Something to Talk About

by Meryl Wilsner

—

  Sunday afternoon, as Jo was getting her hair done, her phone buzzed. She hadn’t checked it since before lunch; no one needed her on days of awards shows. But she made Jaden stop curling her hair for a moment so she could reach for it.

  There was a missed text from the morning, from Emma: I hope Kelli et al are treating you well.

  Then the recent message: Is Jaden talking your ear off?

  Jo bit down on her grin. She texted back: He’s in the middle of a very in-depth story involving a distant relative’s cat.

  “What are you smiling at?” Kelli asked.

  Jo locked her phone. “Nothing.”

  Her attendants shared a look.

  “Did the girlfriend text?”

  Jo rolled her eyes. “I thought we broke up.”

  Kelli grinned like she was baring her teeth. “So you’re not denying she texted.”

  “I’m keeping her updated on Jaden’s mother’s cousin’s daughter’s cat,” Jo said. “She’s very invested.”

  The conversation shifted to teasing Jaden, and Jo relaxed.

  She kept her phone in her hand, and Emma kept texting. Nothing important. She was watching an arrivals show with her sister. Jo couldn’t imagine who would be arriving this early before the ceremony. She was going earlier than usual herself, taking time to do an interview or two about the Cassandra Project.

  I have a real hankering for pigs in a blanket right about now, Emma texted, and Jo had to swallow her laugh. Emma immediately followed it up with: Actually, I made Avery make us some so I’m literally eating them right now.

  You have a pretty good sister, Jo texted back.

  She’s not terrible.

  Eventually, Jo had to actually go to the theater. She let herself be handled on the red carpet a bit more than usual, went where she was supposed to go, and ended up doing four separate interviews. As soon as she was off the red carpet and inside, she checked her phone. She’d missed three messages from Emma.

  Wow. You look really nice, boss.

  The interview with E! was great!

  Seriously if you’re not on a best-dressed list, they’re wrong.

  Jo grinned to herself and found her table next to Chantal and the cast.

  She didn’t turn off her phone during the ceremony. She kept it in her clutch and checked it on commercial breaks. Emma worked just as well as a buffer through the phone as she did in real life, though it was less fun texting. Jo much preferred the SAGs, muttering things under her breath with Emma beside her, trying not to laugh. Laughing emojis and lols weren’t the same as the way Emma bit the corner of her mouth to keep a chuckle in.

  15

  JO

  A few weeks after the Emmys, there was a quiet knock on Jo’s door. She looked up to see Emma, and Jo smiled until she registered the look on her assistant’s face.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Your father called,” Emma said. “He’s planning to stop by around lunch.”

  Jo’s spine straightened of its own accord. She sucked in a breath.

  “Excellent,” she said, though her jaw stayed clenched. “Thank you for letting me know.”

  “I told him you had a busy day,” Emma said. “But when I suggested he schedule a better time, he said he was sure you could fit him in and hung up the phone.”

  That sounded like her father.

  “Thank you, Emma,” Jo said again. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

  It wasn’t, of course. But there was nothing to be done about that now. When her father decided something, it was decided.

  Jo sent Emma on fifteen different errands at eleven and told her she could stop for lunch while she was out.

  “Should I grab you lunch, too, boss?”

  “No, I’ll be fine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Honestly, Jo was nauseated at the thought of her father visiting, and annoyed at herself for it. She was forty-one years old and a multimillionaire, and she got nervous at the thought of her father disapproving. Worse still, she already knew he disapproved, had known that since she was a kid. She should’ve been over it by now. Instead, her stomach roiled too much for her to eat anything. She waited in her office, one foot tapping, unable to get any work done.

  Eventually, her father appeared in her open door, ramrod posture and stern expression. He knocked on the doorjamb as though she hadn’t noticed him. Jo took a breath and affected something approximating a smile, standing to greet her dad.

  “Father,” she said.

  “Josephine.”

