“The porn one?”
“Yeah, that one...” I take a breath. “It was from a potential investor.”
He steps behind a changing screen. “Weird of them to send you porn.” A set of wool trousers and suspenders fold over the top of the taut beige fabric.
“It wasn’t porn!” I say louder than anticipated; the wordpornechoes around the cylindrical hall like a whirlpool of cringe. “It was an invitation to compete in this big tech competition in Rome.”
“Oh cool, when are you going?” His shadow asks.
My lips thin to form a straight line. “In three days.”
He pops his head above the screen. “And what does that have to do with me?”
“Well, it’s kind of a funny story...” I laugh nervously, trying to find the right words. “On the call with a guy from the investment company... I kind of, maybe,definitelyinsinuated thata manis the CEO and founder of Wyst... not me.” I shouldn’t tell him about the voice changer situation in case he concludes I’m legitimately crazy, so much so he has to tell Mum and Dad.
He steps out from behind the screen, now dressed in a loose Fleetwood Mac T-shirt and frayed jeans I’m fairly certain are mine, his face set in a deep scowl. “I’m sorry, you did what?”
My fingers interlace as I try to come up with a viable reason. “I made a mistake on the application, selected the wrong gender, and I guess I just... went along with it. And now they think a ‘Mr. Cole’ runs Wyst.” I look him up and down and sigh. “And you’re the closest thing I have to a Mr. Cole.”
He shoots me an incredulous look. “I literally am Mr. Cole.”
“Fantastic! You’re hired!” I clap my hands together.
Spencer eyes me with both sympathy and confusion. “If you needed a man, you could have just made someone up? Or hired an actor?”
I step forward, placing my hands on his arms to try and bring the focus back to the most urgent part of this conversation. “That is exactly what I’m doing. I needyouto come toRome with me next week and pretend to be the CEO for a few days. And do a presentation.”
He takes a step back, shaking his head and laughing. “No way, this has to be a joke. There’s no way you, Jess Cole, would be this stupid.”
I shrug defeatedly. “Everyone has their moments. Like that time you cut a right angle into my hair because you thought it would look cool?” I’m hoping reminding him of the ways he has slighted me throughout our twenty-seven years together will ease us toward a yes.
“I was nine!” he shouts, arms flapping against his sides.
“And you still haven’t made it up to me, so now’s your chance!” I flail my hands out to suggest “Oh, wow, I can’t believe this opportunity has landed right in our laps!”
He crosses his arms, coughs out a laugh, and stares at the floor.
“Listen. I’m begging you; this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity,” I plead.
Spencer’s attention lifts. “Once in a lifetime? So you think you’re going to win?”
I suck my teeth. “No way, I don’t think we have a chance in hell of placing.”
He flaps his arms out in exasperation. “Then why do you wanna go?”
I glance around, trying to think of a way he could understand this. “It’s like your play. You didn’t do this whole production to win an Olivier Award. You performed with the hope that someone in the audience would see your talent and be willing to give you a chance.” I sigh. “Wyst isnevergoing to win, butif we put on a good enough show, the smaller investors might start paying attention.”
His shoulders ease. “But how would Ipretendto be a CEO?”
Gesturing around at the piles of props, a hastily thrown together makeup station, and racks of costumes, I say, “Hmmm, I wonder how?”
“It’s not acting if there’s no script,” he counters. “And I hate doing improv.”
Seizing the moment, I reach into my bag and hand him a lilac Wyst-branded folder with the presentation and notes. “Au contraire...” I am nothing if not prepared.
He whips the folder from my fingers and spends the next minute silently flicking through it, the laminated sheets crinkling as he throws them one by one to the left.
He shakes his head at the folder, then swipes his eyes up to mine. “I don’t understand this.”
