“You’re all right. What did you ask for?”
“Young, fit, rich and no kids.”
I had to laugh because even though it wasn’t funny? It kind of…was.
“I also asked for no grey hair. That part was non-negotiable.”
“Oh God, Oliver. No wonder you had a panic attack.”
“Don’t mock me.”
“Not mocking you. Just…getting to know you.”
“Well, what else do you want to know?”
“What do you do for a living…when you’re not passing out on reality shows?”
“You’re mocking me.”
I grimaced. He laughed. Such an easy laugh. I wish I was more like him. I told him that as well, which made him blush.
“I’m an account manager for a financial firm.”
“Very upmarket.”
“Not for long once this goes on TV.”
“You did tell them, though?”
Ah. Crap. The look on his face held a million lies.
“You probably should have.”
“I know, but by the time I’d agreed to this gig, I was already in a bit of a tangle at the office. I don’t think they’ll have me back anyway.”
“Why not?”
He gestured wildly to all four corners of the room. Like I didn’t understand myself. I did. And okay.
“We need to make a deal here. Figure out how we cut conversations short when we skirt into private territory. We probably also need a place where we can go to talk privately when we need a break from…this. And maybe how to signal that we’ve had enough and need an out.”
“What?”
“I mean, we’re supposed to be…what? Partners here? So we need to make a plan.”
“You’d do that?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like, I could let you know when I need an out and you’d drag me off?”
“Yeah. And the same for me. I think…”
“We’ll work that out. Also? The bathroom is a safe spot…apparently.”
“So we’ll have to lock ourselves in the toilet to be able to talk freely?”
We both grinned. Which was, of course, when the production guy with the hat burst through the door. Knocking? Apparently not here. Someone else wearing a headset stared at us blankly, holding the door open.