  She didn’t cringe at her full name. She offered her cheek for him to kiss. It was that or a handshake—her father did not hug. She left her office door open. There weren’t many people around, but her father didn’t know that. Maybe it would keep him from making a scene.

  It did, at first. He asked after her—he didn’t seem particularly interested, but the fact that he asked at all was something, she supposed. He talked about Vincent, proudly, as usual. Jo was fine with that. When she could think rationally about it, she really didn’t mind disappointing her father.

  His good behavior only lasted about ten minutes. Then: “The debacle with Barry Davis,” he said. He shook his head. “You could have handled that better.”

  “I’m handling it just fine,” Jo said. “And I’m not discussing it with you.”

  Her father’s lips pursed. He glanced at the door, then looked back at Jo. “I’m glad you’ve gotten rid of that assistant girl.”

  Jo rolled her eyes. “Her name is Emma. She’s a lot more than that assistant girl, and I haven’t gotten rid of her. She’s running some errands for me.”

  “She still works for you,” her father said. “But I was referring to that dating nonsense that thankfully appears to be over. Honestly, Josephine, what a disgrace.”

  Jo’s throat went tight. Her breath shuddered through her nose. She was not going to rise to the bait.

  It wasn’t bait, though. Her father wasn’t saying it with the intent to get a rise out of her; it was simply what he believed. She couldn’t fucking stand him.

  “You could fire her,” he continued. “At the end of the season. People move on from shows.”

  He said this like he knew anything about television, like he had ever cared about her career. It was her mom who had first put her up for auditions, and it was her mom who had known the ins and outs of the business when Jo was growing up. She doubted her father had seen a single episode of Innocents.

  “I would never fire Emma because of rumors,” Jo said.

  She shouldn’t have conditioned it. She would never fire Emma. Period. Rumors or not.

  “Perhaps at the end of this season you should let her go,” her father said as though she hadn’t spoken. Jo bristled further. She was promoting her midseason, not firing her. “If you’re not even sleeping together, surely she’s not worth keeping around when it damages your reputation.”

  Of course, that moment was when Emma arrived.

  Emma stood in her doorway with a bag from Jo’s favorite burger place in one hand and a drink in the other. She was looking at Jo’s father with sharp eyes that softened when she looked to Jo.

  “I know you said you didn’t need me to get lunch,” Emma said, as though Jo’s father were not there. “But I thought you could use something.”

  Jo swallowed. “Great. Thank you.”

  Emma came into the office and set the bag on Jo’s desk. She held out the drink.

  “Strawberry milkshake.”

  Jo must not have kept her nerves in check that morning. A strawberry milkshake was her go-to on stressful days. Emma knew that.

  Jo took the cup from her. “Thank you.”

  “Do you need anything else, Ms. Jones?” Emma asked, holding eye contact.

  Jo he
ard her father cough, but she didn’t look away from Emma.

  “No, Emma,” she said. “I’m fine.”

  Emma turned to go. On her way out, though, Jo’s father opened his mouth.

  “Honestly, you’re going to throw your reputation away on this slut?”

  He said it in Cantonese. Emma couldn’t understand him, didn’t break stride. She hadn’t given him the time of day. Perhaps if Jo could think straight, she’d be proud of Emma for ignoring him. As it was, her head was filled with television static. She couldn’t think at all. She was furious.

  “Shut the fuck up,” she said.

  That froze both Emma and Jo’s father, and they turned to stare at her, wide-eyed.

  “Excuse me?” her father said.

  “Shut the fuck up,” she repeated, each word its own sentence. She was standing now, leaning over her desk toward her father. “You do not get to talk about her like that.”

  “You do not get to talk to me like that,” he said. “I’m your father and—”

  “And you’ve always been a complete jackass,” Jo said. “Apologize to Emma or get out.”

  “You’re willing to treat your father this way over some girl?” He said the word with such derision he might as well have been cursing.

  Jo had left her door open so her father wouldn’t make a scene. She made it instead, slamming her hands against her desk.

