When she came out of the dressing room door, Victoria shrieked with delight and Jo stared. She just stared at her, blinking a few times, and Emma felt powerful. Her smile grew.
“Oh, baby, that’s it,” Victoria said. “And I haven’t even seen the back, turn around, turn around.”
Emma chuckled. “Let me get in front of the mirrors first.”
It looked as good as it felt. Emma beamed at her reflection. She turned her back to the mirror, and that was even better. It was more skin than she’d usually show, but she didn’t mind since it wasn’t cleavage. She took her hair out of the bun to fall in messy waves past her shoulders.
Victoria whistled. “What do you think?”
“I love it,” Emma said.
“Jo?”
Emma looked at Jo in the mirror. Her boss was watching her, eyes unblinking in a way Emma wasn’t sure was good or bad. Jo glanced at Victoria instead.
“She’ll need heels.”
Emma held in a sigh. She wanted Jo’s opinion on the dress. Jo was right, though—the fabric pooled on the floor. Emma would trip over it without heels.
“It’s pretty damn good, though, right?” Victoria pressed, but Jo stayed noncommittal.
“As long as Emma’s comfortable.”
“You’re hopeless,” Victoria said. To Emma, she added, “What size? I’ll go find you heels. Don’t change into a new dress yet.”
“I don’t need to try on another one,” Emma said. “I want this one.”
Victoria nodded. “Shoe size?”
“Nine,” Emma said, and Victoria slipped away.
In her haste to get into the dress, Emma had forgotten to check the price. She found the tag. Twenty-five hundred dollars. Cheap, comparatively. It was still a ridiculous amount of money for her boss to be spending on her. Jo had a ridiculous amount of money, though, and she could do with it as she pleased. Emma had no reason to turn down a fancy dress. She’d already admitted she wanted this one.
“It’s too much,” she said anyway. “For you to buy a dress for me when I’ll only wear it for one night.”
Jo looked up at her. “It’s nothing,” she said. “I’m inviting you, Emma. I’m not going to make you pay to come.”
“Jo, I—” Emma sighed.
She wanted the dress. She wasn’t even that nervous about having to go to the awards anymore. This dress fitting went better than she expected; maybe the awards would, too. But the idea of Jo spending $2,500 on her put this weight in her stomach she didn’t like.
“Do you not want to go?” Jo asked quietly, not quite looking at Emma.
Emma answered with no hesitation, probably out of habit of making things easier for Jo. “No, I do, I just—”
“It’s settled then,” Jo said. “This dress, yes? It’s beautiful.”
Emma nodded, smiling. “Yeah, boss.”
* * *
—
They bought the dress—after Emma snapped a few pictures of herself in the mirrors—plus a pair of heels Emma would have to practice walking in all weekend. It was barely halfway through the afternoon, but Jo directed Chloe, her driver, to drop Emma off at her car in the parking garage.
“Ms. Jones, they’re still shooting. Don’t you want me on set?”
“I think I can survive a few hours,” Jo said. “Especially since I’m monopolizing your Sunday. The suite you booked for me to prep? Come by between ten and eleven. Hair, makeup, jewelry—everything will be taken care of. We’ll have your dress there, so you don’t have to worry about it all weekend.”
Emma hadn’t even thought about getting ready. She chewed on her bottom lip and nodded at Jo.
“I’ve got the Producers Guild Awards tomorrow,” Jo said, though of course Emma already knew that. “I’m not doing the red carpet there, and I thought the SAGs would be more—” She paused. “Fun for you. We’ll be sitting with the cast, of course, so you won’t feel too out of your element.”
Because being dressed in a $2,500 gown with hair, makeup, and jewelry, all paid for by her boss, would apparently be offset because she was sitting by people she knew. Really, the PGAs would be better for Emma, both in relation to networking and in relation to not having to walk on a red carpet. But Jo needed her at the SAGs, so she’d go to the SAGs.
“Sounds good,” Emma said quietly. “I’ll see you then.”
