“Please, dear God, talk to her before you decide that,” Evelyn said. “I know you’re not used to feelings and have no idea what you’re doing, but don’t make the decision for her.”
Jo promised nothing.
—
The photographer came toJo’s office. Best to treat it as a business deal. Jo finished a meeting with Chantal to find the man beside Emma’s desk, grinning cheek to cheek.
“Please, come in,” she said with more grimace than smile.
He greeted Chantal and told Emma to have a good day and Jo wanted to punch him.
She got his signature and showed him the envelope full of cash, then watched him delete the photos before handing it over.
He grinned. “Pleasure doing business with you.”
Jo absolutely wanted to punch him.
He shouldn’t have been at Emma’s apartment. The rumors had ended months ago. No one should have suspected anything enough to stake the place out. Hehadto be tipped off. Chantal and Emma were the only two Jo was aware of who knew enough specifics of their trip to leak it. Emma must have told someone. Jo couldn’t stomach the thought of anything else. She and Chantal had worked together for more than a decade.
There was cake at lunch to celebrate both Emma’s birthday and the end of the year. Jo stood in the corner and watched. She watched everyone who wished Emma a happy birthday, analyzed their facial expressions, their body language. Chantal was subdued, Tate was gregarious. Nothing unusual. Jo’s heart thundered at the smile on Emma’s face. Nothing unusual.
Toward the end of the break, Chantal tipped her head at Jo, and Jo followed her out of the lunch area. She expected aconversation about the show, didn’t expect how low Chantal kept her voice.
“It’s not my business,” she said, “but I saw an exchange between the man in your office earlier today and a PA.”
Jo let out a harsh breath. “With me,” she said, and quickly led Chantal to her office, closing the door behind them. “What kind of exchange?”
“Manila envelope.”
Jo all but collapsed onto her couch, rubbing a hand over her face.
“This leak is so bad, I thought it might be you,” she admitted.
“That’d be a cold day in hell,” Chantal said.
Jo knew. “Which PA?”
—
Every year Jo gaveeveryone on set holiday cards. They were nondenominational and included a Visa gift card and a generic thank-you. When Emma had been in props, she’d gotten the usualThank you for your hard workwith the big swoosh of Jo’s autograph. Her first year as an assistant, Jo wrote something about how quickly and easily Emma picked up her new job. She signed itboss, and Emma’s gift card was twice the amount of everyone else’s.
Jo hadn’t written hers this year yet.
She had written the rest of the cast and crew’s letters weeks ago, but kept Emma’s set aside. It was white with blue sparkling snowflakes on the front. Intra-office mail was delivering the letters today. Emma’s was still on Jo’s desk. Jo opened it, tried not to think too hard.
Emma, you don’t just make my job easier, you make my life better. I am so grateful to have you in it.
She should have thought harder. Should have made it generic. She imagined Emma’s face if she had just writtenthanks, and knew every option she had was a bad one.
She held the pen just above the card for a moment, hesitating on her signature.Jo. NotJo Jones, the looping autograph most people got. JustJo, small and messy, with a blob of ink at the start of theJ.
Emma had meetings all afternoon, coordinating to ensure the set was shut down correctly. Jo waited until it was almost the end of the day before dropping the card on Emma’s desk while she was away. She retreated into her office and closed the door.
Five minutes later, her door flew open. Emma marched in, swung the door shut behind her, catching it right before it slammed and closing it more gently.
She rounded on Jo, her eyes blazing.
“You don’t get to do this,” she said. “You don’t get to not evenlookat me all day and then dropthison my desk when I’m away from it.” She waved the opened envelope containing her holiday card. “I never took you for a coward, Jo.”