It was Emma’s job to keep Jo at the top of her game for the next few days, and she did it. She did it while trying to take in everything she could about upfronts, every lesson Jo imparted. She did it well. By the last day of the week, everything had gone smoothly. A few people had glanced knowingly between Jo and Emma, but Jo was charming, and the advertisers had been thoroughly wooed thus far.
Things were going well today, too, except they were running late. Jo needed to be at her panel in ten minutes, and she’d make it, but barely. Emma’s chest felt tight. In any other situation she’d stop and rest, get her breathing under control. But she had to get Jo to the panel. Then she could sit down, catch her breath. And she’d be fine.
On their way, weaving through the crowds of the hallway, they passed a woman wearing too much perfume.
That was all it took.
Emma paused, trying to catch her breath. It—there wasn’t—she was trying to breathe but the air wasn’t moving. Her lungs refused to inflate. She tried to swallow. Bit at the air.
“Emma?”
Jo had continued walking before realizing Emma wasn’t at her side. She was ten steps away.
“Emma?” she said again, looping back to Emma’s side. “What’s wrong?”
Emma’s chest hurt. She wheezed in a breath, and it looked like Jo figured it out. Jo knew she had asthma, knew where her inhaler was in her desk, though Emma had never had to use it at work.
“Where is it?” Jo’s hands frantically patted at Emma’s pockets, front and back both, and the part of Emma’s brain that wasn’t solely focused on trying to breathe thought maybe her boss shouldn’t grope her ass in public. When Jo couldn’t find what she was looking for, she grabbed Emma by the shoulders instead. “Where’s your inhaler?”
Her eyes were wide and her grip was strong.
“My bag,” Emma got out. “In the—greenroom.”
Jo yelled at someone over her shoulder. Emma coughed hard. The room was down the hallway. Her inhaler was not far away. It was going to be fine.
“I’m calling 911,” Jo said, still holding Emma with one hand while pulling out her phone with the other. “You’re going to be okay.”
“No, Jo—” But Emma didn’t have enough breath to tell her to calm down. Didn’t have the breath to tell her she didn’t have to call an ambulance unless Emma’s rescue inhaler didn’t work.
Jo spit rapid-fire words into the phone, pausing only to yell, “Hurry up with that bag!”
Emma’s bag arrived, and Jo finally released Emma to fumble through it. Her fingers shook. There was a crowd of frightened onlookers around them. Emma leaned against the wall, closed her eyes. Opened them only when Jo shoved the inhaler into her hands. Emma took a hit off it. She wanted to vomit. Took another puff.
She still felt like something was caught in her throat, like she could only half fill her lungs. She closed her eyes again and slid down the wall so she was sitting on the floor.
“Emma?” Jo said. Her voice came closer. “Emma, breathe. Paramedics are on their way. You’re going to be fine.”
It sounded more like a directive than reassurance. Emma kept her eyes closed. She swallowed, coughed again, kept sucking in air. She didn’t register someone right beside her until she leaned forward and a hand came to rest between her shoulder blades. Emma opened her eyes.
Jo was sitting on her knees next to Emma on the carpet, her feet tucked to one side. She rubbed soft circles on Emma’s back. Emma stared at her.
“You’re okay,” Jo said. “Do you need anything?”
Emma didn’t answer right away, her wheezing beginning to die down. As soon as she had the breath, she said, “You need to get to the panel.”
“Fuck the panel,” Jo growled. “Less talking, more breathing.”
Emma rolled her eyes. “We didn’t fly across the country so you could miss the panel.”
“I’m staying here until the paramedics arrive.”
“You shouldn’t have called them!” Emma’s chest was already feeling better. “I hadn’t even taken my rescue inhaler yet. You panicked.”
Jo’s eyes flashed. “You couldn’t breathe,” she said, like that was explanation enough.
