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Wyatt turns to me once our bosses’ doors are shut. “Why does Alice want you to be so nice to her client when he’s actually happy?”

I shrug. “She thinks clients will leave her for one of the big-name companies once they get good gigs.”

He frowns. “That’s…paranoid. Usually Steven butters up his clients only when he forgets to update them for like a month.”

“Go figure.”

Back to emailing.

“Dare I sense confidence with Alice?”

I smile, barely. “Just have other stuff on my mind today.”

“It’s gonna be fine.” His fingers twitch, like he considered grabbing my hand but decided against it. “Great. It’s gonna be great.”

Wyatt brings another guest into Steven’s office five minutes later, presumedly some investor or higher-level creative for Valeria’s movie. Most meetings last an hour. John’s due here in two hours. It should work out perfectly.

The hour passes. Valeria and the investor (Wyatt was happy to inform me) remain in Steven’s office. I keep doing my work for Alice. She doesn’t yell about anything.

The investor walks out a half hour later.

I do my work for Alice. Ten minutes with Valeria still inside Steven’s office turns to twenty. Twenty to twenty-five.

My phone goes off. It sounds shriller than normal. My heart beats in my ears as I answer it.

“John Harrington is downstairs,” Kiki says.

“Thanks, Kiki,” I reply.

I glance at Steven’s door.

And Steven’s office door opens, Valeria’s hand wrapped around the side.

My heart rises to my throat. “Wyatt…”

Wyatt turns to me. “I can get John. Tell Valeria I went to the bathroom.”

“Tell John ditto.”

Relief washes over me, but it doesn’t quite dissipate as Wyatt disappears downstairs and Valeria emerges from Steven’s office.

“Wyatt went to the bathroom,” I say once the door shuts behind her.

Valeria nods. “Cool. Steven just sent something to the printer, and I should be good…”

I jump up from my seat. “I can get it.”

She glances at the leather-strapped watch on her wrist. “Let me come with you. You wanted to talk, right?”

“Yeah.” I want to rub the back of my neck or fidget with my jacket, but I resist. Barely. “Let’s go.”

I swallow and take another deep breath. My stomach’s starting to just plain hurt. Maybe this is how ulcers start. I’m certainly old enough for them now.

“So what’s up?” Valeria says.

This close to her, a whiff of her perfume hits me. It’s floral, sort of regal, with these notes of rose and orange and expensive, which, yes, you can smell. I’d guess Chanel. The scent is bracing and pleasant, but it makes me wonder what she smells like when she’s not impressing people.

“So I was just wondering…I know you said I’d be wasted as a personal assistant”—she winces—“and honestly I get why I was passed up. I didn’t even have qualifications. But…” I swallow again. “I was just thinking that if you happen to need an extra production assistant, I’d be honored to be considered.”