“So, Teddy, are you excited to start shooting? Sounds like the schedule is going to be a little intense,” Emmy says on the way back the hotel. She at least had the decency to take shotgun on this little carpool adventure, which was great until Teddy climbed into the seat directly behind the driver’s side. Now every time Bennett glances in the rearview mirror, she’s forced to look at at least half of Teddy’s face. How’s that for irony.
“Yeah, I’m stoked, but kinda nervous,” he says. “It’s been a while since I’ve been on a movie set.”
“I thought the table-read went well today. Don’t you guys think?” Emmy says, moving right along. Bennett tightens her grip on the steering wheel and her eyes find Teddy’s in the rearview, though she isn’t sure if he knows it or not. Her sunglasses are the only thing helping her keep her composure.
“Yeah, I felt pretty good about it,” Teddy says. Then, because he’s a little shit, he asks, “What’d you think, Bennett?”
“Same,” she says, and what she means is: You’re a real dick for asking me that.
“By the way, B—you got a weird spam e-mail during the read this morning. I went ahead and changed your e-mail password just in case,” Emmy says, tapping Bennett’s arm with the back of her hand. “Want me to go ahead and change it on your work phone while I’m thinking about it?”
“Sure,” Bennett says, forcing her eyes to stay on the road instead of shooting her assistant a scathing look. Her fingers are probably leaving dents around the steering wheel—she pries one away and digs into her coat pocket for her work phone, knowing it’s the only way to save face. She passes it across the center console and pretends like the reason she has a work phone in the first place isn’t watching from the backseat.
“Work phone, eh?” Teddy says. “You fancy.”
Emmy beams. “First order of business when Bennett brought me on as an assistant back in August. It’s pretty much the only phone you can get her on these days.”
Teddy chuckles. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” Emmy sighs dramatically. “Thank goodness she has me. She’d be lost otherwise.”
“Yeah, thank goodness,” Bennett says, checking her rearview again.
Teddy’s biting down on his thumbnail and smiling out the window.
They pull into the hotel parking lot ten minutes (of mostly Emmy talking) later. As soon as Bennett cuts the engine, Teddy unbuckles his seat belt and hops out, appearing at the driver’s side window to open Bennett’s door for her.
“Um—thanks,” she says, startled by how much she likes the gesture.
“No problem.” He grins and keeps a hand on the top of the doorframe as Bennett gets out. “Thanks for the ride.”
The parallels happening right now hurt Bennett’s heart.
“What’s on your agenda for the rest of the day, Teddy?” Emmy asks when they fall into step across the parking lot.
“I guess just getting settled in,” Teddy says, shrugging. “My busy stuff starts tomorrow. What about you guys?”
“We’ve got a conference call with Bennett’s editor this afternoon,” Emmy says. Bennett’s been so busy being borderline traumatized this morning that she completely forgot she has other things to do later.
They breeze through the almost empty lobby. Teddy pushes the up button for the elevators and asks, “What floor are you guys on?”
“Eight. You?” Emmy says.
“Nice. I think I’m on eleven. Hope my manager’s still up there because I definitely don’t have a room key yet,” he says, following them into the elevator.
Emmy suddenly curses under her breath.
“Whoops—forgot I need to stop by the front desk,” she calls over her shoulder, darting back out into the lobby. “I’ll be up in a minute!”
Bennett’s stomach barrels up into her throat. “What? Why?” But Emmy disappears around the corner, right as the doors close, and she doesn’t get an answer.
There’s an excruciating pause before the elevator starts moving, but it’s fine. Bennett is trapped in a small space alone with Teddy for the next eight floors, but really. It’s fine. She presses back against the railing along the wall, mentally grasping for things to say but determined not to speak first. Teddy seems cool with the silence for a little while, scuffing the sole of his shoe against the floor. It’s disturbing how it feels like it takes thirty minutes to go up four floors. They get to the sixth before Teddy finally clears his throat.
“It’s, uh—it’s really great to see you, Bennett,” he says.
Bennett has zero idea what to say to that.
“I mean, not trying to make this weird or anything. I just…” He jerks a hand up to the back of his neck and clears his throat again, pointing up at the illuminated floor number. “Um, I guess this is you, right?”
The elevator lurches to a halt on the eighth floor, and even after extensive brainstorming, Bennett still can’t come up with anything to say back. Her eyes flick to the illuminated eight above the buttons as Teddy drops his hands and shakes them out by his sides.
The doors slide open.
“So, I’ll see you later, then. Right?” he says, giving her a shy smile.
Bennett needs to leave. Immediately.
“Yeah,” she manages, shrugging away from the elevator wall.
The second she starts moving, Teddy rocks onto the balls of his feet and steps toward her. Bennett isn’t sure what he’s trying to do, but the possibility of him giving her a hug pops into her head and she reflexively flinches away from him.
“Er—yeah,” Bennett repeats, her shoulder clipping the elevator doorframe on her way out.
“See ya, Caldwell,” Teddy says, and Bennett hates herself for slipping up and meeting his eyes. He gives her a small wave right before the doors close.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Emmy Akers.”