Emma supposed maybe it should have been. Jo hadn’t dealt with Emma’s asthma. Emma hadn’t had an attack at work before. It made sense that Jo wouldn’t know what to do. It was sweet, really, that she was so worried. But she also had a panel to get to.
“Boss,” Emma said quietly. The crowd around them had dissipated to just concerned looks from passersby, but Emma made sure not to be overheard. “Go to the panel. I’m fine, and we don’t need to give anyone more ammunition.”
Jo looked at her blankly.
“You can’t miss a panel with potential advertisers because you’re worried about your assistant who everyone thinks you’re sleeping with.” Emma managed to get it all out without blushing. Jo removed her hand from Emma’s back. “I’m fine. Go.”
“Text me if you need anything,” Jo said. “I’ll check in as soon as I’m done.”
“Go,” Emma said.
Jo’s eyebrows were furrowed and her mouth was a gash of a frown, but she went. She somehow got off the ground gracefully, even in her heels. After a moment of smoothing down her dress and tucking her hair behind her ears, she went into business mode, striding off with purpose.
* * *
—
Emma was so embarrassed when the paramedics arrived. Her breathing was almost back to normal by then, and she knew she was wasting their time. They’d given her an oxygen mask to breathe through, but she pulled it away to apologize again.
“I’m sorry,” she said for the third time. “My boss didn’t know what to do and she called you and I’m really sorry.”
“It’s no problem, ma’am,” one of them said, also for the third time. “You’re sure you’re feeling all right?”
“I’m fine,” Emma said. They had a thing to measure her lung capacity earlier, and it wasn’t high, but it was good enough, she knew.
“It’d be best if you spent the rest of the evening avoiding any stressors that might cause your asthma to act up,” the female paramedic said. She directed Emma’s hand with the oxygen mask back to her face. “Pollution, smoke, that sort of thing.”
“Crowds, too,” the other paramedic said. “Since that seems to be what caused this attack.”
“Right,” Emma said. “Sure.”
She wanted to go to the panel, was the thing. And then out to dinner, their last night here. She planned to venture out for bagels in the morning before their flight back. She wanted to be out and about, not avoiding stressors.
She considered ignoring the paramedics’ advice, but she knew better. Plus, Jo would probably kill her if she ended up having another asthma attack. So when the paramedics packed up and left, Emma went back to her room instead of to the panel.
* * *
—
The panel ended at five. Emma’s phone rang at 5:03.
She answered the call. “Hey, boss.”
“Are you doing okay?”
“I’m fine,” Emma said. She was, mostly. It had been almost two hours, and with the oxygen from the paramedics, she was better than she usually was at this point after an attack. “How was the panel?”
“They asked us questions and we gave prepared answers,” Jo said, and Emma was almost certain she rolled her eyes. “Tate and Holly and G were worried about you, by the way.”
“That’s sweet of them, but like I said, I’m fine.”
The line was silent for a few moments.
“Do you need anything?” Jo asked.
“What?”
“Do you need anything? Is there anything I could do that would help you?”
Emma needed a nap and some food, in that order. Asthma attacks always left her exhausted.
“No, boss, I’m good,” she said. “I kind of can’t leave my room, on paramedics’ orders, but I can get room service later. Don’t you have plans tonight anyway?”
Emma hadn’t made the plans, which was rare, but the evening was blocked off on Jo’s schedule. It was a personal thing, not a work thing, or Emma would’ve known what it was.
“Yes, well . . .” Jo didn’t say anything more.
“I appreciate you checking in,” Emma said when Jo stayed silent. “I have your six o’clock wake-up call already scheduled for the morning. Let me know if I can do anything else, yeah? Other than that, I’ll just spend the night watching bad television or something.”
“Right,” Jo said. “I’d better go.”
“Have a good night.”
“You, too, Emma.”