  “This woman is fantastic at her job and is the only reason I survive most days,” Jo snapped. “And that’s true whether or not we’re fucking, and whether or not you approve.”

  “Josephine!”

  “You’ll find that not only can I speak to you however I damn well please, I can also have you removed from the premises.” She picked up the phone on her desk and dialed Mason in security. “Yes, Mason, could you send someone to my office to escort my father from the building? And please make sure he is not allowed entry again without my prior, explicit approval. Great, thank you.” She faked a smile in her father’s direction. “Security will be here in a moment to make sure you can find the door with your head so far up your ass.”

  Her father stared at her. She didn’t blink.

  “I’ll find the way out myself, thank you,” he said, and left without sparing Emma so much as a glance.

  As soon as her father was out of sight, Jo crumpled, resting on both hands on her desk, all of the breath out of her in a harsh sigh. She hung her head. She heard Emma close her office door and was grateful; she needed a moment to get herself together.

  Then Jo heard movement. She looked up to find that Emma hadn’t left her alone after all. Emma had stayed on this side of the door when she closed it, and she was now hesitantly rounding Jo’s desk.

  “Boss,” she said. “Are you okay?”

  Jo nodded. “It’s fine.”

  “Jo,” Emma said.

  She caught Jo’s hand where it was clenched around the edge of her desk. Jo let Emma uncurl her fingers.

  “What can I do?” Emma said.

  Jo wasn’t lying when she said Emma got her through most days. She did it because of things like this, because of the way she had Jo’s back, the way she took care of her. It was her job, sure, but Emma went above and beyond on a regular basis.

  Jo squeezed Emma’s hand. “Nothing,” she said. “It’s fine. The milkshake will help.”

  Emma glanced at the milkshake and bag of food still on Jo’s desk, then looked back to Jo. Her hand came up to cup Jo’s cheek, and Jo didn’t think before letting her eyes slip closed, leaning into the touch.

  “Are you sure you’re all right, boss?” Emma whispered.

  Jo opened her eyes. She nodded, Emma’s hand still on her face.

  God, Emma looked so beautiful, her brows furrowed, her eyes full of concern and shining like dark honey. She brushed her thumb over the apple of Jo’s cheek before sliding her hand back to tuck Jo’s hair behind her ear. Jo swallowed. Emma let out a breath and Jo could feel it, soft across her face. She blinked slowly, and when she opened her eyes again, Emma was even closer, too close. Jo should’ve known better, Jo should’ve pushed her away, should’ve leaned back, but she leaned forward instead, her nose brushing against Emma’s and—

  Jo’s desk phone sounded shrill, too loud.

  It rang again before Jo forced her eyes open. Emma was on the other end of the desk by that point, fingers twitching at her sides. Her face was bright red.

  “Yes?” Jo answered the phone.

  “I wanted to let you know your father is out of the building and won’t be allowed back without your say.” It was Mason, the security guard.

  Jo breathed. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, ma’am.”

  Jo hung up her phone.

  Emma was still there. Jo could see her throat work as she swallowed.

  Jo wanted to—she wanted to talk about this and wanted to ignore it in equal measure. What she wanted more than anything was for her phone not to have rung.

  “You should eat your lunch before it gets cold,” Emma said. “I’ll be at my desk if you need me.”

  She turned to leave and Jo couldn’t—she couldn’t let her go.

  “Emma,” she said.

  Emma looked back at her, eyes apprehensive. Jo looked away.

  “Thank you,” she said. “For bringing me lunch.”

  “Of course, boss,” Emma said softly.

  She closed the door behind her when she left.

  When Jo blinked, her eyes were wet.

  * * *

  —

  At the end of the day, Emma hovered at the door to Jo’s office. It was only five o’clock, but Jo was exhausted. Emma looked at her, looked away.

  “Is there anything else, Ms. Jones?” she asked.

  Jo thought about when Emma had been mad at her, how she stopped calling her boss for a week.

  “Emma,” Jo said. She wanted to apologize. Wanted to thank her. Wanted to kiss her. She sighed. “No, thank you. I’ll see you in the morning, Ms. Kaplan.”

