Bernard sniffs and Susan gives me a concerned look, but I avoid her gaze. I don’t know whether I want to roar with rage or burst into tears. Probably both.
The meeting begins and I try to pull myself together. I am not going to give Bernard any excuse to disparage me again. I’m going to excel at this job, if only out of spite. I try not to let that spite show on my face, though. I want to look cool, calm andcollected. But it’s hard when Bernard is being his usual obnoxious self. While Susan congratulates everyone on their achievements, Bernard barely grunts. He simply can’t bring himself to utter a word of praise.
And when he gets to Art and me he rises to a whole new level of pettiness. He’s not as openly rude as he was the last time, but he picks holes and shuts down every suggestion.
‘I’d like to move Mozzer’s phone call with her ex from the shop to the bistro in the next draft,’ says Art. ‘It’d mean she could talk about him with Sarah afterwards.’
I have to admit it’s a really good idea. Mozzer and Sarah have a nice bond, and Sarah’s brisk vibe contrasts nicely with Mozzer’s comic energy.
But Bernard looks Art dead in the eye and says, ‘That’s not happening.’
‘Actually, Bernard,’ says Susan, ‘I think that would work. And it suits the actors’ shooting schedule—’
‘It’s important that Mozzer is out shopping,’ says Bernard. ‘We need to show her life going on as usual.’
Which is absolute bullshit, and everyone at the table must know it. What on earth is he playing at?
Susan says, ‘But Bernard—’
‘I said we’re not moving it,’ he snaps.
Then it’s my turn.
‘Right, Ms McDermott,’ says Bernard. ‘What pointless changes wouldyoulike to propose?’
As Bernard dismisses all the small tweaks I suggest and ignores my questions, I find myself biting my lip to stop myself telling him how I actually feel. I remember what Art said about me glowering my way through the first meeting and I don’t want to do thatagain, but the harder I try to keep my expression neutral, the more self-conscious I get.
When the meeting finally ends, Art and I walk back to our office in silence. I close the door behind us, lean against it and let out a growl of frustration.
‘Oh, come on.’ Art turns to face me and hangs up his bag on the hook by the door. ‘You’re all right. No need for that.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I thought I was allowed to express my feelings for a split second.’
‘You never stop expressing your feelings.’ Art sounds annoyingly amused. ‘In your own way. You were making some very interesting faces during that meeting.’
‘No I wasn’t!’ So much for keeping my expression neutral. ‘And anyway, you should have been focusing on Bernard and Susan, not looking at me.’
‘It wasn’t my fault,’ says Art indignantly. ‘It was hard to concentrate with you gurning away like that.’
‘Iwasn’tgurning,’ I protest. ‘In fact, I was trying very hard not to gurn! I’m sorry I wasn’t successful.’
‘You certainly weren’t,’ says Art. ‘That was some grimacing you were doing.’
‘Well, I’m sorry, I can’t help it, that’s just my face!’ I clench my fists in frustration. ‘I’m sorry you think my face is so … so hideous!’
‘God, will you stop apologising?’ says Art. ‘I know you don’t mean it. And of course I don’t think your face is hideous! Ilikeyour face!’
There’s a split second of silence in which we both realise what he’s just said.
‘I mean …’ Art’s expression is horrified.
And I should be horrified too. I kind of am. Ialmostam. But instead …
Oh God.
Instead I stare back at him and see something in his eyes that I know is in my own. And then …
I kiss him.