Something to Talk About(68)

Whatever you need. She willed Jo to understand. Jo took off her sunglasses, smiled with no teeth.

“I assure you, nothing of the sort will happen in the future.” She wasn’t using her network voice anymore. Emma had never heard this voice—like a blank white wall. “Is there anything more you want to discuss?”

If this was what happened when Emma tested the waters, she sure as hell wasn’t going to say anything more.

“No, Ms. Jones,” she said quietly.

Jo’s jaw twitched like she was clenching it.





17


    JO


Jo had spent the previous night staring mindlessly at cooking shows on her TV. She ate three dinner rolls dipped in oil and vinegar and drank a glass of room-temperature water. She hadn’t allowed herself alcohol—she could hardly think as it was.

She wasn’t going to do better tonight, but she at least made herself dinner—frozen homemade enchiladas popped into the oven. She stuck with water while she ate, but it was staving off the inevitable.

Getting drunk was not something she did often, but it was something she would do tonight. She couldn’t stop feeling the ghost of Emma’s hand on her cheek. She blinked and saw Emma’s big brown eyes, deep and open and yearning. She put her leftovers in the refrigerator, put her dishes in the sink, then skipped wine and went straight to scotch.

It did the job.

It did the job of getting her drunk, anyway. It did not help with forgetting the way Emma had looked at her right before they almost kissed. They almost kissed. She almost kissed Emma, and despite knowing what a bad idea it was, sprawled drunk on her couch, what she wanted more than anything was to actually kiss Emma. Oh, she was in trouble.

Jo hated herself for putting Emma in that position. Emma, who had already been sexually harassed at work. Emma, who suffered through half a day of awkwardness before having to be the one to say they should talk about it. They did talk about it, which was good, even if the memory was like nails against the chalkboard of Jo’s brain. They’d addressed it, and Jo promised it wouldn’t happen again, no matter how much she wanted it to. She was humiliated. Emma shifting awkwardly in front of her, saying she was okay with it like it was part of the job. If the workplace hadn’t been hostile to Emma during the rumors, it sure was now, knowing her boss had tried to kiss her.

The rumors. They had to be to blame for Jo thinking about Emma like this. Jo had never been interested in someone she worked with, not since she was a teenager and Jane Fonda guest starred on The Johnson Dynasty. Jo loved work, but it was work. She had never looked at a coworker with romantic intentions.

She thought of that picture that was still in her desk at work, thought of the way she was looking at Emma back in January. Sure looked like there were romantic intentions there. Or did she just think that because everyone else did? Did she only see Emma this way because it was how people thought she saw her?

Except the rumors were gone. The rumors went away two months ago. No one tricked Jo into thinking of Emma like this. Emma was strong and smart and so damn loyal. She was beautiful and kind and Jo wanted to kiss her. Emma deserved so much better than anyone thinking she’d sleep with someone for a job. She deserved better than being Jo’s assistant. She deserved better than Jo’s father calling her a slut.

Jo wanted to tell her. It was late, but not too late, and Jo’s head was swimming too much for her to consider this might be a bad decision.

She opened a new message to Emma, didn’t pause to think before typing, I meant what I said yesterday. You are magnificent.

She sent it, and poured herself another glass of scotch. She’d barely recapped the bottle when her phone rang. Her phone rang, and she didn’t understand.

It was Evelyn, but it was almost three a.m. in New York. Why was Evelyn calling her?

Jo picked up. “What are you doing awake?”

“My best friend texted me I’m magnificent.”

Oh.

It was better, probably, that she’d texted Evelyn. Emma didn’t need weird, cryptic late-night texts from her boss.

“What’s going on?” Evelyn asked.

Jo sighed. Rubbed her forehead. Took another sip of her scotch.

“My father came to visit set yesterday.”

Evelyn let out a breath full of the kind of understanding only a best friend could give.

“You deserve to be drunker,” she said, and Jo chuckled. A beat, then: “What happened, Jo?”

“He called Emma a slut, acted like she was worthless.” Jo wanted to punch something just thinking about it. “God, Evelyn, is this what everyone thinks of her? How have I not contradicted these rumors if this is what people think of her? I should release a statement tomorrow.”

“Okay, honey,” Evelyn said. “You should absolutely not do that.”

“I should! I—”

“—will sober up and realize that releasing a statement this long after the rumors started—this long after the rumors ended, even—is going to do more harm than good,” Evelyn said. “Remember that according to the tabloids you aren’t together anymore. Most of the world thinks you dumped Emma for Sam.”

“I would never.”

“Yeah, because you’re a big lesbian, I know.”

That was part of it, obviously, but there was something else. The idea of dumping Emma was—they weren’t dating, of course, but Jo would never. The idea of leaving Emma behind, of finding someone to replace her. It was impossible. She was Emma.