That explained it.
“I’m sorry, Monty,” I said softly. Our mutual dislike of Geoffrey and Turner was always something we could agree on.
“He’s gone with what’s shiny. He’ll soon learn his lesson.” He seemed to shake himself out of it. “Hand me the Miller contract and your to-do list.” It was one thing him saying he was going to do my work; it was another seeing him follow through. “Don’t just stand there gawping, Ezra needs you.”
I tried not to look too happy as I deposited the large stack of contracts on Monty’s desk. He stared at the teetering pile with barely disguised horror. Then he took my pad from me and peered over my task list. “It’s been a while since I’ve done any of this stuff. Then again, it’s not exactly rocket science.”
“That’s just the first page,” I said, leaning across the desk and flipping through the notebook for him.
He paled, then pushed his sleeves up. “You’re witnessing a real agent at work. Now go on, get out of here.”
“Just one thing,” I said, pausing. “If I’m working with Ezra, I will need access to the expense account.”
* * *
There was a message waiting for me when I got back to my desk.
NOB: You’re welcome
RED: now you talk to me? You should have asked me first
NOB: I was keeping up appearances for Monts. I haven’t forgotten what you said about your job being on the line. Only one month to go. You need to step it up if you want me to finish the script. How else are you going to meet someone on time?
I resisted the urge to throw my phone at the wall. He’d got so much praise for the script—surely he should want to finish it without the need for me to embarrass myself first?
NOB: You must know how much your reports are helping me by now. From now on, I need you to do at least two meet-cutes a week so I can get this done. You should be grateful. I’m doubling your chances of falling in love . . . and you need all the help you can get
I sat down heavily. Two meet-cutes a week? One had been more than enough. I wasn’t sure I could handle doubling up on the humiliation. I waited for the familiar dread to appear at also having to double up on writing, only to find a prickle of anticipation there instead. That’s new.
I wondered at NOB still insisting I had to fall in love. When I’d agreed to this deal, I’d thought if I could just get NOB to start writing, he’d finish and forget about the rest. But here he was, writing for the first time in years and still holding that part of the deal over me. He’d clearly broken through his writer’s block, so why did I have to jump through that particular hoop? At least I had more time now. My friends had always said I’d meet someone if I worked less. I guess now I could find out if that was true.
RED: agreed . . . IF you send me your pages weekly from now on
NOB: How many times? I’ll send them to my agent, Red
RED: correct me if I’m wrong . . . but isn’t that me?
The three dots appeared and disappeared a few times, as though NOB had started his response and then changed his mind. Until finally:
NOB: When all this is over, we should go for a drink and work out all this sexual tension between us
I rolled my eyes at this. He was clearly trying to sidestep. And yet I couldn’t help but think back to that moment we’d shared just before Christmas when NOB had dropped me off at my mum’s. I’d slipped and he’d caught me, and, just for a second, it had almost seemed like there was something between us. I shook the memory away. I’m clearly overtired.
RED: two meet-cutes a week in exchange for sending me your pages weekly
NOB: Fine. I’ll send them weekly. To Monty
He was promising weekly deliveries. No more anxiously waiting around until he deigned to share his pages with anyone. I’d got what I wanted here. Ultimately, to get my promotion, I just needed him to deliver. And to find Mr. Happy Ending.
RED: we have a deal
TAP TAP TAP. Monty was at the window, using two fingers to peer through the diagonal blind. He gestured at me and then toward the door. “Go on, go,” he said, his voice muffled by the glass.
I wasn’t sure what he expected me to be doing for NOB at nine a.m. on a Tuesday, but I collected my things anyway. I thought back to the list my friends and I had cooked up. If I could cope with two meet-cutes a week, could I push myself further? If I was to have any hope of fulfilling NOB’s ridiculous stipulation of meeting Mr. Happy Ending, then the more meet-cutes I did, the better. It was time to take back control. And, I thought, sliding Monty’s Amex card into my purse, I might as well enjoy it.
Chapter 25
Out of Office
From: [email protected]
Subject: HIGHLY CONFIDENTIAL: The Queue Jump meet-cute
January 16, 7:03 p.m.
Please find attached my attempt to re-create the meet-cute from Fools Rush In.
To sum: I spent all day asking men if I could jump the queue in front of them and trying to strike up conversations. There are definitely some types of queue this works better for than others. For example, the queue for the men’s toilets. At least you have a good excuse. Have you seen the queues outside women’s toilets?
I tried to jump the queue at the post office. Unfortunately, the guy who let me in was trying to find out if it was possible to post a live animal via recorded delivery. It is very hard to flirt with a man carrying a snake in a box that he’s determined to send to Australia.
Just in case you are wondering: yes, it is possible to send live animals via Royal Mail. It’s just a shame waiting times at the Post Office are so long they’re unlikely to survive the queue.
Best,
Evie
* * *
From: [email protected]
Subject: Pitch query—URGENT
January 17, 1:45 p.m.
Dear Evelyn,
I’m pitching Michael Mayhew’s latest to some producers this afternoon and I haven’t got time to read it. I’m going with The Handmaid’s Tale for fans of Top Gear. I’m keen to push the boundaries with this one.
Does this sound about right? Let me know before 2 p.m. if not.