Emmy hesitates in the doorframe, clutching Bennett’s spare key card.
“What exactly was that urgent front desk business?” Bennett asks, lying on the bed and staring up at the hotel room ceiling. She’s been like this for the past ten minutes, contemplating the state of her life.
“I wanted to ask if the phones in our rooms were able to make conference calls.” Emmy crosses into the room and drops her bag on the desk. “We have that call with your editor later, remember?”
“Don’t we normally FaceTime for those?”
“Well—I wanted to make sure we had a backup plan in case someone has a bad Internet connection or something. Your deadline for Off the Grid is coming up. You know how important these calls are.”
Bennett sits up on the bed and cocks an eyebrow. “You’re so full of shit.”
Then Bennett bursts out laughing, and she continues to laugh as she crosses her legs up underneath her, because she just had one of the most awkward elevator rides in the history of awkward elevator rides, and somewhere between the little wave she got before the doors closed and the walk down the hall to her room, Bennett came to the conclusion that laughing about how utterly and indisputably screwed she is, is the only way to actually deal with how utterly and indisputably screwed she is.
Look at all those adverbs. Bennett is unhinged.
“Bennett…?”
“Oh, man,” Bennett chokes out, rubbing her eyes. “I wish you’d been there to see it, Em. It was so awkward.”
“What was?” she asks.
The confusion in her voice makes Bennett laugh harder.
Emmy waits another moment before saying, “Okay, still missing what’s funny here.”
But that’s the point: Nothing about this Teddy situation is funny. And because nothing about it is funny, it’s actually all hilarious. Why can’t Emmy see that?
It takes about four deep breaths before Bennett can keep her face straight enough to say, “Freaking Buzz Lightyear, man. He has me so wound up I almost died getting off the elevator.”
Emmy’s now looking at Bennett like she’s going to start fitting her for a straitjacket.
Hearing his name out loud jolts Bennett for a second, but it’s long enough to shake her out of her little giggle fest. “Yeah. Him.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re finally admitting to it now,” her assistant says. “What happened in the elevator?”
Bennett tries not to zero in on her use of “finally,” but it’s already grating on her nerves and draining all the humor from the conversation. “Nothing. He just told me it’s good to see me and that he’s not trying to make things weird. Then I was getting off the elevator and almost popped my shoulder out of the socket trying to run away from the dude.”
Emmy hesitates. “And by ‘dude,’ you mean Teddy.”
Bennett’s eyes lock with hers. “Yes, Emmy.”
“Just making sure.” She shrugs. “Because I’m pretty sure I haven’t actually heard you say his name since we got here.”
“Because this is, like, the second time he’s come up.”
Emmy raises an eyebrow. “Okay, so say his name now, then.”
“What? No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t see why I need to,” Bennett counters, officially (irrationally) crossing the line between defensive and circling the wagons.
“I don’t understand why you won’t,” Emmy presses.
“Because I don’t think I need to say his name to prove anything to you.”
“I didn’t say you did—”
“What’re you saying, then, Emmy?” Bennett snaps, holding her hands up. “Since this is any of your business.”
Bennett regrets it as soon as she says it, because one, she’s acting like a disrespectful brat right now, and two, a second later, Emmy’s eyes go wide, changing her entire demeanor from pushy assistant to kicked puppy.
“Oh, God—I’m so sorry, Bennett,” Emmy says. “I’m completely butting into your personal life and making things worse.”
“No, you’re not—”
“No, this is so, so unprofessional of me,” Emmy says. Which makes Bennett feel even more like an asshole (especially since she already finds it inappropriate to be the boss of a twenty-six-year-old who has plenty of better things she could be doing outside of personal assisting a teenager).
“Emmy—”
“I just, I don’t like seeing how much this bothers you! Not that it’s, you know, obvious it’s bothering you.… You’re actually really good at hiding it.…” She’s babbling now. “The only reason I ditched you in the elevator was because I thought it’d be better for you to maybe deal with it head-on instead of having time to stress about it beforehand, you know? I—”
“Jesus, EMMY.”
Emmy’s mouth snaps shut.
“I gave you an open-ended invitation into all my dramatic bullshit after I hired you, remember?” Bennett says.
Specifically, a Saturday morning in August a few weeks after Emmy started. Bennett had woken up to a slew of drunk texts from the night before, and it was the only time she ever let herself cry over this ridiculous mess. Emmy happened to call to check in on something (Bennett can’t remember what it was about) right at the peak of her meltdown. Bennett ended up spilling the entire story to her, since Bennett can’t separate her work life and her personal life, apparently. She was stunned Emmy still wanted to work with her after that.
Before Emmy can start groveling again now, Bennett adds, “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to snap at you. And you’re right. I should probably be thanking you, actually.…”
Emmy balks. “For what? I could have at least tried to make today easier for you.”
“You’ve pointed out how pathetic I am, so that’s helpful,” Bennett says, and she means it.
“You’re not path—”
“I can’t even say the guy’s name, Em,” Bennett cuts her off. And that, by definition, is pathetic. Bennett hadn’t even realized she was doing it, either, which makes it worse. “Anyway. What’s the conference call this afternoon about again?”
