I stare at him in disbelief. ‘But we’re not even close to being done.’
‘That’s a problem for tomorrow morning, when I’m back on the clock.’ He swings his backpack onto his shoulder.
I’ve always known he was unserious, but I didn’t think that even he would be so stupid as to leave somethingthatlast minute at the expense of ‘owed time’. He wants to continue tomorrow morning. The same morning in which we are presenting to Evie at eleven o’clock. My brain fizzes and splutters, breaking down as a result of his sheer idiocy.
I take a pause, take a breath and swallow my rage as Anton’s words echo in my head. I can be professional, understanding, face this challenge head on. Even at the limits he’s pushing me to.
‘Have you got plans tonight?’ I ask, giving him the benefit of the doubt.
‘Nope,’ he replies, plain and simple, as he heads for the door.
‘Then why would you need to—’
‘I told you– we worked through lunch. Our paid time was done thirty minutes ago. You should be leaving too.’
‘There’s still so much to do.’
‘Whatever, see you tomorrow.’
I know that he’s smarter than this. We’ve made progress for sure, but not Evie-ready progress. The script and mood-board accents are still things of fiction, and neither of us has even started proofreading the binder. Leaving it all for the two hours we have tomorrow morning is a sure-fire way to guarantee that this whole thing crashes and burns. The fact he even suggested it makes me question how he got all the way to being a talent manager in the first place.
‘You’ve never stayed late a day in your life, have you?’ I tut.
‘I’ve probably done it more times than you’ve chilled out,’ he retorts.
‘I know how to chill,’ I reply, rolling my eyes.
I’m just also aware that there’s a time and a place, and work is not one of them. Especially the day before a presentation like this. A presentation I’d happily stay all night to finish if it meant it went well.
‘I beg to differ.’ He chuckles. It’s extremely grating. I feel my blood simmer, flames crawling up my body.
I don’t know who I offended to get this level of karma, but somehow my friends are killing their careers, buying property and now getting married, while my chance at making it past assistant level hinges on a guy who hates my guts. And if that weren’t enough, if the odds weren’t already unfair, he also thinks he deserves to leave early the day before I face the most pivotal moment of my career so far. I lunge for the door at lightning speed, barricading it with my body before he can reach it.
‘We’re not done yet,’ I say, my jaw clenched.
‘Are you serious?’ he asks, one eyebrow raised.
We are face to face, one step away from our chests touching as he stares, flummoxed, at the new five-foot-six obstacle in his way. But I’m not moving. I stay still, rooted to the spot, my fist squeezed around my ballpoint pen.
‘We’re not leaving until we at least finish the presentation content,’ I say as calmly as I can.
He makes a play for it– arm brushing ever so slightly against my waist as he reaches for the one thing that could make his escape. But I’m faster, more agile and way closer to it. I grip the door handle tightly before he has the chance. His hand clasps over mine, palm warm to the touch but eyes cold and angry.
‘We’ll finish it in the morning,’
His voice is low and gruff, his breath close enough to tickle my face as he speaks. He hasn’t moved his hand. It stays pressedon top of mine over the metal handle, resolute. He means business. It’s time to show I do too. I puff out my chest and feign intimidation, the buttons of my dress brushing his T-shirt in the process.
‘This isn’t school, Aiden– you can’t just do things half-arsed and still expect to come out on top.’ I point my pen angrily at his chest. ‘They don’t think I can do this as it is, and I am not giving Pippa Shaw the chance to take this away from me.’
I stand my ground, rigid with indignation and the sheer resolution to see this through. Looking at him now, it’s clear that his grip on the handle has brought him lower. If I turned, my nose would graze against his. But he still doesn’t move, so neither do I. No matter how close we seem to be.
‘What would you prefer? That I be more like you and plan every breath and second of my life?’ he asks.
His lips are dangerously close to mine as he sneers each word, a callousness to his tone that wasn’t present in the empty threats from before. I’m making him angry, but I couldn’t care less. I spent years pretending I didn’t see his eye rolls every time we were paired together, pretending that snide comments from his friends didn’t cut me to my core, and I will no longer pretend that I don’t matter. I’m taking up space today and I am showing him that I am not someone he can just brush aside.
I block out his lips and his face, and the feel of his breath, and remind myself of the task at hand. I could get closer to promotion like Kimi, or own property like Devi if I make this project a success. The first step in doing that? Ensuring that the man leaning over me goes nowhere. And by nowhere, I mean I want him to stay in the room. . . not leaning over me, obviously.
‘Tell you what, I’ll plan your evening for you,’ I say. ‘You stay here with me, finishing this mood board until further notice.’
