He laughed. “Don’t worry. I’ll let you off.”
I shoved my feet into my heels then chanced a look in his mirrored wardrobe door and cringed. My hair was a shagged, snarled mess and the shadows under my eyes only highlighted the bloodshot whites. I ran my fingers through my dark waves, wrangling them back into a tidy-ish top knot, then dabbed on some concealer in the hope of hiding my exhaustion, although it was a losing battle. I then emerged out of Jack’s bedroom into a minimalist living area to find him in the kitchenette wielding a milk-frother with true zeal. Oh God, if he was planning cosy morning-after coffees I really needed to get moving. “I have to go. Sorry, it’s work.”
“Right.” Jack shook his head ruefully. “Sure. Okay. You know, you really don’t need to make up some excuse if—”
“It’s not an excuse.” Although itwasconvenient.
“If you say so.” He opened a cabinet and pulled out a mug. “Just what is it that you do that requires a 6 a.m. wake-up at the weekend?”
I was pretty sure I’d explained my career last night, but then again, the bar had been loud, and neither of us had really been interested in conversation. I glanced down at the barrage of instructions my boss had texted. “I have to meet an 8 a.m. flight at Luton to collect a look-book from a stylist on layover to Argentina and hand-deliver it to a director in Croydon so he can prepare for a commercial pitch to Hyundai due Wednesday.” The phone beeped again. “And also help the same director dial into a call with his producer as the director’s astrologist has told him to minimize his interaction with technology this weekend.”
“Fucking hell,” Jack remarked, freezing mid milk-froth. “That’syour job?”
Not entirely, I wanted to say. I wanted to say that I was out networking with production companies, brands and studios, sourcing scripts and clients and matching them with the rightdirectors, that was I was bidding on interesting projects and sourcing funding. But six years as Lin Temper’s assistant and I was little more than a low-paid skivvy while Lin did most of that fun stuff.
“I’m an executive assistant to a director’s rep.” I brought up the Uber app on my phone. “Which means I do a lot of things that perhaps won’t make any sense to you.”
“Oh, I remember now, you help film directors book gigs, right?”
Maybe he had been listening last night. “Yeah. Films, sometimes, but we also find them work in commercials, music videos, TV … help them negotiate deals and network and stuff.”
“Sounds interesting,” he said politely. “You a film buff then?”
I tapped at my phone. “You could say that.” Which is why being stuck as EA was an unsatisfying place to be after all this time. I wasn’t where the decisions were made, where art was created. I was usually outside those meeting rooms, booking lunch or picking up dry-cleaning. But the creative industries were all about climbing ladders and paying dues. Networking. My chance would come and, after six years as Lin’s assistant, I was more than ready for it.
“But seriously.” His tone made me look up from my screen. “What are you, thirty?”
I paused my hasty Uber order and glared at him. “Thirty-one, what’s your point?”
Jack’s eyes widened, sensing danger. “It’s just, I dunno, hand-delivering stuff? Dialing into conference calls for someone else?”
“What does my age have to do with that?” I demanded.
He sighed. “You just seem like someone who should be doing bigger things, that’s all. Don’t these directors have their own assistants to do that sort of thing?”
I refrained from pulling a face. To be fair, he was only echoing the thoughts that usually ricocheted around my head most days. “Some do. But some don’t. And most of them understand that Temper Media’s main source of income is from the cut we take from their fees and so their happiness is our number-one priority. Which means if hand-delivering stuff on a Saturday morning provides that happiness, then … that’s what we do.”
Jack shook his head. “I can’t believe that’s how you earn a living.”
“Not much of one,” I muttered. The salary was, alas, still not that great. But it was reliable and that was critical.
“Then what’s the point?” Jack said. “You’re running around like a dogsbody on a weekendandthe pay is shit?”
The almost universal reaction to my career choice. What an idiot I was, to do something that asked so much from me yet gave so little in return. What a fool for turning away from known, lucrative quantities such as medicine or law or finance. What kind of adult in their early thirties and of sound mind would put up with what I did? The truth was the path to becoming an executive film producer was a long, uphill road with just as many exit routes as there were entry points. It was difficult and competitive, but I loved films and I wanted to make them. Any other career was simply not an option to me. I had to bide my time, build my experience and seize every opportunity, no matter how hard it was or how long it took.
The expression on Jack’s irritatingly handsome face told me he was not the sort of person to empathize with my situation (fair enough – look at his flat), so when my phone informed me a car was two minutes away, I sighed with relief. I was in no mood to justify my ambition. “My car is almost here so …”
“You won’t even stay for a coffee? Or, I remember, you’re from the North, right? Perhaps a cup of Yorkshirechuffingtea instead?” He snickered with self-satisfaction.
I smiled politely. It wasn’t the first time a man had made fun of my accent. “No, I mean, yes, I’m from Sheffield, but I don’t have time to stay.”
“Ah, I’ve offended you with the northern thing, haven’t I?” He grimaced. “I find it totally charming, really. I have all the Arctic Monkeys albums.”
“It’s fine. My Uber is almost here and—”
“Come on,” he wheedled. “You sure?”
My patience was getting stretched. I dropped the smile. “I’m sure. I mean, what’s the point?”
