‘It’s all in the execution. We can make it clear to the production company that if there is anybody who shows signs of struggling with an eating disorder, then they will have to act. Also . . .’ I start flailing around for anything now, ‘if it makes you feel better we could put a helpline number at the end.’
‘Won’t work,’ Zach says, flatly. I glare at him. ‘Sorry, but it won’t.’
‘Well, I agree with Lisa,’ says Giles. I flash him a grateful smile. ‘It’s just silly to say that we can’t makeanyprogramming about a whole industry. That it simply can’t be done. Sensitive handling is the key.’
‘Giles, with respect . . .’ Andrea begins, which is how she always begins a sentence when she’s about to tell him he’s a complete arsehole.
I can only describe the scene that ensues as a pile-on. Andrea and Angikka side with Zach, along with Simon from Drama and Julian from Reality. Karen and Giles side with me, alongside Suzy from Acquisitions and Chris from Comedy. Emily throws in a random anecdote about her brother’s niece working as a hairdresser at a fashion show in Barcelona, while Elias Caliskan from Finance simply keeps shuffling around a spreadsheet and saying, ‘Can I interest anyone in a budget breakdown?’
The whole thing is a shambles.
‘Look, look,’ says Andrea, calling the room to order. ‘There’s only one way to resolve this. You’re going to have to take it to Krishna Chowdhury, Lisa. It’s up to him to adjudicate in instances such as this.’
Krishna is Chief Content Officer. Mr Big. The final decision is his.
The thought of all the extra work a presentation to him will involve, not to mention the fact that until this morning I wasconvinced I’d have this over the finish line, makes me almost fall to my knees and start to weep. Instead, I close my notepad and push out my chair.
‘Fine. I’d be delighted to,’ I say.
I throw Zach a withering glare, then get to my feet, pick up my Spider-Man pen and take my leave.
Chapter 10
A disturbing thing happens on Saturday morning. I have a dirty dream. Which would be fine in itself. Delightful, even. Except that it’s about Zach Russo. It’s during that mysterious point of sleep when you’re not quite awake, but conscious enough to apparently stumble into your own personal porno.
It’s been a few years since I had one so vivid. I’d assumed they’d dried up at about the time adverts for caffeine shampoo began to pop up on Facebook. Aside from a short revival courtesy of the hot priest inFleabagSeason 2, there really haven’t been many to write home about for a while.
Now, though, my inner goddess appears to be back with a vengeance.
In the dream, I’m in a luxurious hotel room. Imagine a slick, cream-carpeted suite in a nineties movie starring Sharon Stone or Kim Basinger. It’s the sort of place where, in the days when I readCosmopolitanas a teenager, I once firmly believed I’d be hanging outall the timelater in life. The lighting is subdued, the furnishings plush, the mood seductive. There’s an unfeasibly large bed and a floor-to-ceiling window, beyond which the lights of Manhattan glitter against an obsidian sky.
Zach leads me into the room by the hand, anticipation rising in my chest. The apples of my cheeks are flushed, the taste of multiple whisky sours lingers on my lips. I’m in a midnight-blue slip dress, which pinches at my waist and reveals the soft, heavy outline of my breasts.
He’s in a tux, or at least hehasbeen; the jacket’s now gone and his tie hangs loose around the collar of his shirt, top button undone. The smooth skin of his Adam’s apple is begging to be kissed and I am indescribably hot for him. He closes the door behind us and draws those dark eyes slowly down my body. The way he looks at me makes something liquify in my core. Like he wants to devour me.
‘God, you’re beautiful.’
The statement comes from deep at the back of his throat, before he slides his hands around my waist and pulls me into him. I lift my chin as his lips sink into mine, full and tender. An undulating heat rises from my belly as I run my hands across his back, feeling the swell of his muscles. Something twitches against me and I push my pelvis into him, registering not merely how hard he is, but how big.
He places his hand on my jaw and tips back my head, sliding his mouth to the sweet spot behind my ear, searing me with silky kisses. Then he runs his fingertips all the way to the slope of my neck and down my shoulder, before they skim the side of my breast. Forgotten parts of my anatomy spark into life. My need for him is so intense I can hardly breathe. I stand on my tiptoes and cup his face in my hands as I kiss him, sliding my tongue gently inside his mouth until he groans.
We are ferocious after that, tugging at his shirt and flinging it to the floor, until his beautiful, honed torso is bare and one strap of my dress has fallen off my shoulder. I run my hands over the ripples on his triceps, feeling the strength of him beneath my fingers. Then we make our way to the bed and I lie back, lifting my arms above my head in surrender as the silk of my dress gathers up around my thighs.
He climbs on top, straddling me, his knees at the side of my hips as my hem rides higher. He kisses me again, our foreheads pressed together as he slides a hand between my legs, wherea warm pulse is already throbbing. He gently pushes aside my knickers and slips a finger inside, drawing it gently downwards in a slow vertical line. It begins as soft as a whisper, before building slowly into something more insistent, drawing me deeper and deeper under some kind of spell. I hear myself groan and think,Fuck me, though I’m too inside my own head to know if it’s an exclamation or a request. And then—
‘MUM!’
Someone is shaking my shoulder. I wake up to find Jacob standing at the side of my bed in his pyjamas, a tuft of hair sticking up from the top of his head. ‘Did you hear me?’
‘Huh? Oh. Yes!’ I say, wiping sleep from my eyes.
I push myself up, blinking as I fully register that I’m not in a hotel room with Zach Russo about to make me come so hard that I forget my middle name.
Jacob’s face brightens. ‘So does that mean . . .we can?’
‘Can what?’
‘Can get one of them,’ he says, as if I’m being a bit dense.
