‘Do you want to tell me what the problem is?’ she asked.
I glared at her.
‘Not with me.’ She handwaved that off as if it were a ridiculous suggestion. ‘Whatever came through your earpiece. The problem you have to brief Z about and go and troubleshoot when you’ve got us all through intros.’
Us.
That word stuck in my throat. She’d said it, not me, but it felt like I could choke on it.
‘Contestants don’t need to know about production issues,’ I said shortly.
I wanted a reaction, but I didn’t get one. ‘Well,’ she said lightly, ‘I guess I deserve that.’
I looked down at her feet.
‘I’m so angry with you, Lily,’ I said quietly.
‘I know. I’m sorry.’
‘Are you?’
‘Yes.’
She uncrossed and recrossed her ankles, a simple, familiar gesture that hurt as much as if she’d driven one of her heels between my ribs. ‘I know how much is on your plate. I know me turning up like this is only adding to it.’
‘But you did it anyway.’
‘Yes.’
‘Thirteen years of friendship, and you thought a night like tonight was the right time to drop this bomb in my lap.’
‘Murray—’
‘Because,’ I interrupted, looking over at her again, ‘you knew that if you gave me any warning – any lead time at all – I would have figured out a way to stop you.’
There were different kinds of silences. Knowing when to shut up was a crucial producer skill, letting the silence draw out, extend, get uncomfortably long, until the person you were producing cracked and filled it. There, the silence was a question, and the beauty was that it could be unformed, a simple hanging question mark. Stay silent long enough, and the person you were asking would fill in the question in their mind, pinpointing their own hidden vulnerabilities for you. Sometimes, though, a silence was an answer, one that you were too proud or stubborn to speak.
Yes,Lily admitted, without saying a word.Fine. You got me.
‘Lily,’ I said, ‘if you want me to believe that you’re not having a nervous breakdown, you have to tell me why you’re doing this.’
There was a burst of chatter from Romeo-Dylan and Heather in my earpiece. I yanked it out, letting it dangle near my collar.
‘I already told you,’ she replied. ‘You used to be much better at listening.’
I pinched the bridge of my nose.
‘You need me,’ she said. ‘I’m going to be the acid to cut through the sweetness. The wicked queen to Prince Charming and his Cinderellas. I’ll be the bait that lures people onto the hook. By the time I’m done, people will be in love with the romance, because—’
‘Because they’ll hate you,’ I said. ‘Cut the bullshit. I’m not Fucking Greg.’
‘Murray?’ I heard Keira say, tinny and distant from my dangling earpiece. ‘Are you there?’
‘One second, Keira.’
Lily straightened, swinging her feet back down and brushing imaginary dust off her dress. ‘Sounds like my cue.’
I grabbed her hand. ‘Listen to me. Please.’