She thanked Chloe and, for the first time in years, drove home while they were still filming.
She texted her sister again, told Avery to come over when she closed the bakery, and to bring Cassius, the snuggliest of Avery’s three rottweilers.
* * *
—
“You know you’re going to make Billie and Roz jealous if you only ask for Cassius,” Avery said as she arrived.
“I’ll take them all to the dog park next weekend to make up for it,” Emma said, petting Cassius before hugging her sister.
Avery gave the best hugs. She always said it was because she was fat and had some cushion to her, and Emma didn’t exactly disagree, but she thought it also had something to do with how much love Avery put into her hugs.
“How was your day?” Emma asked.
“Good,” Avery said. She dropped her keys on the table by the door. “Bakery was busy. Twins have been wild. I’m glad I’m not in charge of them tonight. Are we ordering food?”
“Thai’s on its way,” Emma said.
“From that one place?”
“From that one place.”
“I love you.”
“I know,” Emma said, settling onto her sofa. She patted the seat next to her. “Maybe this means you’ll let me snuggle with Cassius on my couch?”
Avery shook her head. “Cash is literally never going to be allowed on the furniture.”
“He’s literally allowed on it whenever I dogsit,” Emma muttered.
“What?”
“Oh, nothing,” she said with fake nonchalance, laughing when Avery narrowed her eyes.
“Whatever.” Avery plopped herself down next to Emma and took off the bandana she always wore at the bakery. She scrubbed her fingers through her shoulder-length brown hair. “What’s up? Are we still doing the SAGs at my house Sunday? Dylan is under strict instructions that he’s in charge of the kids for the evening.”
Emma laughed nervously. Of course her sister led with that.
“About that . . . ,” Emma said. Avery tilted her head at her, and Emma decided to rip the Band-Aid off. “Jo needs a buffer so people won’t talk to her about Agent Silver—I don’t know if you saw that gossip column about how apparently she’s not good enough to write it or whatever”—Emma rolled her eyes—“but she needs a buffer. So she’s taking me to the ceremony.”
“The ceremony?”
“The SAG Awards ceremony.”
Avery blinked. “You’re going to the SAG Awards?”
Emma nodded.
“That’s awesome!”
“I guess?”
“C’mon, Em,” Avery said. “That’s going to be really cool. It’s a little weird your boss is taking you when, like—hasn’t she not taken a date to an awards thing since she was a teenager?”
Emma went red immediately. “Oh my God, Avery, I’m not her date.”
“You know what I mean,” Avery said, leveling Emma with a stare. “But also, like—that’s how it’s going to look.”
“Just because she takes a woman means everyone is going to suddenly decide she’s gay? Anyone who actually knows who I am is going to know I’m her assistant. And no one else is going to care.”
“If you say so.” Avery shrugged. Her eyes widened. “What are you even going to wear?”
Emma cringed, because she still felt like Jo buying her the dress was too much, and she was sure her sister would, too. “Um. A dress. I got it today.”
&n
bsp; “You got a dress for the SAGs today? What, after work? It’s barely past six.”
“No,” Emma said. “This afternoon.”
“Jo let you take the afternoon off to get a dress?”
“Not exactly.” Emma sighed. She might as well just say it. “Jo and I went to a dress fitting, and she bought me a dress.”
Avery stared at her sister. Emma tried not to make excuses, knew Jo could do whatever she wanted with her money. And Jo was right, anyway; it would be rude to invite Emma and then make her pay.
“I’ve got pictures of it,” Emma said, reaching for her phone on the coffee table. “She’s taking care of bringing it to the suite where we’re getting ready and stuff so I don’t have to worry about it.”
“You’re getting ready together, too?”
“Yeah,” Emma said, more lightly than she felt. “She always gets ready in a suite. It makes sense for me to, too. I mean, I don’t know how to do my hair or anything for something like this.”
“Dude,” Avery said. “She wants to wife you.”
“What?”
“She totally wants to wife you,” Avery said. She ticked items off on her fingers as she listed them. “Buying you fancy things, spending time with you outside of work, showing you off in public.”
