As Emma’s anxiety explained how this would never work, her pragmatism kicked in. She was a problem solver, a planner. If anyone could figure this out, it was her.
A few months from now, Jo would be working full-time on Agent Silver. Emma would be an associate producer on Innocents. Different projects, different hierarchies of supervision. She could move up the hiring process for Jo’s new assistant, if Jo agreed, and move to associate producer earlier. The optics of a relationship might not be excellent. Maybe they’d get dragged through the mud in the tabloids, but Emma had been through enough shit in the tabloids this year. She could take it. This could work.
Of course, it all hinged on Jo actually wanting her back. Just because she’d leaned in today didn’t mean she wanted more. What did Emma have to offer Jo freakin’ Jones?
Except—didn’t Jo always say how important Emma was to her? Wasn’t that what the whole fight with her dad was about? How much Emma helped her get through each day.
If Jo was interested in her—it made Emma reexamine their whole relationship. She knew better than to wonder if that was the reason Jo had hired her. Jo was too professional for that. Emma hadn’t had a crush on Jo then, either. So when had things changed for Jo? Was it possible that Jo had taken her to the SAGs because she liked her? Emma couldn’t believe that.
But she remembered Jo’s panic at upfronts, the way Jo touched her back. Emma had been the one worried about the rumors then. She’d had to remind Jo about them. Jo was willing to miss a panel for her. Jo canceled plans for her.
Over the summer, Jo had said Emma was hiring her next assistant, not her next Emma. Emma hadn’t thought much about it at the time, but now her heart leapt at the idea of being Jo’s Emma.
Maybe this wouldn’t work. Maybe saying anything was a terrible idea. But these feelings mattered now. The chance that they might be mutual mattered. Emma didn’t know what she was going to say the next day, but she had to say something.
* * *
—
She stood next to her desk when Jo arrived. Indoors, and Jo had huge cat-eye sunglasses on. Emma held on to the coffee cup as Jo’s fingers closed around it.
“Can we talk?”
Emma felt Jo grip the cup tighter.
“Of course,” Jo said.
Emma swallowed and let go. She knew that tone of voice. That was Jo’s network voice. If you didn’t know her, her voice sounded agreeable and warm. But Emma knew her. She knew it was distanced and fake.
She followed Jo into her office anyway and closed the door behind them.
“What can I do for you?”
Emma closed her eyes. Her breath hissed out of her nose. She pressed her lips together, planted her feet, and opened her eyes. Jo hadn’t taken her sunglasses off.
“We need to talk about yesterday.”
Jo nodded, jaw set. “We do.”
This was it. Emma was going to tell her—well, maybe not everything. She’d test the waters before she told her everything. Emma took a breath and—
“My father has always made me behave in ways I shouldn’t,” Jo said. “I was unfocused and not thinking, and the situation it led to was inappropriate.”
The situation. Emma blinked.
“That’s not—”
“I apologize.” Jo smoothed her ponytail. “I won’t let it happen again.”
“No, it was fine.” Emma shifted from one foot to the other. “That’s what I wanted to say—I didn’t mind.”
Emma wasn’t done, but Jo acted like she was. “I appreciate that,” Jo said. “Not many people would understand my relationship with my father. If what happened yesterday had to happen with anyone, I’m grateful it was with you.”
She made it sound like it had been bad. Like she was embarrassed. Emma herself flushed at the thought. If Jo was embarrassed over the almost kiss, Emma couldn’t tell her how she felt. She tried one more time anyway.
“I’m here for you,” Emma said. “I want to be here for you. With your dad or the network or anything. Whatever you need.”
Whatever you need. She willed Jo to understand. Jo took off her sunglasses, smiled with no teeth.
“I assure you, nothing of the sort will happen in the future.” She wasn’t using her network voice anymore. Emma had never heard this voice—like a blank white wall. “Is there anything more you want to discuss?”
If this was what happened when Emma tested the waters, she sure as hell wasn’t going to say anything more.
“No, Ms. Jones,” she said quietly.
Jo’s jaw twitched like she was clenching it.
17
JO
Jo had spent the previous night staring mindlessly at cooking shows on her TV. She ate three dinner rolls dipped in oil and vinegar and drank a glass of room-temperature water. She hadn’t allowed herself alcohol—she could hardly think as it was.
She wasn’t going to do better tonight, but she at least made herself dinner—frozen homemade enchiladas popped into the oven. She stuck with water while she ate, but it was staving off the inevitable.
Getting drunk was not something she did often, but it was something she would do tonight. She couldn’t stop feeling the ghost of Emma’s hand on her cheek. She blinked and saw Emma’s big brown eyes, deep and open and yearning. She put her leftovers in the refrigerator, put her dishes in the sink, then skipped wine and went straight to scotch.
It did the job.
It did the job of getting her drunk, anyway. It did not help with forgetting the way Emma had looked at her right before they almost kissed. They almost kissed. She almost kissed Emma, and despite knowing what a bad idea it was, sprawled drunk on her couch, what she wanted more than anything was to actually kiss Emma. Oh, she was in trouble.
