pulls a water bottle out of his knapsack and take a sip. "You have any idea what you are going to even write about?"

Katherine hesitates for a moment before responding, "I don't know. Something related to current events or something. Those books always have a better chance of getting attention."

Darcy tucks his water bottle away in his bag and stands from his chair, "Like that one about the zoo penguins?"

Katherine nods, starting to feel the beginnings of excitement bubble in her stomach, "Exactly."

Darcy taps his phone to view the time before turning back to her and saying, "Well I have to get to class. Not all of us can graduate early." He teases as he gently bumps in to her. He turns around and starts shuffling backwards as he continues with a slightly raised voice, "Text me if you need me!"

"Bye Darcy!" Katherine calls as she gathers her own bag and starts heading back towards her father's office. She's lucky she got as much time with her friend as she did. Darcy in his first year at med school and has been absolutely drowning in all the work. She'd felt pretty bad asking him to come with her this afternoon and taking some of his time, but he said he had the time and missed spending time with her and needed a break. She hopes she didn't set him back on anything.

She again passes by her father's building, unimpressed at the "Pulitzer Publishing" sign emblazoned above the front door with a couple tourists trying to take selfies with it in the background. She'd prefer to avoid the building entirely until she has the beginnings of an amazing children's book in hand, but she has to pass by in order to get to her apartment. She phases out a little as she lets her mind run wild with potential story ideas. The words will come later. Right now, she just needs an idea, a character, an anything to get her running.

She's drawn out of her thoughts by a voice calling out, and the sound of feet pounding against the pavement. She ignores it, sure it is not meant for her. New York is filled with people rushing about, having dramatic reunions right out of the movies, so it is not exactly an unusual occurrence. She's gotten pretty practiced at tuning it all out.

The pounding footsteps come to a halt beside her and a man's voice says, "Hey miss, I didn't get a chance ta ask you earlier, but are you okay? You looked pretty upset when we ran in to each other earlier."

Katherine turns to look at the boy now that it is evident he is speaking to her. She doesn't recognize him, but takes from what he said that he's the one she'd bumped in to earlier. "Oh, yes, I'm fine. Thank you for asking," she replies, trying to be polite. "I should be the one apologizing anyways since I'm fairly sure I'm the one who ran in to you."

The boy pulls one of his hands out of its pocket and rubs at the back of his neck as he looks to the sky, impishly smirking. "Nah, I should a been looking out better. I was too focused on not dropping anything that I wasn't paying attention to where I was goin'."

Katherine comes to a stop outside her apartment building and the boy stops with her. She looks at him, waiting to see if there was some reason for him following her. He just stands there looking at her, as if he expects her to say something.

He doesn't say anything after another minute, so she breaks the awkward silence with, "Well, this is me."

His eyes widen a little bit and blush colors his cheeks before he takes a step back from her and smiles out, "Well, I just wanted to say sorry. Have a good rest of your day."

Katherine watches as he turns and continues walking in the direction they had been headed, thoroughly perplexed by the odd encounter. He starts scuffing his feet on the ground and she swears the whistling she hears is coming from him, but he turns the corner before she can confirm the idea.

Her phone dings from its place in her purse and she thrusts her hand inside to dig it out. When she finally retrieves the thing from the depths of her bag, she unlocks it to find an email from Hannah, with a link to a dropbox called "illustrator portfolios".

Katherine smiles and mindlessly enters her building, heading for the elevator as she stuffs her phone in her pocket. She'd known her father's assistant would be quick, but she wasn't expecting her to be that quick. She makes a mental note to bring along some cookies or extra coffee next time she stops by her father's offices. Not coffee. Tea. Hannah prefers tea. The fruitier the better, if she remember correctly.

She bounces on the balls of her feet as she waits for the elevator to deliver her to her floor. Excited adrenaline is coursing through her and she wants nothing more than to sit down at her laptop in her giant beanbag chair and look through the dropbox Hannah just shared with her. There's no point trying to look at it on her phone. She's clumsy enough with technology as it is; she's liable to accidentally delete something if she tries to view any of the files on her phone. On top of that, the phone's screen is just too small for her to get a true idea of what she is even looking at.