Emma grabbed a throw pillow and made it worth its name, hitting her sister in the face with it. “That’s ridiculous!”
“Is it, though?”
“Yes!” Emma exclaimed. “My boss does not want to wife me. She’s probably not even queer.”
“Just because she’s not out doesn’t mean—”
“Whatever.” Emma rolled her eyes. “We’re talking about the SAGs, not speculating about Jo’s sexuality. She invited me so she doesn’t have to deal with people asking her about the movie.”
“Maybe she shouldn’t be doing the movie if she doesn’t want to deal with people asking her about it.”
“Hey!” Emma snapped, still sensitive about the article claiming Jo wasn’t good enough for Agent Silver. “We don’t even know if she is doing the movie, anyway.”
Cassius put his head in Emma’s lap, seemingly distressed by the raised voices. Emma set her phone down again to scratch behind his ears. She could tell her face was flushed.
“You’d totally let her wife you,” Avery said. “What with your crush on her and all.”
Emma gave up, sliding onto the floor to fully cuddle with Cassius. He immediately put half his body weight on her.
“I do not have a crush on her,” she said.
“Em, you basically had a shrine to her on your wall as a kid.”
“I had pictures of inspiring women!” Emma said. “Maya Angelou was on that wall, too. You think I have a crush on Maya Angelou?”
Avery shrugged. “I have a brain crush on Maya Angelou.”
“How does your husband feel about that?”
“He has a brain crush on her, too—why do you think I married him?”
“Look, yes,” Emma said, “I think Jo is amazing and brilliant, but it’s, like, a mentor crush. Not an actual crush. Like how I felt about Professor Allister in college.”
“Or”—Avery drew out the word—“you have a thing for older women.”
“I do not.”
Avery made a face like she totally didn’t believe her. Emma rubbed Cash’s stomach.
“Your mom’s a jerk, did you know that?”
“Let me see the dress,” Avery said. “I promise I’ll stop teasing you for your crush on your boss.”
“Your mom doesn’t get to see my dress, does she?” Emma said to Cassius. “Nope, because she’s a big—hey!”
Avery had reached over and plucked Emma’s phone from where she’d left it on the couch.
“Em.” Her eyes were wide as she looked at the phone. “Em.”
Emma put her chin on top of Cassius’s head and tried not to blush. “It’s pretty good, yeah?”
“Emma, you look amazing,” Avery said. “Oh my God, am I going to see you on TV? Are you going to, like, do the red carpet and all?”
“Oh no, they wouldn’t show me,” Emma said. “They’re only going to show stars and stuff, obviously.”
“Yeah, but if they show Jo, you’d be next to her! I could see you.”
Emma’s throat went tight at the possibility of all those cameras on her. She thought of her inhalers—one in her purse, one next to her bed—and wondered if she could bring one with her. But she didn’t have a clutch or anything to carry. How was she going to bring things? What did one even bring to the SAG Awards? She was so not prepared for this.
“Hey,” Avery said. “It’ll be fine.” She rubbed a hand along Emma’s arm. “The only time they’d show you would be, like, as Jo’s arriving, right? The celebs all go down a fancy red carpet to get their pictures taken, and the people who go with them are only there if they’re famous. Or, like, someone’s mom and so it’s cute. You’ll go some other way that they send the plebeians.”
Emma rolled her eyes at her sister, though she appreciated Avery distracting her.
“I’m less of a plebeian than you, at least,” she said. “Given you’ll probably be in a onesie on your couch.”
“Touché.”
Even if there were cameras on her, it would be okay. Hollywood was all about who you knew. Granted, knowing Jo Jones would be pretty damn helpful when it came to moving on from being an assistant, but the exposure Emma would get from a high-profile event like the SAGs couldn’t hurt. She’d be fine.
2
EMMA
Emma stood in the hallway in front of the suite door for ten minutes. She knocked at exactly 10:30 a.m.
