Jo sent Emma on fifteen different errands at eleven and told her she could stop for lunch while she was out.
“Should I grab you lunch, too, boss?”
“No, I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Honestly, Jo was nauseated at the thought of her father visiting, and annoyed at herself for it. She was forty-one years old and a multimillionaire, and she got nervous at the thought of her father disapproving. Worse still, she already knew he disapproved, had known that since she was a kid. She should’ve been over it by now. Instead, her stomach roiled too much for her to eat anything. She waited in her office, one foot tapping, unable to get any work done.
Eventually, her father appeared in her open door, ramrod posture and stern expression. He knocked on the doorjamb as though she hadn’t noticed him. Jo took a breath and affected something approximating a smile, standing to greet her dad.
“Father,” she said.
“Josephine.”
She didn’t cringe at her full name. She offered her cheek for him to kiss. It was that or a handshake—her father did not hug. She left her office door open. There weren’t many people around, but her father didn’t know that. Maybe it would keep him from making a scene.
It did, at first. He asked after her—he didn’t seem particularly interested, but the fact that he asked at all was something, she supposed. He talked about Vincent, proudly, as usual. Jo was fine with that. When she could think rationally about it, she really didn’t mind disappointing her father.
His good behavior only lasted about ten minutes. Then: “The debacle with Barry Davis,” he said. He shook his head. “You could have handled that better.”
“I’m handling it just fine,” Jo said. “And I’m not discussing it with you.”
Her father’s lips pursed. He glanced at the door, then looked back at Jo. “I’m glad you’ve gotten rid of that assistant girl.”
Jo rolled her eyes. “Her name is Emma. She’s a lot more thanthat assistant girl, and I haven’t gotten rid of her. She’s running some errands for me.”
“She still works for you,” her father said. “But I was referring to that dating nonsense that thankfully appears to be over. Honestly, Josephine, what a disgrace.”
Jo’s throat went tight. Her breath shuddered through her nose. She was not going to rise to the bait.
It wasn’t bait, though. Her father wasn’t saying it with the intent to get a rise out of her; it was simply what he believed. She couldn’t fucking stand him.
“You could fire her,” he continued. “At the end of the season. People move on from shows.”
He said this like he knew anything about television, like he had ever cared about her career. It was her mom who had first put her up for auditions, and it was her mom who had known the ins and outs of the business when Jo was growing up. She doubted her father had seen a single episode ofInnocents.
“I would never fire Emma because of rumors,” Jo said.
She shouldn’t have conditioned it. She would never fire Emma. Period. Rumors or not.
“Perhaps at the end of this season you should let her go,” her father said as though she hadn’t spoken. Jo bristled further. She waspromotingher midseason, not firing her. “If you’re not even sleeping together, surely she’s not worth keeping around when it damages your reputation.”
Of course, that moment was when Emma arrived.
Emma stood in her doorway with a bag from Jo’s favorite burger place in one hand and a drink in the other. She was looking at Jo’s father with sharp eyes that softened when she looked to Jo.
“I know you said you didn’t need me to get lunch,” Emma said, as though Jo’s father were not there. “But I thought you could use something.”
Jo swallowed. “Great. Thank you.”
Emma came into the office and set the bag on Jo’s desk. She held out the drink.
“Strawberry milkshake.”
Jo must not have kept her nerves in check that morning. A strawberry milkshake was her go-to on stressful days. Emma knew that.