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I shake her hand. “Nice to meet you. How was your flight?”
Emma mouths “awful” to me before plastering a smile on her face as the guys approach. “Amazing! A bit long, but what can you do about it, eh? Let me introduce you to the guys.”
Huh. Weird.
“This is Axel, Nick, and Trevor.” Emma gestures to each man when she says his name.
Axel wears thick glasses. The one in the middle, Nick, continues to type something on his phone like he’s already bored with this conversation. And Trevor looks to be in his late forties, if I had to guess by the graying hair on his temples. And he’s impossibly handsome. That’s the type I was talking about earlier.
“I’m Charlee. Nice to meet you all.”
Axel waves timidly, and Nick offers a quick nod and goes back to his phone. Trevor’s attention lands on me, a smirk stretching his lips. “Very nice to meet you, Charlee,” he says, his voice deep. I hold out my hand, but instead of shaking it, he places it between his. “I’m a director at MNL, and I’ll be directing this docuseries. Wild Planet went all out for us, huh?” He looks at Axel and Nick as if they’re his personal audience. “A private chauffeur! Thank you,” he drawls, exaggerating the bow of his head.
I laugh at his joke, but when I see Emma roll her eyes and Trevor looking at me like I lost my mind, I realize that he wasn’t, in fact, kidding.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself properly.” I plaster the biggest fake smile on my face. I know exactly how to deal with this type of entitled guy. “Charlee Fletcher. Senior journalist at Wild Planet. I’ll lead this project for the next two weeks.”
Trevor’s brows shoot up into his receding hairline. He lays a hand on his chest. “I’m sorry. I clearly read the room wrong; my mistake. I didn’t expect you to be the journalist we heard so much about.” He clasps his hands, making Nick jump. “Anyway, shall we catch a cab, then?”
I don’t have time to ask what his fucking deal is before Trevor goes strutting off through the revolving doors, completely unfazed, followed closely by Nick and Axel, who haul the equipment behind them.
“Unbelievable,” I seethe between my teeth.
“Don’t waste your breath.” Emma comes to stand next to me and, arms crossed, watches the men waiting for a cab outside. “He’s not worth it, trust me. I’ve been working with him for years, and nothing will change his misogynistic ass. You get used to it.”
“Sounds like we’re gonna have fun,” I quip.
Emma pats my shoulder and gets moving. “Oh, we are.”
The upside of having to put up with an overconfident middle-aged man while being squeezed in one car for forty minutes is that Emma and I quickly bond during our ride to the Wild Planet office.
The downside is that I don’t think I will ever be able to unhear the things I did. There are a limited number of cringy jokes I can force myself to laugh at, and I’ve exceeded my quota for the year.
“Thanks for the ride,” Trevor says to the driver as he hands him a fifty-dollar bill. “Keep the change.”
Emma and I get the bags out of the trunk while Axel and Nick grab the equipment. The ride to the seventh floor is silent, except for a loud ringing in my ears. Just one more day, and we’re off.
The elevator doors open onto a bright lobby framed by glass windows. A reception desk stands in the middle of the space, a large Wild Planet sign behind it.
“Welcome to Wild Planet,” the receptionist says. “How can I help you today?”
I rest my elbows on the counter. “We’re here for a meeting with Donna? I’m Charlee from WP Toronto, and this is the Movie Night Live crew.”
The receptionist—Sam, from his name tag—gets up and rounds the desk. “Right, I was expecting you. Charlee, Donna is waiting for you in the conference room, last door on the left.” He points to the hallway behind me before turning to Emma. “Can you guys follow me? I’ll show you where to store all this.” Sam gestures toward the crates.
“Sounds good,” Emma replies. “Lead the way.”
They follow him while I make my way down the hallway in the direction Sam indicated. A voice rising behind the last door on the left—the one I’m supposed to get through—stops me dead in my tracks.
“I can’t do this, Donna. I’m sorry, but I can’t.” The voice is deep but smooth, and there’s a definite plea to it, a desperation bordering on panic that makes me want to know more.
I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. I look around, making sure nobody will find me in a compromising position. After confirming the coast is clear, I step closer to the door and lean against it. It would be rude and embarrassing for me to interrupt whatever is going on anyway, so I might as well be entertained while I wait for the right moment to come in.
“You told me you would,” a feminine voice comes through. Donna, I take it. “I don’t have any other options. You can’t bail on me right now!”
“It was before I knew who I’d be working with!”
Interesting . . . Are they talking about me?
