Something to Talk About(6)

Avery had reached over and plucked Emma’s phone from where she’d left it on the couch.

“Em.” Her eyes were wide as she looked at the phone. “Em.”

Emma put her chin on top of Cassius’s head and tried not to blush. “It’s pretty good, yeah?”

“Emma, you look amazing,” Avery said. “Oh my God, am I going to see you on TV? Are you going to, like, do the red carpet and all?”

“Oh no, they wouldn’t show me,” Emma said. “They’re only going to show stars and stuff, obviously.”

“Yeah, but if they show Jo, you’d be next to her! I could see you.”

Emma’s throat went tight at the possibility of all those cameras on her. She thought of her inhalers—one in her purse, one next to her bed—and wondered if she could bring one with her. But she didn’t have a clutch or anything to carry. How was she going to bring things? What did one even bring to the SAG Awards? She was so not prepared for this.

“Hey,” Avery said. “It’ll be fine.” She rubbed a hand along Emma’s arm. “The only time they’d show you would be, like, as Jo’s arriving, right? The celebs all go down a fancy red carpet to get their pictures taken, and the people who go with them are only there if they’re famous. Or, like, someone’s mom and so it’s cute. You’ll go some other way that they send the plebeians.”

Emma rolled her eyes at her sister, though she appreciated Avery distracting her.

“I’m less of a plebeian than you, at least,” she said. “Given you’ll probably be in a onesie on your couch.”

“Touché.”

Even if there were cameras on her, it would be okay. Hollywood was all about who you knew. Granted, knowing Jo Jones would be pretty damn helpful when it came to moving on from being an assistant, but the exposure Emma would get from a high-profile event like the SAGs couldn’t hurt. She’d be fine.





2


    EMMA


Emma stood in the hallway in front of the suite door for ten minutes. She knocked at exactly 10:30 a.m.

The door opened right away. A short man with dark hair, close cropped on the sides and long on top, stood behind it. He grinned and gestured her inside.

“Are you the infamous Emma?” he asked.

“Emma, yes. Infamous, not so much,” Emma said.

The man led her into the living room area. The suite was huge—it even had an upstairs. On one side, there was a spiral staircase Emma didn’t trust her clumsy self to climb. Behind the staircase was a closed door that Emma assumed led to a bedroom. The other side of the room opened to a dining area. The living room itself had floor-to-ceiling windows, two couches, an overstuffed chair, a full-sized piano—God knows why—and a chaise near one of the windows, where Jo sat serenely as someone did her nails. She was a picture of luxury in a pink silk robe. She smiled at Emma from across the room. Emma waved, then dropped her hand to her side, wondering how dumb it looked.

“Jo’s never had someone else for us to style; you’re infamous,” the man who let her in said. “I’m Jaden, by the way. I work with Kelli, who I think you know.”

Emma only knew Kelli from phone calls setting up appointments. She did Jo’s makeup for events where there would be media.

“That’s me,” a woman said. She stood at a table covered with makeup products. “Nice to put a face to the name.”

Emma smiled. “You, too.”

Kelli was much older than Emma had expected. She sounded so young on the phone, but crow’s feet peeked through her flawless face of makeup.

“As soon as Mai finishes touching up Jo’s nails, it’s your turn,” Jaden said. “Do you know how you want to wear your hair?”

“Um,” Emma said. She had googled hairstyles all day yesterday but kind of figured the stylist would have something picked out for her. “I like it down?”

“I can work with that.”

Emma felt a bit like a doll then. Jaden played with her hair—over this shoulder then over that shoulder then half-up, half-down—inspecting her with each adjustment. Kelli brought over makeup palettes, holding each up to Emma’s face to figure out what worked best with her coloring. Someone appeared with a glass of water. They disappeared before she could get their name. Emma trusted these people—Jo always looked great at events—but she’d never been primped like this before.

It settled down eventually. Mai came over to do her nails while Kelli worked on Jo’s makeup. Emma let Mai pick the color of her polish. She stayed mostly silent throughout, only speaking when spoken to. She wanted to tell Jo she was robbed at the Producers Guild Awards last night, but she didn’t know how to bring it up.

“I thought you said she was talkative,” Kelli said, and Emma looked over at her.

“She usually is.” It was the first time Jo had spoken since Emma arrived.

“She said you’d probably talk our ears off,” Kelli told Emma.

“Whatever happened to beautician-client privilege?” Jo asked.

Kelli rolled her eyes at Jo. “It’s not that you have to talk,” she said to Emma. “But you don’t have to be afraid to, either.”

“I’m not afraid to talk,” Emma said, thrown by the idea of Jo discussing her with other people. “Nor am I particularly talkative?”