Jo hated herself for putting Emma in that position. Emma, who had already been sexually harassed at work. Emma, who suffered through half a day of awkwardness before having to be the one to say they should talk about it. They did talk about it, which was good, even if the memory was like nails against the chalkboard of Jo’s brain. They’d addressed it, and Jo promised it wouldn’t happen again, no matter how much she wanted it to. She was humiliated. Emma shifting awkwardly in front of her, saying she was okay with it like it was part of the job. If the workplace hadn’t been hostile to Emma during the rumors, it sure was now, knowing her boss had tried to kiss her.
The rumors. They had to be to blame for Jo thinking about Emma like this. Jo had never been interested in someone she worked with, not since she was a teenager and Jane Fonda guest starred on The Johnson Dynasty. Jo loved work, but it was work. She had never looked at a coworker with romantic intentions.
She thought of that picture that was still in her desk at work, thought of the way she was looking at Emma back in January. Sure looked like there were romantic intentions there. Or did she just think that because everyone else did? Did she only see Emma this way because it was how people thought she saw her?
Except the rumors were gone. The rumors went away two months ago. No one tricked Jo into thinking of Emma like this. Emma was strong and smart and so damn loyal. She was beautiful and kind and Jo wanted to kiss her. Emma deserved so much better than anyone thinking she’d sleep with someone for a job. She deserved better than being Jo’s assistant. She deserved better than Jo’s father calling her a slut.
Jo wanted to tell her. It was late, but not too late, and Jo’s head was swimming too much for her to consider this might be a bad decision.
She opened a new message to Emma, didn’t pause to think before typing, I meant what I said yesterday. You are magnificent.
She sent it, and poured herself another glass of scotch. She’d barely recapped the bottle when her phone rang. Her phone rang, and she didn’t understand.
It was Evelyn, but it was almost three a.m. in New York. Why was Evelyn calling her?
Jo picked up. “What are you doing awake?”
“My best friend texted me I’m magnificent.”
Oh.
It was better, probably, that she’d texted Evelyn. Emma didn’t need weird, cryptic late-night texts from her boss.
“What’s going on?” Evelyn asked.
Jo sighed. Rubbed her forehead. Took another sip of her scotch.
“My father came to visit set yesterday.”
Evelyn let out a breath full of the kind of understanding only a best friend could give.
“You deserve to be drunker,” she said, and Jo chuckled. A beat, then: “What happened, Jo?”
“He called Emma a slut, acted like she was worthless.” Jo wanted to punch something just thinking about it. “God, Evelyn, is this what everyone thinks of her? How have I not contradicted these rumors if this is what people think of her? I should release a statement tomorrow.”
“Okay, honey,” Evelyn said. “You should absolutely not do that.”
“I should! I—”
“—will sober up and realize that releasing a statement this long after the rumors started—this long after the rumors ended, even—is going to do more harm than good,” Evelyn said. “Remember that according to the tabloids you aren’t together anymore. Most of the world thinks you dumped Emma for Sam.”
“I would never.”
“Yeah, because you’re a big lesbian, I know.”
That was part of it, obviously, but there was something else. The idea of dumping Emma was—they weren’t dating, of course, but Jo would never. The idea of leaving Emma behind, of finding someone to replace her. It was impossible. She was Emma.
“Look, Jo, it’s almost three in the morning. Can you drink some water and go to bed? I’m going to call you in the midst of your hangover and bother you about this, but I’m really fucking tired right now.”
“Yes, yes,” Jo said, waving the hand holding her drink around and almost spilling it. She set it on the table. “Go to sleep.”
“You promise not to do anything stupid tonight?”
Jo rolled her eyes but promised anyway.
When Evelyn hung up, Jo did as she was told: got water, went to bed. She looked at her phone as she settled under her sheets. It would be easy to send the text to the right person. But it was past midnight by now, and she did promise Evelyn, and she was sober enough to know she was still a little drunk. She set her phone aside and turned off the light.
18
JO
Emma made a valiant effort to act like everything was normal between them the next day. But her smile when she offered Jo coffee was stiff, and Jo knew her too well to think it was real. Jo practically collapsed into the chair behind her desk. She remembered the way Emma had pulled her clenched hand off said desk, and burned her throat with a gulp of coffee.
Emma was the one to lean in, Jo reminded herself. Emma was the one to start the whole thing, to almost kiss her. The excuse sounded thin. Jo was in a position of authority over Emma. She held the responsibility for anything that happened between them, and something almost did. Jo wanted to apologize again. Wanted to kiss her again.
She did. God, she thought about it too much last night, drunk and texting the wrong person, but she was sober now and she was still thinking about it, still thinking about just how true everything she said to her father was. Emma was her rock. Every bad day she’d had this year was because she and Emma weren’t on good terms. When things were going well between them, Jo had gotten through everything—the stupid rumors and the morons at the network and the writer’s block. Emma was magnificent, and Jo was an idiot, just seeing all of this now.
Emma was in Jo’s office, discussing location scouting for the spring arc of Innocents, when Evelyn texted.