The sooner she finds an illustrator, the sooner she can get the book published and be on her way to getting her novel published. She ignores the nagging at the back of her mind that she doesn't even have a story or characters or anything mapped out for this children's book yet. That will come with time, she's sure it will. The art is always what takes the longest anyways so she's just getting a head start. That's all. She'll brainstorm some ideas once she's contacted an artist.

The elevator dings to signal she's reached her floor, floor ten, and she steps through the doors before they've even finished opening completely. It's a quick walk to the end of the hall where her apartment door hides. She reaches for the handle to open the door before remembering that, duh, she needs her key to unlock the thing first. Katherine once again digs around in the depths of her bag, this time looking for her keys. She pulls them out by the keychain, a familiar old metal piece from a spring break trip to Mexico a couple years ago, before fumbling the right key in to her door and pushing her way inside.

She hastily drops her things on the green chair by the door and heads straight for her room. If she's going to spend a couple hours looking through portfolios, then she's going to be comfy. She pulls out her favorite, albeit a bit worn, sweatpants and the nearest baggy shirt and quickly changes in to them before snagging her computer off her desk and heading for her beanbag chair by the window. She turns around and dramatically falls in to the comfy chair, wiggling around a bit to get the stuffing settled just right before finally setting her laptop on her lap and opening it.

It's overwhelming. That's her gut reaction at the hundreds of folders inside the dropbox and it's not the gut reaction she'd been hoping for. She had been hoping one artist's style would stand out and immediately draw her in and she'd be sending them an email by dinner.

One hour passes.

Two.

Three.

It's well past dinner time when she finally finishes swiping through the last portfolio and slams her laptop shut, ignoring its incessant reminders that it really wants to be charged. She stares across the room, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness and the non-screen environment.

She stands and absentmindedly throws a frozen dinner in the microwave; not even bothering to check the label and see what frozen dinner she's cooking.

Some of the artists had been easy to count out. While obviously talented, their work was not going to grab attention like she needed it to. Other artists had simply too much of a classical or generic style. She needs something fresh.

Her attention is drawn again when the microwave beeps. She tiredly meanders over and pulls out her dinner, some sort of pasta apparently, and sets it on the counter before the plastic can scald her hand. She absentmindedly digs around in her silverware drawer in search of a fork.

One artist keeps coming back to the forefront of her mind, intruding on her thoughts. His work had been excellent, modern, unique. Exactly what she needs. He'd included several character studies which ranged from people to animals to anthropomorphic household objects with ranges of emotions. His characters felt like living beings and they didn't even have a story to go with them, but something about the way he showed all ranges of life and emotion in his character studies had drawn her in. His backgrounds weren't overly detailed, but it seemed to be on purpose. He was letting the characters shine, as she figured they should.

She takes a bite of her pasta, which is half cold half burning hot, and walks back over to pull her laptop off the beanbag chair. She needs to look at his portfolio again.

She opens her laptop to find a dark screen, her reflection blankly staring back at her. She jams her fingers at some of the buttons, hoping to bring it back to life, before reluctantly accepting she needs to go and grab it's charger from her room and plug it in. She begrudgingly does just that and impatiently waits for the screen to light back up.

She pulls up his portfolio and idly flips through the pages as she mindlessly eats her pasta, not even really tasting it. On second review, she likes his art even more. There's a couple pictures of paintings he's done included at the end that she'd somehow missed on her initial scan. They're …wow. She wonders briefly why he's not focusing on putting on a show and just counts herself lucky. The date on his portfolio even says it was just scanned in to the drpobox today. Extra lucky.

She resolves to ignore her instinct to wait and mull over the decision for a couple of days and instead email the artist now. She wants to get him before someone else does. Her book needs him.

Quickly scanning the contact info, she quickly copies out his email address and pastes it in to a blank email, before beginning to type:

Dear Mr. Kelly,

…

.

.

Thank you for reading! As always, reviews are treasured!