Page 49 of See You Next Tuesday

“Nothing,” Gabe said quickly.

“Sorry, was I not meant to say?” Tallulah turned around to face Gabe. “It’s good news!”

“What’s good news?” Anya pressed.

“Just tell her!” Tallulah urged him.

Gabe sighed. “It’s not any news, yet. I have a job interview to manage Andrew Wheeler’s Senate race next cycle.”

“Wheeler?!” Anya’s jaw dropped. Wheeler was easily the worst Democrat in the Senate, a corporate lackey who’d screwed over progressives any number of times. “Seriously?”

“This is why I didn’t want to tell you.” Gabe’s lips went thin.

“What am I missing?” Tallulah looked at Anya. “Campaign manager is a good thing, right? It’s what Gabe’s been working toward. It’s a really big deal for his career!”

“I’m sure he’ll have a ball helping the worst stooge in the Senate on his cakewalk back to Congress.” Anya’s tone was so sarcastic she hated herself a little, but she was too pissed at Gabe to care.

“That’s a lot of alliteration for anxious anchors,” Gabe quipped, and Anya gasped.

“Don’t you quote my favorite movie back at me!” Anya had picked Broadcast News when it was her turn to choose for staff movie night.

“Why does it matter, Anya?” Gabe asked. “Honestly, why do you care who I work for?”

“Because I thought you’d changed,” Anya exclaimed, her voice coming out more hurt than she’d intended. “I thought you cared what Jo thought of you because…But whatever, that was dumb of me. You’re here because she’s famous.”

“I’m here because Kira asked me to be,” Gabe insisted.

“If you say so.” Anya shrugged. “I hope you get the job with Wheeler, if that’s what you want.”

“So you can keep thinking you’re too good for me,” Gabe muttered.

“What are you talking about?” Anya snapped.

Gabe looked up to make eye contact in the mirror again. “You know exactly what.”

Anya frowned—she really didn’t. Then she noticed that Tallulah was staring, and a wave of guilt washed over her; she hadn’t meant to ruin the end of Gabe’s visit with his girlfriend.

“I’m sorry,” Anya said to Tallulah. “I guess this is why I’m his nemesis. Judgmental asshole and all.”

“It’s not judgment,” Tallulah said softly.

“Sure it is,” Gabe cracked, and Anya laughed uncomfortably.

“No.” Tallulah looked right at Anya. “It isn’t.”

“Merge onto 405 Freeway South in three hundred feet,” the GPS broke in, and Anya was grateful to be able to focus on the road. They all fell silent for a minute.

“So, Tallulah.” Anya cleared her throat. “Where are you flying off to?”

After they dropped Tallulah at LAX, Gabe really didn’t want to sit in the front seat with Anya. He was so pissed he couldn’t stand to look at her. For reasons Gabe couldn’t fathom, Anya seemed to be just as angry; she turned on NPR and didn’t say another word for the entire drive. Traffic was abysmal: an accident on the 405, construction in Westwood, Anya stopping responsibly at every yellow light. The roads finally opened up in Beverly Hills, but being there annoyed Gabe even more. He hated his parents’ neighborhood.

It took nearly two hours to get to Jeff Rooney’s house, an ostentatious modernist palace with canyon views, all black iron girders and glass walls like a Bond villain’s lair. Anya gaped with wonder as they pulled up the big circular drive, as a well-dressed valet took their car, as they walked into the home’s grand entry with its gargantuan Chihuly chandelier. Her awe grated on Gabe’s already frayed nerves. She thought he was dirt, but she was impressed by all this?

“There you guys are!”

Gabe snapped to attention when Jo walked into the room alongside Jeff Rooney. They’d only met a few minutes prior, but they already looked like old friends.

“Jeff, this is Gabe and Anya, two of my senior staff,” she said.