The door opened right away. A short man with dark hair, close cropped on the sides and long on top, stood behind it. He grinned and gestured her inside.
“Are you the infamous Emma?” he asked.
“Emma, yes. Infamous, not so much,” Emma said.
The man led her into the living room area. The suite was huge—it even had an upstairs. On one side, there was a spiral staircase Emma didn’t trust her clumsy self to climb. Behind the staircase was a closed door that Emma assumed led to a bedroom. The other side of the room opened to a dining area. The living room itself had floor-to-ceiling windows, two couches, an overstuffed chair, a full-sized piano—God knows why—and a chaise near one of the windows, where Jo sat serenely as someone did her nails. She was a picture of luxury in a pink silk robe. She smiled at Emma from across the room. Emma waved, then dropped her hand to her side, wondering how dumb it looked.
“Jo’s never had someone else for us to style; you’re infamous,” the man who let her in said. “I’m Jaden, by the way. I work with Kelli, who I think you know.”
Emma only knew Kelli from phone calls setting up appointments. She did Jo’s makeup for events where there would be media.
“That’s me,” a woman said. She stood at a table covered with makeup products. “Nice to put a face to the name.”
Emma smiled. “You, too.”
Kelli was much older than Emma had expected. She sounded so young on the phone, but crow’s feet peeked through her flawless face of makeup.
“As soon as Mai finishes touching up Jo’s nails, it’s your turn,” Jaden said. “Do you know how you want to wear your hair?”
“Um,” Emma said. She had googled hairstyles all day yesterday but kind of figured the stylist would have something picked out for her. “I like it down?”
“I can work with that.”
Emma felt a bit like a doll then. Jaden played with her hair—over this shoulder then over that shoulder then half-up, half-down—inspecting her with each adjustment. Kelli brought over makeup palettes, holding each up to Emma’s face to figure out what worked best with her coloring. Someone appeared with a glass of water. They disappeared before she could get th
eir name. Emma trusted these people—Jo always looked great at events—but she’d never been primped like this before.
It settled down eventually. Mai came over to do her nails while Kelli worked on Jo’s makeup. Emma let Mai pick the color of her polish. She stayed mostly silent throughout, only speaking when spoken to. She wanted to tell Jo she was robbed at the Producers Guild Awards last night, but she didn’t know how to bring it up.
“I thought you said she was talkative,” Kelli said, and Emma looked over at her.
“She usually is.” It was the first time Jo had spoken since Emma arrived.
“She said you’d probably talk our ears off,” Kelli told Emma.
“Whatever happened to beautician-client privilege?” Jo asked.
Kelli rolled her eyes at Jo. “It’s not that you have to talk,” she said to Emma. “But you don’t have to be afraid to, either.”
“I’m not afraid to talk,” Emma said, thrown by the idea of Jo discussing her with other people. “Nor am I particularly talkative?”
Keeping her eyes closed as Kelli applied shadow, Jo waved a hand at Emma. “You always have a gaggle of PAs around you.”
“Because I’m friendly,” Emma said. She made her voice go sweet. “And if they want to complain about their overbearing boss—”
“Watch it,” Jo said, but there was no heat behind it.
“I listen,” Emma continued. “And by being friendly, I get things done. You catch more bees with honey, you know.”
Jo rolled her eyes and Kelli tutted at her. “You want me to stab you in the eye with this brush? No? Then keep still.”
It was more fun after that. Emma seemed to have won the stylists over. Jo was relaxed, easygoing. She wasn’t terrible at work or anything, but she was always focused and serious, and Emma wasn’t used to seeing her so laid-back. Emma tried to stay relaxed, too, though whenever she let her mind stray to the ceremony later, and the red carpet beforehand, her pulse spiked a bit.
To keep herself calm, she asked the stylists questions. Kelli had been doing Jo’s makeup for events for more than twenty years. Mai’s mother did Jo’s nails for the first Emmys she ever went to, back when she was fourteen. That was the year Emma was born.
Something to Talk About Page 2
