SUBJECT: Production Docs
Hey, Anne—Thanks for your thoughts on the budget! I added some info re: equipment rental—would you mind plugging some numbers in? And maybe you can look over a few other changes I made? See attached. Also, I would love to get your eyes on the production schedule—that’s attached, too. Thanks, partner!
Theo
Anne read over the email again, looking for some point she might have missed. Then she went back to the documents Theo had sent. Maybe he had made a mistake? The budget spreadsheet had only a few more lines filled in than when she sent it earlier in the week, and even those were just links to different equipment rental houses around the city. Did he expect herto call and get quotes herself? Meanwhile the supposed eight-week schedule was largely blank, with only blocks set aside for pre-production, shooting, and post. There was no information about the size of the crew, the location—even what this mystery show was about.
“This is fine,” Anne murmured to herself. She had trudged across Tompkins Square Park to Monkford Café a half hour ago, hoping to get a few minutes to herself—and away from the sounds of Taylor Swift echoing through her bedroom wall—to scour job listings, but apparently, now she would be spending her time single-handedly orchestrating another television show.
She picked up the mug next to her laptop and downed the remains of her latte like it was a shot. This shouldn’t have been so hard. Theo knew what was required for most shoots. He could handle this on his own.
Maybe he has a lot on his plate, the rational part of her brain whispered.
That was true. Starting a production company from scratch was no easy task, and if he needed her to do a bit more legwork with these documents to ensure that she was a part of it, so be it. After all, she didn’t exactly have any other option.
She needed a job. She could barely afford her small room in apartment 4B without one. And as much as she disliked the idea of another job in television, she had been over her bank statements, she had systematically worked through the list of pros and cons. Partnering with Theo was the best option, not to mention the only one.
Her gaze drifted back to the half-empty spreadsheet in front of her, the hours and hours of work she knew lay ahead. Suddenly Freddie’s words from the party echoed in her head.
You were in the Columbia Business School to C-suite pipeline. How’d all those big plans work out for you?
Anne glared at the computer screen in front of her.
“Not great,” she murmured under her breath.
She slammed her laptop shut. There was no way she’d be able to focus now.
Anne knew she shouldn’t have followed Sophie up to that party. But no matter how many times she replayed the moment in her head, she couldn’t find any way around it. She had been so shocked to see Freddie’s sister she hadn’t had a chance to think of an excuse in time to avoid the elevator up to the eighth floor, and then she was there, in her old apartment, except a new version of it. The view was so disconcerting that she barely had time to get her bearings before she turned around and there he was, standing in the middle of the room in a starched white shirt and navy blazer, like he was always meant to be there.
But it wasn’t really him, was it?
Her Freddie had been passionate, alive with empathy and frustration and humor. Now there were only glimpses of that, faint whispers behind a stark mask that was as alien as it was apathetic.
Suddenly, the catalyst behind so much of her old hurt and confusion began to make sense.
She had always tried to equate the person she knew in college with the one who had so quickly blocked her number, the man who’d chosen to cut her out of his life completely instead of remaining friends. It was something she never would have expected from the old Freddie, but this new version… it wasn’t so hard to believe.
He had treated her like a stranger. No, worse than a stranger. She had felt insignificant, like her decision to give him up wasn’t the one reason he had this shiny new life in the first place.
Yeah, but he doesn’t exactly know any of that, does he?the voice in her head chided.
Anne glowered at her empty coffee mug. Sometimes she really hated being so rational.
A ping from her phone broke her train of thought. She reached into her bag, expecting to find another text from Theo on the screen, following up on his email.
But when Anne pulled out her phone, it wasn’t a text from Theo but from Sophie Wentworth.
SOPHIE
HEY! So good seeing you last weekend! I’m in the neighborhood today—want to grab coffee?
Anne’s heart did an odd stumble. She had almost forgotten that she had exchanged numbers with Sophie at Freddie’s party. She had been so anxious to get out of there, the steps in between had fallen through the cracks in her memory.
She unlocked her phone and opened the message, ready to reply, but her fingers hovered over the screen.
Was it wrong to renew her friendship with Sophie? She had spent so much time distancing herself from that part of her life that it felt dangerous to contemplate revisiting it. But it had been eight years, right? Surely if Sophie was reaching out, she felt comfortable getting together. Anne should, too.
ANNE
