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Something I can’t place in my own mind, but definitely something I just feel in my own heart.
It’s not until we’re heading further downtown in the limo I even have the courage to ask.
I don’t want to sound ungrateful either, but for him to be so certain of me not doing what I’ve always done, even staying in my apartment. I figure something’s happened.
“We’ve been driving for fifteen minutes and I’m only supposed to give you an hour,” I remind him, surprised at the tone in my voice but dying to know by now.
Jack’s been thoughtful the whole way so far and me speaking is finally enough for him to lift a lid on maybe some of his secrets at least.
He smiles, and takes my hand in his again, bringing it to his lips.
“Almost there,” he assures me. “And there’s more than one choice on offer,” he reminds me cryptically.
“Jack?” I ask him, almost huffing. Not able to stand much more suspense. “Choices, really?” I almost whine.
Not sure how much more mystery a girl can take considering I never went home with many choices before I took my shower.
The limo slows and then pulls into an underground parking lot, I have no idea where we are exactly, but I do know it’s not on the same side of town reserved for low rent interns.
There’s no urgency, but Jack is quick to lead me out of the car to a private elevator I know somehow is exclusively his. The scent of his cologne lingering inside tells me that much.
Watching him swipe his watch over a square, it opens then closes and in moments re-opens after a swift surge upward leaving us both with a commanding view of the whole city from the top floor.
Walls of thick glass rise up, casting natural light and shadows over an inviting balcony space that looks more like a private garden.
“Here we are,” he says, sounding relieved, and I have to admit I feel like I’m home even though I’ve never been here or even seen the place.
“There’s a space by the window there,” he says, directing me with his hand gently on my back over to a desk by a sunny nook.
“Your office,” he says, a matter of fact, sweeping his hands wide open into the space around us.
“And your new home, if you’ll take it?” he adds, winking. “It’s a long drive to get to work when you can just roll out of bed, isn’t it?”
My look prompts him to do some explaining, and quickly.
I feel faint.
“Sorry,” he whispers, helping me to a huge leather chair and taking my bag, setting it down beside me as he kneels in front of me.
“It’s a lot to take in, but a lot’s happened since I heard you step into the shower at your old place,” he begins.
“A lot’s happened,” I parrot back, casting my eyes around the cathedral-like loft apartment, which is more the size of my whole floor than my apartment.
Gleaming white tiles and chrome spray the natural sunlight from the outside, with the dense wooden furniture and colorful traditional woven rugs breaking up the spaces in between.
Jack starts to speak as I scan the surroundings.
“My agent called,” he says, lowering his voice to a serious tone.
“Before you go back to work for anyone else, I need to tell you about the studio’s offer,” he adds.
“The studio?” I hear myself say again in the same, zombie-like tone. Like all of this is maybe waiting for someone else who hasn’t arrived yet.
“Yeah.” Jack smiles briefly. “That kiss, yesterday at the studio? Well. They liked what they saw and there’s a three movie deal on the table.”
“For those two actors, you coached?” I ask, suddenly smiling. “That’s great!” I add enthusiastically, but his face grows more serious as he takes my hand.
“For us, Olivia. The studio wants you… and me. There will be more screen tests, a whole bunch of other stuff. But it sounds like the studio chief made up his mind once he saw you and me…”
“Jack,” I interrupt him. “That’s not even funny,” I remark, wondering why he’d even say something like that.
He simply shrugs, the coy smile disappearing from his lips once he senses my new mood, but continues.
“Then there are the other offers,” he counters. “The column or website, show… whatever or however it is you want to be in charge of. A new Hollywood reporter?” he asks, his smile broadening.
But it only reminds me of the work I’m already committed to, the job I’m supposed to be at right now.
“My agent,” he continues. “She has all the contacts, and so do I, to get you any story you want and in front of people that can make it seen,” he reminds me. Not blowing his own horn, but stating facts I can’t argue with.