* * *
—
Emma took a nap, and when she woke up, she felt almost normal. Almost like her lungs never had any issue. She was starving, though. She thought about the ramen place she went to last year at upfronts and again earlier this week. She thought about the best slice of pizza she’d ever eaten, from this walk-up window in Brooklyn. Maybe she could get away with sneaking out for dinner. Except there was still just the slightest twinge in her chest, and really, she knew better.
It didn’t mean she couldn’t get dinner brought to her, though. Thank God for technology. Emma scrolled through one of the three food delivery apps on her phone. The number of choices overwhelmed her. She had researched restaurants, as she did before any trip, but she hadn’t fully narrowed them down. And for some, the ambiance of the place was important—ambiance she wouldn’t be getting with delivery.
There was a knock on her door. She thought, wildly, that food was arriving before she’d even ordered it. But it wasn’t delivery—obviously.
It was Jo.
“Hungry?” she asked when Emma opened the door. She waved the pizza box she’d brought in Emma’s direction.
Emma was barefoot and not wearing a bra under her tank top. She crossed her arms over her chest. “What?”
“You haven’t eaten, have you?” Jo asked. Emma shook her head. “Good. I’m starving.”
Jo stayed in the hallway until Emma pushed the door farther open. Then Jo strolled in like she owned the place, set the pizza box and a plastic bag on the desk, and pulled paper plates and napkins from the bag.
“Ms. Jones,” Emma said. She finally managed to close the door to the room. “You had plans.”
Jo fluttered her hand. “Evelyn was being obnoxious,” she said. “And you can’t miss out on New York pizza.”
Emma was not going to ask who Evelyn was.
Emma wished she’d closed her suitcase. The bra she was wearing earlier was strewn over the top. There was no way to surreptitiously close it. Jo didn’t seem to mind. She took a seat in the chair at the desk and opened the pizza box.
“Extra-large cheese,” she said. “We’ll have to get drinks from the vending machine.”
“Let me get it,” Emma said, eager to contribute something to the meal.
“Paramedics said you had to stay in your room, I thought,” Jo said. “Be right back.”
As soon as the door closed behind Jo, propped open by the latch so that she wasn’t locked out, Emma was in motion. She stuffed all the clothes on the floor into her suitcase, grabbing the bra before flipping the top closed. She hid in the bathroom to pull her shirt off, get the bra on, then put her shirt back on.
By the time Jo got back, Emma was serving herself a slice of pizza, fully clothed.
“Sprite or root beer?” Jo asked.
“Either is fine,” Emma said. “Can I pay you back for some of this?”
Jo rolled her eyes and didn’t even respond. She handed Emma the root beer.
“I’m serious,” Emma said.
“Emma.” Jo looked at her. “I was a millionaire as a teenager. I can afford dinner.”
Right.
Emma ducked her head. If she didn’t pay for anything, it felt too much like Jo was taking care of her, which was—it was weird, was all. Felt like when Jo bought her a dress, even though this time it was just pizza and a vending machine soda.
Emma climbed onto her bed, sat with her back against the headboard.
“You didn’t have to do this, boss.”
“It’s pizza, Emma. It’s nothing special.”
“Well, I appreciate it anyway,” Emma said. “And it’s New York pizza. It’s definitely special.”
She took a bite.
The noise she made was probably inappropriate. If anyone knew she was in the room with Jo and making that noise, they’d definitely think they were sleeping together. But what was Emma supposed to do? The pizza was amazing.
Jo smirked and didn’t look at Emma. Emma couldn’t bother to be embarrassed.
“You’ve basically saved this night for me, boss,” Emma said. “This is—I cannot thank you enough.”
Jo waved a dismissive hand.
They ate in silence for a moment.
“Emma?” Jo said, her voice quiet.
“Yeah?”
Jo was focused on her pizza, like whatever she was about to say wasn’t important. It made Emma think it would be important, made her pay attention.
“Your shirt’s inside out.”
7
JO
The next morning, Jo was ready to head out when Emma knocked on her room door with a cup of coffee.
