Page 54 of The Best Worst Thing

Quick Pitch

It was late Wednesday night when Nicole—hunched over her desk—finally finished editing next week’s episode. She rubbed her eyes, exported the audio file over to Valerie for review, then collapsed into her office chair and reached for her phone. Her bare feet, digging into her rug as she typed.

You were incredible earlier, by the way.

A few seconds later, he responded.

That? In my office? That was nothing. I was stressed. Pressed for time. Undernourished. And these stupid standing desks can’t hold any weight.

She laughed.

I meant your pitch, moron. In your kitchen.

Oh.

Forget Quentin. You don’t need him. You don’t need anybody.

I really think you could do your own thing. I think you should go for it. You’re really, really good.

Bubbles for a while. Then finally, this:

Thank you.

Nicole stared at it. She read it one, two, three more times.

No funny comeback?

Now, he responded at once. Two little messages, sent in rapid succession.

Nope.

Just thank you.