Something to Talk About(41)

Jo never tried to write the first day back—too many interruptions and distractions. Aly and Phil came in first with props questions. Emma scrunched her nose in greeting to them but stayed focused on her work. Jo solved some of their issues and gave Aly leeway with the rest. Tate interrupted next—not directly, but via a new intern, shaking with nerves, asking for the scripts for the entire season. Jo didn’t roll her eyes, because Tate sent a new kid on a fool’s errand every year, and it wasn’t the intern’s fault.

“You’ll learn not to believe half of the things out of Tate’s mouth,” Jo said gently. “Feel free to tell him I’m killing his character off this season. See if it’ll make him behave.”

After the intern left, looking exactly as nervous as he had when he came in, Emma smiled at Jo. It had been too long since Emma had done that.

“Maybe he’ll also learn you’re not nearly as intimidating as he seems to think,” she said.

Jo shrugged. “It helps to have them terrified the first few weeks. Keeps them in line.”

She tried not to think about the other Kaplan sister—how she, too, knew Jo wasn’t as tough as her reputation made her seem. Jo expected Avery to have told Emma about the baseball games by this point, especially after Jo invested in the bakery. Every time Jo thought about it, she got an unfamiliar anxious feeling in her stomach. She didn’t know what to say to Emma, so she didn’t say anything.

Chantal came by soon thereafter. Emma said hello and went back to her work. When Jo looked up to see what Chantal needed, she was met with more raised eyebrows. Chantal didn’t say anything about Emma being there, but Jo could tell she had thoughts on it. It was unnecessary—no one else seemed to think it was strange. Emma had always worked in Jo’s office on occasion. There was nothing different about it just because the world had decided they were dating.

Jo had almost forgotten about the rumors over the summer. There had been a few photos of their lunch when they discussed Emma’s promotion—including a shot of her squeezing Emma’s hand on top of the table. She should’ve been smarter than that. Other than that one outing and upfronts, though, they hadn’t made the tabloids. It didn’t mean the tabloids had forgotten about the rumors; nor had Chantal, apparently. The thought chafed Jo for two days. She’d worked with Chantal for more than half a decade. The woman should’ve known her better than to put any stock in gossip.

Wednesday afternoon, Jo was stuck on a scene and annoyed as hell. She was annoyed that Emma wasn’t already in her office, as she’d been so many other days. She was annoyed that she hadn’t already asked her in—Chantal’s raised eyebrows influencing Jo’s actions. The summer had been such a nice respite from worrying about how her interactions with Emma might have looked to outside observers. Jo would have really liked to not care about appearances, but this was Hollywood, and she wasn’t naive.

That was why she waited so long, struggled for so long, before finally calling Emma to work in her office.

Emma came, as she always did, but instead of sitting down and getting to work, she stood next to the couch, clutching her tablet to her chest.

“Are you sure I should be working in here?” she asked.

Jo looked up distractedly, her brow furrowed. “Why shouldn’t you?”

“I just don’t want anyone to think . . . anything.”

It was the reason Jo had taken so long to ask her to, but she bristled anyway.

“Think anything like that you’re my assistant and sometimes I have work that requires you to be in my office?” she snapped. She was peevish about the dialogue she was working on and about caring what others thought. That frustration was worsened now that her dynamic with Emma had changed enough with people around that her assistant was making a big deal of this.

“I just meant—” Emma started.

“If you’re going to talk, get out. I can’t work with you talking at me.”

Jo could feel the weight of Emma’s stare on her even though she wasn’t looking back.

“You’re the one who asked me to come in here,” Emma said. Her voice was quiet, hurt.

“And now I’m asking you to leave,” Jo said.

There was a beat, but still Jo refused to look up. Emma closed the door on her way out.

Jo didn’t finish the scene.



* * *



—

Jo almost didn’t pick up her phone when Evelyn called that evening. She was alone with a glass of red wine and considered staying that way, not letting anyone interrupt her over-the-top moping, but she ended up answering right before it went to voicemail.

“I hear your girlfriend is quite comfortable working in your office,” Evelyn said.

“What?”

Evelyn paused at the vitriol in Jo’s voice. Jo sighed, and took a sip of her wine.

“I’m sorry,” she said, gentler. “What are you talking about?”

“On Star’s website,” Evelyn said. “They have an article about how you and Emma must have gotten cozy over the summer, given how comfortable she was working in your office, even with other people around.”

Jo rubbed at her eyes. They were dry, tired. She should take her contacts out.

“When did this article go up?” she asked.

“ā-Jo, what’s going on?” Evelyn said. “Why do you sound . . . exhausted?”