“I want you two in the first episode. Both of you. No script, no drama. Let’s talk, and tell it like it is. Rip the plaster off.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Last thing I heard, Kirsten was threatening to massage the statistics and allow Chloe-Catherine to win.”
“Marrying herself?” I squeaked. This was…ridiculous.
“Wouldn’t surprise me. The win was yours. You two would have done it hands down, but we’re not going to go there. We’re moving on, and we’re hitting back. Hard. On a prime-time Friday night slot. I won’t settle for less. There will be an appearance fee, and we will agree on clear boundaries beforehand. You approve the final episode before we air anything. From now on? I’m in charge, and I’m going to do what I want to do. Stop taking on these insane jobs that just make me mad.”
I wanted to agree, but now there were more footsteps and here were…
Ed. And a…shit.
“George?” Gina burst out laughing. “What the –?”
“No,” I said. “Absolutely not.”
What was this? My worst fucking nightmare? People coming at me from every angle, trying to drag me down? Back to that place where things had gone… Fuck. Next, Juliet would turn up, and my life would just be…
Dust. Just get me out of here.
“Dad. Ollie,” Ed said. Then he stared at Gina. “Hey.”
“Hi, Ed.” She grinned. “Gosh, both of you have scrubbed up well.”
“She follows me on Insta,” Cal squealed. Like it mattered.
“I know,” Ed said. “I told you, and you said it was fake.”
“Fuck.” Cal just stared into space again.
“Dad,” Ed started again, as I just stared at…George. The floor manager or whatever. Little nerdy kid with glasses. No spine. Frightened of his own shadow. He looked different, though, standing there in a sweatshirt and briefs, half smiling as Ed wrapped his arms around him. Held him tight from behind and smacked a kiss on his cheek, making his glasses go all crooked.
He fixed them with a quick flick of a finger. Then grinned at us.
“This is Georgie. Any questions?”
None. I had none. And Peter just smiled.
“Hey, Georgie, nice to meet you. Welcome. There’s tea? Toast in the freezer. Feel at home.”
“George,” Gina said.
“Hi,” he said. Soft. Like he didn’t know on which of his bare feet to balance.
“I told you to check your messages. I left you two this morning.”
“I got them. I replied,” he said. Good job. Steady. I was just staring here with no idea what the plot was in this insane play.
“Ed, make your George here a tea,” Peter said calmly. Like. What on earth? “Make yourself useful. I have things to sort,” Gina filled in.
“So bossy,” Ed huffed. “How many teas?”
“Just Georgie here,” I replied, shocking myself by actually acting along here. Playing my part.
For fuck’s sake.
“So, George.Real Talkwith Gina DeSanto. You in? Don’t expect a full-on role. You’re green, and we have to start somewhere.”