“I figured hotel coffee might not do the trick,” Emma said. “This is from that cute café down the block.”
Jo took a sip, and it was so good her mouth made words before she could think about them.
“I love you.”
Emma’s eyes went wide and Jo closed hers, took another sip of the coffee. It was just an expression, one she’d used before at work—on Chantal, certainly, and maybe even on Emma, too. Jo couldn’t remember. Before the rumors, she hadn’t paid nearly as much attention to every interaction between the two of them.
By the time Jo looked at Emma again, her assistant seemed to have decided to take the comment in stride. It was only fair—Jo had ignored Emma accidentally kissing her at the wrap party; Emma could ignore an innocuous phrase.
“The café also has good-looking breakfast options,” Emma said.
“I have breakfast plans,” Jo said. “I’ve already arranged for the car service to take you wherever you would like this morning, then pick me up on the way to the airport.”
Emma swallowed. Jo wondered if she imagined the disappointment on her assistant’s face.
“Sounds good,” Emma said with a tight smile. “Enjoy your breakfast.”
Evelyn texted then, letting Jo know she was waiting outside, and Jo started toward the elevators. She paused and looked back at Emma.
“Make sure you have your inhaler in your carry-on,” she said.
Emma’s smile went genuine. “Yes, boss.”
* * *
—
Jo was supposed to have dinner with Evelyn the previous night, but at drinks Ev wouldn’t stop giving her trouble about Emma. Apparently her asthma attack and Jo’s reaction to it had made the internet. Evelyn had taken great pleasure in teasing Jo about it. It was the first time Jo had seen her best friend in six months, but it was annoying, made worse by the fact that Jo was still worried about Emma, wondering if she was recovering okay.
So Jo had bailed on dinner with an offer to buy Evelyn breakfast the next morning, provided she weren’t as obnoxious then. Evelyn smirked and promised nothing.
But at breakfast, Ev did mostly behave. They talked about the GLAADs, how the panel went, and how Evelyn’s work was going.
It wasn’t until breakfast was almost over that Evelyn said, “So when do I get to meet her?”
Jo rolled her eyes.
“She’ll be in the car coming to pick me up in a few minutes if you want to come out and say hi.”
Evelyn grinned so wide Jo recanted. “No, no, I was joking.” She could tell Evelyn was still considering it, so she changed tactics. “Come out and visit me sometime. You can meet her then.”
“I really do have to visit,” Evelyn said. “It’s been too long.”
Evelyn had been in New York since she graduated from law school. When her parents moved cross-country to be closer to her, she stopped visiting the West Coast so often. Jo was glad to have heard from her so much this year, a strange windfall of the rumors. Even though Evelyn primarily called to tease, Jo didn’t mind, happy to hear her best friend’s voice.
Breakfast ended with Evelyn promising to visit no later than Thanksgiving. Jo was surprised she didn’t follow her to the car to meet Emma.
“Have a good breakfast, boss?” Emma asked as Jo settled beside her in the back seat.
“I did,” Jo said.
She spent the drive to the airport staring out the window, relaxed. With upfronts behind them, it was officially the least stressful time of year. Her half-finished Agent Silver document beckoned, reminding her there was still a large source of stress, but she pushed it aside for the time being.
* * *
—
Jo’s nephew’s first baseball game was the next week. She got there early and climbed to the top corner of the bleachers. Her sunglasses went all the way to where her baseball cap sat, hiding as much of her face as she could.
She didn’t get recognized that often, but today was a day she absolutely did not want to be. It wasn’t something that usually bothered her, but family days were off-limits, in her mind.
She used to not be able to go out for dinner without giving autographs and posing for pictures. When Jo was thirteen, she was cast as Amanda Johnson, the adopted Chinese daughter of a typical white family in the suburbs. The Johnson Dynasty ran for seven seasons. Jo grew up in living rooms across the nation. She was a household name—world famous, even.
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