  16

  EMMA

  Emma unlocked her apartment door.

  She didn’t remember the drive home. She didn’t even remember where she had parked her car. Everything was on autopilot: keys on the hook on the wall, shoes toed off and left by the door. In the kitchen, she got herself a glass of water, took one sip, then set it on the counter.

  She almost kissed her boss.

  She leaned over the sink and thought she might throw up.

  She almost kissed her boss.

  But—well—that wasn’t a big deal. It didn’t have to be, anyway. She had kissed her boss, months ago by this point. If that wasn’t a big deal, this was even less of one.

  Except this time hadn’t been an accident.

  She hadn’t been drunk, hadn’t had bad depth perception. She’d been completely sober and aware of what she was doing. And it was all her—she stayed in Jo’s office, she rounded Jo’s desk, she cupped Jo’s cheek, she leaned in. But Jo had leaned forward, too—Emma was pretty sure.

  Maybe she’d imagined it.

  Last time, Emma would’ve done anything to avoid talking about it. Her primary feeling after the wrap party had been mortification. Now she just felt . . . want.

  She wanted to talk about it. She wanted to do it, to actually kiss Jo. Not drunkenly, not in the heat of the moment. She wanted to kiss Jo hello and goodbye, to kiss her with garlic breath and in the morning before either of them had brushed their teeth.

  But none of that was possible. Jo was her boss. Jo had created an entire organization against harassment in the workplace. Emma couldn’t go into their own workplace and tell Jo she wanted to kiss her.

  Though Jo had probably figured that out by this point, given what happened today. Jo shrank around her father, always had. Jo—a towering giant no matte
r how short she was, Emma’s hero—was made small by this man. Emma hated him. Jo was the sun. Jo was gravity. Emma wanted to take the weight off her shoulders for a minute.

  Avery’s voice popped into Emma’s head, asking how kissing Jo was what Emma came up with to take the world off her shoulders. Emma didn’t know. But she’d been desperate to do something, and there was a longing in her chest that hadn’t left, like a string was wrapped around her heart and connected to Jo. It pulled hard enough that she wanted to go to Jo still, drive to her house to tell her all the ways she was wonderful.

  Emma picked up her glass and drained it. Left it sitting in the sink.

  It hadn’t mattered before, her little crush. Jo was beautiful and brilliant, and she was fiercely protective of Emma after the whole Barry Davis debacle. Who wouldn’t have a crush on her? It had been weirdly normal when Emma had figured out her feelings. Nothing had really changed. Sure, she noticed the way her heart sped up and her face warmed in Jo’s presence more than she used to, but it wasn’t a big deal. It was like having a crush on a celebrity. No matter how gorgeous or smart or kind Jo was, there was no chance. Not to mention the fact that Emma had thought Jo was straight for so long, it had really seemed impossible.

  Today, though, Jo had leaned in. She did. Emma hadn’t imagined that. She could still feel the satin soft skin of Jo’s cheek beneath her thumb. Her fingers buzzed. They’d been close enough to breathe each other’s air. Emma could count Jo’s eyelashes as they fluttered.

  She should’ve been frightened of these feelings, maybe, but the memory was too intoxicating to be terrifying. Emma pulled out her phone and sat on the couch. Her finger hovered over her sister’s name in her list of favorite contacts. Avery would be able to help her figure this out. Avery helped her figure everything out. But Avery also teased her. She couldn’t tell Avery about this without getting laughter and an I told you so. It would be well meaning, sure, but Emma couldn’t. Not when the walls of her heart felt thin, like they might collapse in on themselves at any moment.

  Because none of this could work.

  Even if Jo wanted to kiss her, too, it was too complicated. Jo was her boss. Her boss who was already being undermined by people who didn’t think a woman could write an action movie. This would just give them something else to complain about, to point to and say women had too many feelings, weren’t focused on what mattered. Of course it was men sitting on the sidelines who decided what mattered.