Something to Talk About(63)

“I don’t think you’re fragile, Ms. Kaplan.”

Emma shrugged at her. “Just let me do my job, boss. Especially because it sounds like you’re going to be pretty busy. Let me know whatever you need me to take care of for the organization, or whatever it’s going to be.”

Jo nodded. She should have known Emma would want to be a part of it, wouldn’t want to back down.



* * *



—

Emma was right; work was busy. Chantal mostly ran Innocents as things picked up with Agent Silver. Jo’s script—the second draft, of course, as the first was a trash fire—was out with other writers, for critique and revision. Jo bounced back and forth between scripts, dealing with the production side of things, too. Beyond that, she had the Cassandra Project, as they called it for now. They named it after the figure from Greek mythology to acknowledge that for too long women hadn’t been believed when it came to sexual harassment and assault. With how busy Jo was, making time for dress fittings for the Emmys was even more annoying than usual.

Emma was there through it all, smoothing out issues with Jo’s schedule, making sure she ate, making everything easier, as usual. Friday, after Jo’s final dress fitting, Emma was in her office. She gave Jo a brief rundown of the following week’s shooting schedule, then asked if there was anything else.

Jo chewed her bottom lip. “Do you want to come to the Emmys?”

The ceremony was Sunday. She was basically doing what she’d done with the SAG Awards, inviting Emma days before. Except she was actually inviting her this time, not simply demanding she come.

Emma laughed at first, but swallowed it back when she saw Jo was serious.

“We just got these rumors to stop,” Emma said. “You really want to get into them again?”

Jo sighed.

“No,” she said. “But I don’t want to go to the damn Emmys, either.”

“Why not?”

She gestured vaguely. “Things like the GLAADs and the Golden Globes can be fun,” she said. “The GLAADs are important and everyone gets drunk at the Globes. But for the most part, awards shows are people in uncomfortable clothes thinking too highly of themselves, giving each other awards.”

“You didn’t seem to have too terrible a time at the SAGs,” Emma said.

“Yes, well, you were there,” Jo said. She realized that shouldn’t have been enough to be an explanation, and went on. “You were a good buffer and a good distraction.” She wasn’t sure she was helping her case. “When I go alone, people think they can just come up and talk to me whenever they want. You may not have known it, but at the SAGs you saved me from at least five conversations with people I hate.”

Emma giggled. She tucked her hair behind her ear.

“I mean, I could come with you to the Emmys, I guess,” she said, not sounding certain of it. “If you wanted.”

Jo looked at her. She did want. She wanted so much. Emma stared back, blinked those big brown eyes. Jo forced out a chuckle.

“Nah,” she said. “You hated the red carpet. And you’re right—we just got out from under the rumors. How stupid would we be to stoke them again?”

“Right.”

“Thank you, though,” Jo said. “For the thought.”

“Of course, boss,” Emma said.

She gave her a lopsided smile. Jo closed her eyes and took a breath.

“Sometimes I think I should apologize for not disputing the rumors,” she admitted.

“What?” Emma blinked at her, incredulous. “No, boss, you’ve never commented on your love life. In no way should you have commented on it just because I was involved.”

“Except it wasn’t just about people thinking they knew my sex life,” Jo said. “People think you slept your way into this job, which is wrong, unreasonable, and not fair to you. And I don’t know if saying something would have prevented that, but I think I should have tried.”

“We’ve both survived,” Emma said. She shrugged. “And I love my job. I love it even if people think I slept my way into it. I love this show and I love being your assistant.” Emma scuffed the bottom of her ballet flat against the carpet. “I’m excited to move to associate producer. I know it’s a step toward directing. But . . . I’m going to miss this.”

Jo took a deep breath, warmth radiating out from behind her sternum. “Yeah,” she said. “Me, too.”

Emma smiled and returned to her desk. Jo went back to work. Before she left for the weekend, she looked at the picture in her top drawer. She sighed, wishing the Emmys would be as good as that night.



* * *



—

Sunday afternoon, as Jo was getting her hair done, her phone buzzed. She hadn’t checked it since before lunch; no one needed her on days of awards shows. But she made Jaden stop curling her hair for a moment so she could reach for it.

There was a missed text from the morning, from Emma: I hope Kelli et al are treating you well.

Then the recent message: Is Jaden talking your ear off?

Jo bit down on her grin. She texted back: He’s in the middle of a very in-depth story involving a distant relative’s cat.

“What are you smiling at?” Kelli asked.

Jo locked her phone. “Nothing.”