“Fine,” she said breezily. “If you’re not going to fuck Elliot, then he can get fucked. By, like, life.” She made a startled sound. “Oh God, I need to get back to work. Congrats on what sounds like an intense first day. Just make sure you look after yourself.”
“I will, promise.”
“Seriously.” Bex gulped wetly.
“Are you crying?”
There was a loud sniff. “No, not really I … Man, I think I’m just tired and stressed about this meeting tomorrow.”
“Sounds like it,” I said. “You also have a wedding to plan, so take it easy. I only wish I could be part of it and help.”
“Me too,” Bex agreed. “But you’ll be back in what, a couple of months? There’s plenty of time for me to foist all the maid of honor tasks upon you then.”
I screeched to a halt in the middle of the pavement, tears springing to my eyes. “Bex … maid of honor?”
“Agh! I mean, yeah! If you want to be.”
“If Iwantto be?”
“Yes. Sorry,” she said. “I had a whole elaborate plan about asking you when you got back, it was going to be like a joke proposal, down on one knee. It would have been dead cute, but I’ve ruined it now.”
“You can do the proposal thing when I get back and I’ll act surprised?” I suggested, ignoring the disgruntled pedestrians shooting me filthy looks for blocking the flow of traffic. “Just so you know, my answer is yes, a thousand times, yes.”
“Good,” Bex said. “Now that’s sorted, you can focus on smashing it at RJF. Stuff the hot assistant.”
“I miss you.” London felt a million miles away.
“You’ve been gone two days,” Bex reminded me gently. “You got this.”
Chapter Twelve
Elliot Fox loved the wordno. At least, that’s how it felt after an entire morning of hearing it from him. We’d barely even made it off the first page. All I’d done was suggest we cut three lines of Marla’s dialogue because I thought they were a little repetitive and you’d think I’d suggested killing her off altogether. Jetlag had been making me its bitch since 4 a.m. that morning and it was taking every ounce of strength to not bite Elliot’s head off. He was refusingeverysuggestion, even the smallest of changes. I’d floated the idea of using the word ‘bitter’ in the place of ‘sharp’ and he’d walked out of the office in disgust to buy himself the tallest, most marshmallow-laden mocha I’d ever seen.
So when Juno stuck her head in and announced a pizza lunch, I practically sprinted out of the stuffy little writers’ room without looking back and followed her to the kitchen, where pizza boxes were stacked on the communal table with half of the office already helping themselves. When Ralf saw me, he waved me over.
“Step on up for the best pizza in Manhattan!” He immediately handed over a slice loaded with veg and pepperoni. “Joe’s on Fourteenth. Can’t beat it.”
“That’s a bold statement,” Juno said, swiping a margherita slice. “I think New Yorkers consider that fighting talk.” She took a big bite. “But I agree, Joe’s is the best.”
“No, Two Boots!” cried Noah, although I noted he had a plate loaded with three slices.
“No, no,” Riley said. “You are all sleeping on Cecconi’s, theybakethe oregano into the dough.”
They bickered good-naturedly for a while, and I let their words wash over me as I inhaled my slice. I couldn’t say if it was the best in New York, but it was one of the best pizzas I’d ever had.
Elliot snaffled a slice, rucksack on shoulder. “I’m gonna hit the gym.”
“Well, obviously.” He was too ripped to not be a gym addict.
“Huh?” He looked at me askance as he made short work of his pizza in three quick bites.
Oh God. I’d said that out loud. “I mean, it’s a good thing. Because of the sugary coffees. Gym is healthy.”
“Right.” He didn’t even bother to disguise his eye-roll as he picked up a second slice. “I’ll be back soon. Try not to be responsible for the death of cinema in my absence.”
Oh, he really thought he was the absolute authority on the industry, didn’t he? “Yeah, well, you …” Ah fuck. No comeback. “You know, I hope you don’t … choke on that pizza.”
“What, like you and the croissant?”
