As Elliot pursed his lips in disapproval, Ralf tipped his head back with a laugh. “I can promise you two things, Lucie – one, a good time, and two, no cigars.”
Chapter Fourteen
Iwas covered in coffee granules and water. Dripping, in fact. Michelle could barely catch her breath from laughter as I stood before the RJF coffee machine, my shirt absolutely drenched. It was nearly 10 a.m. and I’d spent the morning killing time waiting for Elliot as we had a meeting with RJ scheduled. But after polishing myTwin Rosespitch and sending it to him, he still hadn’t shown up, so I’d decided to see if I could get the coffee machine to work and had somehow managed to flood the water tank, resulting in a tsunami of – thankfully not boiling – water and ground coffee. Not only was my hair thick with coffee grounds, but my lemon-yellow shirt – which had seemed like such a good idea on this sunny day – had gone entirely see-through.
“I’m sorry!” Michelle wheezed eventually. “But … I don’t know … how you did that!”
“I – I’m not even sure.” My shirt was clammy, liquid trickling under the waistband of my trousers. And I was still no closer to getting a decent cup of coffee.
“Stand back.” Michelle grabbed a roll of paper towel and began to wipe up, her shoulders shaking.
“You have to stop laughing,” I begged, dabbing at my hair.
“I’m sure I will in the next few hours.”
“Do you have spare clothes?” I crossed my arms over my chest. My lacy underwear had also been a poor choice.
“I’m afraid not,” she said. “But I’ll cover for you if you need to head back to your apartment.”
“I don’t have time!” I heard the ominousclack-clackof Vivian’s stilettos and, sure enough, she emerged into the kitchenette, lips curling in what on normal human beings may have been a smile.
“RJ is ready for you now,” she told me. Her eyes flicked up and down my shirt and then she pivoted and strutted out.
“Wow, she really hates me,” I said.
“Not just you. She’s an equal-opportunity hater,” Michelle assured me, throwing used paper towel in the bin.
I looked down at my transparent, mucky shirt. I could cry. “Does it look bad?”
Michelle winced. “I’d keep your arms folded. That bra is fire, but probably not a good look for a meeting with your boss.”
RJ was pacing his office, phone in one hand, bubble tea in the other. I entered quietly, arms clamped around my midsection and took a seat as stealthily as I could. RJ’s face was pink, his eyes hard as he listened to what his caller was telling him. The Oscar gap on his shelf seemed wider than ever and I tried not to look directly at it.
“Whatever you say, Sherman,” RJ snarled into his phone. “But I just wanted you to know my stance.” He hung up, nodding to himself, lips moving silently. His ruminations felt like something I shouldn’t see.
“Do you want me to come back?” I asked tentatively.
RJ slammed his phone to the floor so suddenly I yelped in surprise. He took a breath, cricked his neck. “No,” he said flatly. His gaze darted around the room. “Where’s Elliot?”
“Um, I’m not—”
“We have a meeting!” he snapped.
“I know,” I said, as calmly as I could manage. I decided the decent thing to do was to cover for my writing partner. “He’s – ah – been held up.”
“Held up?” RJ repeated. “So is that why the script remains largely unchanged after two whole days?”
“W-well, we’ve been planning and brainstorming,” I stammered. Where the fuck was Elliot? Why was I facing this diatribe by myself? After all, it was hardly my fault we’d made barely any progress.
“The pitch is inweeks,” RJ said. “I brought you in to revitalize my words, not procrastinate on my dime!”
I burned with humiliation. Perhaps the baseball game had been a mistake. “I have not been procrastinating.”
“Well, what the fuck is Elliot playing at then?” RJ demanded. “And why is he so late to my meeting?”
“Toourmeeting,” Sadie barked, Ralf strutting behind her like a preppy peacock.
“Sorry, I thought we were just meeting RJ,” I said, confused.