How’s the hangover, sweetheart?
Jo ignored her. A minute later, her phone buzzed again.
How’s Emma today? Still magnificent?
Emma paused and looked at Jo expectantly, giving her time to respond to her phone if need be. Jo was grateful that Emma had stopped avoiding all eye contact. She responded to Evelyn.
Absolutely.
Ev typed back immediately.
You’re such a lesbian.
Emma looked away. How long had it been since Jo had taken her last ibuprofen? Her head still ached.
I’m a hungover midlife crisis of a person in love with my assistant. Give me a break.
Jo’s phone rang. She should have expected that. She declined the call and gestured for Emma to go on.
“Calgary is looking like a good option,” Emma said. “Cheaper than Vancouver, and—”
Jo’s phone rang again. She declined it again. Emma paused for a moment, then continued.
“There are good outdoor opportunities, of course. There is some interest in—”
The third time Jo’s phone rang, she gave Emma a clenched-tooth smile.
“Can we go over this later?”
Emma nodded and started gathering her things as Jo picked up her phone.
“Hello?”
“Are you serious?” Evelyn’s voice was so loud that Jo worried Emma might overhear.
“This actually isn’t a great time.” Jo kept her own voice steady.
“She’s in your office, isn’t she?”
“Yes.”
Emma had all of her papers and her tablet by now, gave Jo an awkward half smile, and headed for the door.
“We need to go over what happened when your dad visited,” Evelyn said.
“We don’t,” Jo said, even though she needed to go over it with someone. She wished she could’ve been honest with Emma about it, could’ve told her just how much she wanted to kiss her—and not as a drunken accident or in the heat of the moment. “And we can’t right now. I’ll call you later.”
“If you don’t, Jo Jones,” Evelyn said, the threat clear in her voice. “If you do not call me back and tell me everything, I am going to fly to LA myself.”
Jo believed her.
“Mm-hmm,” Jo said. “Okay, talk later.”
She hung up. Emma was gone by now. She had pulled the door closed behind her in case Jo needed privacy. Jo dropped her forehead onto her desk. The impact just made her head hurt more.
* * *
—
Emma stayed distant all day. After Jo had sent her home, she dialed Evelyn. Ev had said she’d fly out if Jo didn’t call her back, and Jo knew it wasn’t an empty threat.
“I’ve got a bowl of popcorn ready,” Evelyn said when she picked up. “I’m ready for all the dirty details.”
Jo sighed. She was used to Evelyn’s teasing, but she’d had a terrible day. Evelyn seemed to figure that out.
“Okay,” Ev said, all traces of mocking gone from her voice. “Tell me what happened.”
Jo took a breath. She could tell her what happened without getting into feelings. Her hands shook, but she kept her voice steady as she told Evelyn about her father’s visit, about what he’d said to Emma, about what Jo had said to him.
“Then I had him thrown out of the building.”
Evelyn let out a whistle. “Damn, girl, it’s about time. We’ll get to this Emma stuff but honestly—I’m proud of you. Tossing your dad was long overdue.”
Jo knew.
“The Emma stuff,” she said, her voice still so quiet. “There’s more than that.”
“Yeah?”
“We almost kissed.” It was barely louder than a breath. “We would’ve kissed, Ev, had my phone not rung.”
Jo’s breath shuddered. She leaned back in her chair, exhausted though all she did was tell a story.
“Then what happened?” Evelyn’s voice was quiet.
“Then Emma fled and barely looked at me the rest of the day,” Jo said. “We talked about it yesterday morning. I made it clear nothing like that would
ever happen again. I’m just—”
“Overwhelmed with emotions you didn’t know you had?” Evelyn said. “What—your dad insults Emma and suddenly you realize you’re in love with her?”
It was more than that. This had been building for longer than Jo wanted to admit. Emma had made the Emmys bearable even though she hadn’t attended. Jo had flushed at Emma pressed up against her on a picnic bench after the baseball game, that tongue curling around her ice-cream cone. Emma had calmed Jo, her pinkie hooking around Jo’s when she was worried about Ethan. Before that, Jo had been crushed every day that Emma didn’t speak to her more than necessary. Even dress shopping for the SAGs, Jo hadn’t been able to look at Emma because she was so beautiful.
It took her father’s revulsion to put everything together, but Jo had long been a mess for Emma.
She told Evelyn none of that. It made her feel too soft right now, too fragile.
“So what did Emma say when you talked about it?”
“She acted like it was fine. Like she was okay with it as a requirement of her as my assistant. It was awful.”
“Emma’s not an idiot,” Evelyn said. “I’m sure she does not think it’s a job requirement. She knows you a lot better than that.”
Jo ran a hand through her hair. Emma had said she wanted to be there for Jo. She had to mean it in an assistant way. Because if she meant—the thought made Jo’s breath catch. But Emma couldn’t want to be there for her as more than an assistant, and even if she did, it didn’t matter. It was inappropriate. Jo knew that. She knew that, even if, thinking about it, she couldn’t come up with anything she’d do differently.
Something to Talk About Page 21
