Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 106001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
I shudder involuntarily, a wave of shame and guilt cresting over me.
But then, it’s early days. I wouldn’t tell Hunter anything this soon even if Bridger were, say, some guy I met online.
Only, Bridger’s not some guy I met online. He’s someone I met in my home years ago.
Guilt nips at my heels. But one thing at a time.
First I need to deal with the problem I’ve created. Screw making plans with Jules for lunch.
I call her.
25
MY BOYCOTT GRAVE
Bridger
Earlier this year, I went to lunch with Ian shortly after running into his daughter on the East River path. I put on my best poker face then for our meal.
A few months later, when Harlow marched into my office and asked boldly for this internship, I somehow found an even better mask so Ian wouldn't be able to see through me.
Now, with Jules standing in my doorway saying she knows what’s going on with Harlow, I feel like I’ve just walked into a world championship round of Texas Hold’em in front of millions when I’ve never played the game before.
Time to bluff the fuck out of this.
“Yeah?” I ask, evenly. So damn evenly she won’t hear a hint of crack in my voice. She won’t spot a fissure in me at all.
“I do,” Jules says, nodding, a quick huff in her breath.
Underneath my stone facade, my heart is sprinting, my mind racing. Did Jules follow us last night? See Harlow get in my car?
I’ve got to be more cautious.
But there’s no time to wonder how she knows. She just knows. Ready to bullshit my way out of this, I head to my desk, carelessly set down my phone like it’s any other day, any other moment.
Like Jules is inquiring about something other than where my hand was last night around nine pm.
Like I’m not about to lose the thing I love most—Lucky 21.
All because I’m obsessed with a woman I can’t have.
“Harlow’s very good,” Jules continues, in her clear, crisp tone, the one she uses to tell me an agent’s on the phone, my lunch is here, she’s finished a project.
The same voice she uses for literally everything.
The woman is unreadable.
And sure, I could say yes, Harlow’s good, or I could shut up and let Jules just keep talking.
I stay quiet. I want to know what evidence she has. Coolly, I sort my jar of pens on my desk, like my life’s work doesn’t hang in the balance.
Jules takes the silent bait.
“She stays late. All last week she was here late,” Jules continues.
Shit. Fuck. Hell.
Jules knows about those times Harlow stayed late? Talking to me here in my office about life, New York, family?
I take a seat, tilt my head, wait for the blade to drop. I ignore my speeding pulse, approaching Mach 10.
“And I know she knows French. I know she’s an art student.” She stabs her chest with her finger. “But I know things too,” Jules says, and there’s not a trace of gotcha in her voice, but it’s coming. I swear it’s coming. Why else would she be piling on the compliments?
“I’m sure you do,” I say plainly, but inside I’m screaming What the hell is she getting at?
“But if one of us is going to get the junior producer job, it should be me.”
What???
What the hell did Jules just say?
I nearly furrow my brow and blurt out What are you talking about?
But I bite down my surprise. “Ah, the open one. Right, right,” I say, like I’ve been contemplating who to hire when I have not. Not at all. That’s not my role.
It is my fucking pleasure to contemplate hiring her right now. But just to be certain I’m reading her right at last, I ask, “You want the job?”
In my head, I ask, You’re not here to dig my boycott grave?
“I’ve been here longer than Harlow,” Jules says, methodical, making her case. “I’m devoted. I’m focused and smart. And to be honest, I don’t even think Harlow wants to work in TV. But I do. This is my life. This is my goal. I know she’s been trying to impress you by working late and coming up with plans for shows, but I want a chance too,” she says, then lifts her chin. “I want you to give me a chance to show I’m the best one for the job.”
I stifle a grin of I got away with it. Instead, I give my best boss nod, then say, “I’d love to see what you can do, Jules.”
She shares ideas and plans for Lucky 21’s shows, and they’re good. Truly, they’re good. But then Christian rings through and says Mia Liu from the LA office is on the line. She’s a VP, handling our marketing from the West Coast, and we’re heading to Paris together next month before shooting begins.