The Break(29)

“Do you like working here?” I blurt to the girl.

“I do,” she says, pulling out one of the two dozen chairs surrounding the rectangular table. “Sit here,” she instructs me. “Louisa’s really smart and good at her job,” she adds.

“Thanks,” I say, sitting down too hard.

“And the hours here are good,” the girl says.

I want to ask her what she does when she’s not here, but instead I ask, “So what do you want?” which comes out all wrong. I feel heat on my cheeks, and I try to explain myself. “I mean, what are you going after, like are you an actress or a writer or something?”

The girl laughs, but it’s good-natured. “Nope,” she says. “I was babysitting for a while, but that sucked, so I just looked for a job with adults. Adults act like children, too, sometimes, but I seem to be better equipped to deal with that.” We smile at each other. “I want to go to law school,” she says. “I’m studying for the LSATs.”

“That’s amazing,” I say. “I could never do that. I was extremely bad at school.”

The girl laughs again, and it makes me smile despite myself, despite the pain of what I’ve admitted to her. I want to say, Do you know what it’s like to have to go to school every day since you’re five years old and suck at it?

It’s like having a day job you’re terrible at, with no possible way out, because you’re required by law to go to it. I only got one A my entire career: in an English class that was based on participation and journal responses to the stuff we read. Graduating from college—my dad was the one who said I had to go, and I know I should be grateful, and I’m sure I will be someday—was like breaking out of jail. A suitcase slung over my shoulder and a deep sigh of relief; finally free.

“I’m Kai Chen,” the girl says. “And I know your name. Do you need water or anything before Louisa comes?”

I shake my head. “I don’t think so,” I say. I’m so freaking nervous.

“Good luck today,” Kai says. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

She leaves and the room feels colder. I glance through the windows of the conference room into the hallway: I can see heads moving above the blurry part of the glass, and a forehead and nose of one really tall guy. I studied everything I could find about Louisa (and all the other agents at WTA) so that she’d know I’m serious about the job.

The door swings open and I straighten, smile already in place. But it’s not Louisa. It’s a wildly handsome blond man somewhere in his thirties, who says, “Oh, hello. I’m looking for Louisa.”



“Me too,” I say, which makes him laugh.

His long fingers tap the doorway. His suit is perfectly tailored—he’s more dressed up than the two other male employees I passed in the hallway.

“I’m Harrison,” he says, but I already know that. Harrison Russell: the agency’s top books-to-film agent. He represents screenwriters and novelists whose books get turned into movies and TV shows. Louisa represents actors, and her client list is one of the most diverse I’ve seen out of any of the agents I studied this week—which makes me want to work for her even more—and one of her actresses is on The Young and the Restless, which my mom would love. She used to convince my dad to change the channel on the tiny TV above the desk in his shop to play that soap opera every afternoon she worked there.

“I’m June Waters,” I say. “I’m here for an interview for Ms. Smith’s assistant job.” I don’t know why I say Ms. Smith instead of Louisa, but it feels more polite, and when he smiles at me I’m glad I did it.

“Well, good luck then, Ms. Waters,” he says. There’s a lilt in his voice when he says my name, and it gives me a small thrill. I smile back at him, holding his eyes a little longer than I should.

“Tell Louisa I’m looking for her,” he says. Then he raps his knuckles twice against the glass door.

“I will,” I say, like I already work here, like it’s in the bag.

My phone buzzes while Harrison’s still standing there. I can’t believe I forgot to turn it off. “Oh my gosh,” I say, fumbling for it. A text from Sean flashes across the screen.

When are you going to be home? I’m making us pasta!

Annoyance cuts through me. I press the side button and wait for what feels like an eternity until my phone lets me swipe it off. I almost hit the emergency SOS option by accident, but I finally get the thing to power down.



I look up at Harrison. His teeth are so white, so straight. “I’m really sorry,” I say. “At least that happened before Louisa got here,” I go on, taking a chance at being casual with him.

“The fact that you’re embarrassed by it already puts you miles ahead of the rest of the kids your age who interview here,” Harrison says.

Kids. I’m most definitely not a kid, and maybe he sees it on my face, because he corrects himself.

“Young adults, I mean,” he says. He shifts his weight, still in the doorway, not leaving me yet. “Good luck today,” he says kindly. “Louisa likes cats and gluten-free food, if you’re looking for conversation starters.”

I laugh, not expecting it. “Don’t we all,” I say. Harrison laughs, too, and then Louisa shows up in the doorway, eyebrows up.