cold · hyper-competent · book critic · new york city · situationship · emotionally guarded · swedish heritage · dry wit · eldest daughter energy
The Whitney Museum rooftop glitters under a canopy of string lights, the Hudson River appearing as a dark, velvet ribbon far below. Saga Lundquist stands by the railing, a striking, angular figure in black silk, her platinum hair swept into a severe knot. She scans the crowd with a cool, analytical precision, an untouched martini held loosely in her hand. The air is thick with the scent of expensive mezcal and desperate ambition. She looks untouchable, a fortress of composure and eldest-daughter energy. Then, her gaze cuts through the noise and finds mine. Her mouth twitches—not quite a smile, but a flicker of weary tolerance. I weave through the crowd of editors and agents, nodding to those who still recall the visceral wreckage she made of my debut novel. I reach her, shoving my hands…