Emmy opens and closes her mouth, clearly thrown by the subject change. Bennett looks at her expectantly, hoping she won’t press it anymore. Truth is, on top of already being annoyed with herself for talking about this as long as they have, Bennett is too embarrassed to continue the conversation.
“Er—it’s just another touch base about where you are with Off the Grid. If you want, I can reschedule and tell them you’re spending the afternoon writing. That’s probably more productive anyway,” she says, and Bennett makes a mental note to check to see if she can give Emmy her Christmas bonus for Easter this year.
* * *
It’s 9:43 p.m. and Bennett is already in bed. Contacts out, glasses on, retainers in.
Emmy wanted to go see a movie after they had dinner in the hotel restaurant earlier. Bennett suggested a rain check and has been hiding in her room watching Friends since. Well, watching Friends and getting more work done on Off the Grid.
She’s just gotten into a groove when her phone vibrates on the bedside table. Thinking it’s Emmy sending another complaint text about how they’re both losers for being in bed so early, Bennett grabs it without looking away from the paragraph she’s working on and thumbs open the lock screen. It’s a text from a number with a vaguely familiar area code.
Bennett freezes, thumb still hovering over the screen, and the turnaround time it takes to start panicking is impressive. She has no idea how long she stares at the little text bubbles, but she’s still staring when the little typing ellipsis appears again.
FREAKING TECHNOLOGY.
Bennett mashes the home button down, then accidentally taps the camera icon as she scrambles to pull up her message settings. Once she finally gets to the right place, there aren’t enough words to describe her relief when she sees her read receipts are, in fact, not on. Her phone vibrates again.
What a little asshole. How did he even get her work number?
Bennett clicks whatever link he had the nerve to send her. Partly out of curiosity, but mostly out of spite. A page from The Hollywood Reporter pops up, and five minutes later, she’s sobbing.
The article is fourteen paragraphs of praise for Parachutes, and major hype for the upcoming film adaptation. There are even a few additional notes about the “Promising young author, from whom the readers can expect more best-sellers very, very soon.” It also mentions the adaptation is about to start filming, and it’s already slated to be one of the biggest movies set for release in 2019. Which only makes Bennett more upset. The only thing worse than unrealistic expectations is having them amplified in print.
Still, it’s a flattering article. There’s even a brief moment about two-thirds into reading when Bennett registers a tiny bit of pride peeking out of the shadows in the back of her mind. It’s been MIA for a while now, but she’s glad to know it’s still alive back there.
Bennett sniffs and takes off her glasses, wiping underneath her eyes with the collar of her T-shirt. Then she does something incredibly stupid.
The regret is instantaneous. Bennett’s in the middle of swearing she won’t text him back again when another message comes through. You give Teddy Sharpe an inch …
God. Bennett can just picture him pouting at his phone.
She’s such a sucker.
Maybe—maybe Emmy’s right—maybe in the long run it’ll be better to just deal with this head-on instead of being such a wimp about it. They’re going to be spending the next two months together, regardless.… But Bennett needs to proceed with caution here. She can already feel herself getting restless when he doesn’t respond right away. If she doesn’t watch herself, she’ll slip right back in over her head again. And she can’t have that.
Thank God Bennett actually has a real-life, legitimate reason to say no to this instead of having to come up with some lame and totally transparent excuse to turn it down.
Of course he is, because Teddy has this insane, superhuman ability to be everyone’s best friend. Bennett’s never seen a
nything like it, and it’s so annoyingly cute it makes her want to push him off a cliff into a vat of thirty-seven crocodiles that’s also on fire. Except then he’d probably figure out a way to emerge unscathed and with thirty-seven new friends.
Goddammit.
See this? This is exactly the kind of thing that happens when you’re too quick to lift the Teddy Sharpe texting embargo. He goes and does something ridiculous that makes it hard to remember why an embargo is such a necessary precaution.
The little ellipsis of death pops up again before Bennett can think of another excuse.
God. Bennett rereads I’m coming to see you either way five times before she finally acknowledges that she can’t force herself to feel indifferent about it. She does the only safe thing she can think of at a time like this.
She calls his bluff.
Bennett taps send and tosses her phone aside, feeling pretty pleased with herself.
That feeling lasts for the first ten minutes to go by without getting another response. After that, her mood sours. She picks up her phone again to check what time she’d sent the last message, then tosses it back to the end of the bed. All guys have their limits, and Bennett certainly hasn’t given Teddy a reason to push his.…
Her phone vibrates again, and she almost falls off the side of the bed trying to get to it.
Her heart sinks when she sees it’s from Emmy.
Apparently her assistant has already made the decision to crash, because the sound of three quick knocks comes a minute later. Bennett pads over to her door, ready to fire off a joke about the five extra key cards Emmy had made earlier this week—a joke that gets lodged in the back of her throat the second she swings open the door to not-Emmy standing in the entryway.
Teddy grins.
“Hi. Do you mind turning down your TV?” he asks, pointing a thumb over his shoulder. “Some chick on your floor is being superlame and keeps complaining about it.”
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