Rugged(87)

“What are you still doing here?”

“Work never sleeps,” he says, sounding pleasant about it. Pursing his lips, he takes out a linen handkerchief—actual linen—and leans down to wipe some smudgy fingerprint marks off my desk. “I’m working for you, as a matter of fact. Your Rustic Renovations has gotten some incredible buzz.” He looks proud. “Sherilyn, our social media coordinator, says your Instagram in particular is getting huge. Which is great. That’s the 18-25 demographic that we were—”

He then proceeds to list a bunch of facts and figures that I’m not quite sure I understand. At the end of it all, Ed grins even wider. “I’d hoped to speak with you tomorrow, but I’m glad I have a chance now. I probably shouldn’t say anything more; Mr. Davis wants to mention it himself.”

“Mention what?” I snarl, about to strangle this poor guy. Another surprise from Davis is the last thing I need.

“You’ve been preemptively picked up for a second season,” Ed says, still smiling. My jaw drops open, which pleases him even more. “We’re all very excited, of course. Mr. Davis is so sure we have a hit that he already has next season all plotted out.”

“All plotted out?” I echo, spinning around to face him more fully. Ed’s enjoying his moment as a gossipmonger, I think. I get the impression not many people talk to him.

“You’ll be back as a co-star. That’s already been arranged. They were thinking also of taking the production to Alaska—get more of the rural demographic’s interest, the Dirty Jobs people—but there’s time still to discuss.”

“So I get to go to Alaska?” I ask, my tone undeniably dry. We’d be shooting in winter, most likely. “Oh boy. I can’t wait to not see the sun for eight weeks.”

“Mr. Davis seems to think a promotion is in order,” Ed whispers to me, smiling in a knowing way. “I know that he’s been talking about you at the executive level.”

For the first time in this conversation, Ed French has my full and undivided attention. I stand up for no reason. “Executive?” I can barely breathe the word.

“Word has it that they’re waiting to find out if the second season does as well as we expect the first to do,” Ed says, leaning in like we’re conspirators. “If it does, you could be looking at a fast shoot up the corporate ladder.” He chortles. Actually chortles. “Shoot. Ladder. See what I did there?” My silence doesn’t please him. His face falls a little. “Chutes and Ladders. Don’t tell me you don’t like board games.” I get the feeling Ed plays a lot of them. But that’s not the point right now.

“I could be an executive?” My voice catches in my throat.

“The first woman in Reel World’s history.” Ed smiles again. “I think you’d do an excellent job.”

All I’ve ever wanted, and this adorable little anal-retentive man is offering it to me. Well, he’s not, but Mr. Davis is. I could finally have everything I’ve been promising myself I could have since I first headed to LA with two suitcases and a bad haircut, a dream in my heart and a glint of pure steel in my eye. Everything I’ve ever worked for.

And all it will cost is working with Flint McKay nonstop, all hours, day in and day out for months. Work with the cheating bastard who seems to think that taking advantage of my desperate libido and poor decision-making skills is perfectly all right. I’ll continue to not trust my own judgment. I won’t want to make bad decisions. But I probably will. And it’ll drive me completely out of my mind.

“Isn’t it great?” Ed says, beaming.

“Yeah.” I swallow. My voice is weak. “Great.”

When I get home from the office at three in the morning, my head finally quiet and sleep beckoning, I sit down on my couch and stare at the wall. For what feels like hours, I sit and stare and think about the job offer. This could make me or break me. I could either achieve my dreams or bury them in the cold, hard ground. Around four AM, I stumble down the hall and crawl into bed, finally able to sleep.

I know exactly what I have to do.



“Laurel. Come in,” Mr. Davis says the next day when I enter. He had his assistant make a phone call down to me; no cold, impersonal email. I shake his hand, sit and listen to the pitch that Ed told me about last night. I keep a smile on my face, and nod as he lays out all his grand plans for me. At the end, he’s actually grinning. I’ve never seen an executive this happy before.

“So. What do you say?” he asks when he’s done. I take a deep breath.

“It’s the best offer I’ll probably ever get,” I say. “Thank you. I mean it.”

“So you’ll take it.” He doesn’t make it a question.

“No, Mr. Davis,” I say firmly, folding my hands in my lap. “I’m afraid I have to turn you down.”





33


Even when you’ve fired yourself from your own show, there’s no reason not to attend the premiere. Suze comes over to my place during the afternoon, so we can let the studio-hired styling team do whatever they can with my brown, shoulder length hair (‘No highlights? My God’), fuss over my makeup, and generally make me feel subpar. It’s kind of like Katniss getting done up in The Hunger Games, except that I won’t have to fight other people to the death in an arena afterward.