“You can go home, Emma,” Jo said. “Have a good weekend.”
Emma normally made sure Jo was going home, too, before sheleft. She normally didn’t leave Jo at the office alone without a fight. Today, she nodded.
“Good night, Ms. Jones,” she said, and left.
—
There were plenty ofassholes in Hollywood. The assholes walked all over their employees. You worked for them because you had to, not because they were good bosses. Their recommendation letters were written by assistants because they didn’t know their employees well enough to write anything themselves.
Jo could’ve been one of those assholes if she wanted to. She had enough money, enough power. She got called a bitch simply because of her standards, but being an asshole wasn’t a reputation she had. Her employees liked her—liked her enough to tell a reporter she’d be amazing writing Agent Silver. There was a leak now, yes, but there were also people like Chantal who had been with Jo since beforeInnocents. They were loyal, because Jo had never been an asshole.
She felt like one now, though. The longer Emma was mad at her, the worse a job Jo did at convincing herself that she didn’t need to apologize. Yes, Avery should have told Emma about Jo coming to the baseball games, but that didn’t absolve Jo of the responsibility. Yes, Jo was Emma’s boss, but she didn’t have to be an asshole. Emma had been helping her with Agent Silver—with her presence and support, sure, but also by actually reading the script. That wasn’t in her job description, but she did it. Why, then, was Jo acting like their relationship was nothing more than professional? It wasn’t intimate like the tabloids claimed, but being friends with Emma didn’t give the rumors merit.
Jo had hurt Emma. She had been so focused on how telling herseemed hard and confusing that she gave no regard to how Emma might feel about the situation. That was worth apologizing for. She considered sending a text Friday evening, barely more than twenty-four hours after the baseball game, but decided Emma deserved the apology to be delivered in person.
Jo continued fretting right up until she met Sam for dinner Saturday night. He met her in front of the restaurant, wrapping her up in a hug that made her feel cherished. He towered over her—she remembered when he’d hit his growth spurt while they were filmingThe Johnson Dynasty, how awkward and gangly he was back then. Almost thirty years later, he had more than grown into it. His hair was still brassy blond, no sign of gray. Just seeing him made Jo feel better than she had for days.
He had chosen a restaurant that specialized in molecular gastronomy. It was supposed to be all the rage. Jo couldn’t help but make fun of it.
“Cotton candy foie gras?” She snorted a laugh. “Sam, were you always this pretentious?”
“We’re ordering that now,” he said. “And you’re going to like it.”
She did end up liking it, though she absolutely refused to admit it.
At the coffee and chocolate bar they went to after dinner, Sam crowded into the same side of the booth she was in. He poked her in the side like he did when he wanted something from her when they were kids.
“So tell me about Agent Silver,” he said. “How’s the script thus far?”
“You know if I told you anything, the studio would have me shot on the spot,” she said.
“C’mon,” he whined. “Just one little thing.”
She mimed locking her lips and throwing away the key. Spoilers were on lockdown for something as big as Agent Silver.
But that hadn’t stopped her when Emma asked to help. Emma didn’t just know some of what happened, she’d read it, right there in the script.
Sam hadn’t mentioned Emma all evening. Jo didn’t know whether he was being a gentleman or he simply didn’t put any stock in the rumors and thus didn’t feel a need to bring them up. The thought of Emma made Jo’s chest clench. What would she do if Jo asked her to take a look at the script now? Was she so hurt that she’d refuse? Jo picked at her fingernails.
Sam poked her in the side again, pulling her out of her thoughts. “I’m looking forward to all the assholes who thought you couldn’t do it eating their words when you blow this thing out of the water.”
Jo laughed at the sudden compliment. She tried not to think about who else believed in her so strongly.
11
EMMA
When Emma’s alarm went off on Sunday, she snoozed it and lay staring at the ceiling until the alarm went off again. She shoved the covers down and dragged herself out of bed.
She shivered against the chill in her apartment as she put a protein waffle in her toaster. She’d blasted the AC the past few days, keeping it cold so she could sleep with heavy blankets and not sweat through her sheets. The highs were near ninety, but Emma wanted to burrow into her mattress. She’d cleaned her apartment twice, and she’d clean it again if it weren’t already spotless by this point. She used a plate for her waffle and left it on her counter just so she’d have something to tidy when she got home. The boxers and tank top she wore to sleep ended up in a pile on her bedroom floor.
She was up early enough that when she headed to Griffith Park this time, it was neither too busy nor too hot. The tourists weren’t out yet and the sun wasn’t too high in the sky.
Jo had apologized for snapping at her. That was nice, Emma guessed. But it was like she didn’t even realize she’d doneanything else wrong. Who cared that she’d been lying to Emma for months? Emma had admitted that Jo was one of her favorite people, but Emma was just her assistant, didn’t matter enough for Jo to consider her feelings.
Emma felt stupid, being stuck on this. But she’d loved her job for so long, loved going to work, loved working for Jo. All of that left a bad taste in her mouth now. Emma deserved better. She deserved to be treated better. Even if Jo was just her boss, she still should have been honest with Emma.
Emma doubled the length of her run this morning. She finished the observatory trail, up and back down, her calves burning, and then kept going. This section was flatter, letting her catch her breath even while she kept pace. The slap of her feet against the ground was steadier here. Consistent. Like a mantra.