I put on my noise-cancelling headphones and we set to work.
God, how did everything about this job end up being such a mess? I glance over at Art and see he’s moved to the couch again. He’s hunched over his laptop, a look of fierce concentration on his face as he stares at the screen. He bites his lower lip and pushes back his dark hair with both hands and it hits me with a shock that I’vekissedthose lips and I’ve been touched by those hands, and they really are nice hands, elegant, strong, probably quite skilful hands …
I shake the thoughts out of my head and return to my script.
Neither of us says much for the rest of the morning, but when lunchtime comes round Art waves a hand in front of my face. I take off my headphones.
‘Do you want to brave the canteen or do you think you’ll be assassinated by one of your many enemies if you leave this room?’ he says.
‘Ourmany enemies,’ I say. ‘And stop making me sound like a deranged conspiracy theorist.’
‘If the cap fits …’ says Art. ‘Oh, come on, don’t look at me like that, I’m joking! Anyway, are you coming? If you’re not then please don’t bring an awful machine sandwich into this office.’
After the last few days, one of those sandwiches might tip me over the edge. ‘I’m coming,’ I say.
At least the possibility of mysterious enemies seems to have temporarily distracted us from the post-kiss weirdness. We take a table in the corner of the canteen (‘Best keep our backs to the wall,’ says Art, ‘so they can’t get us from behind with piano wire’). The table is actually a good vantage point, and I spot Cian and some of the other writers – including Simon and Nora – lunching at a table on the other side of the room.
‘Look at them all,’ says Art cheerfully. He pops a chip into his mouth. ‘Plotting against us.’
I refuse to rise to his teasing. ‘Don’t talk with your mouth full,’ I say. ‘It’s revolting.’ But as I look across the room a genuinely distressing thought strikes me. ‘If thereissomething weird going on, you don’t think Simon and Nora could be involved, do you?’
‘What?’ says Art. ‘No, of course not!’
Simon is laughing at something Cian has just said. They’ve been so friendly and welcoming so far. But what if it was a ruse?What if they were lulling us into a false sense of security so we’re not prepared when they take us down?
Jesus, Art’s right. I am getting paranoid.
‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘This is all a bit … I’ve never worked anywhere so toxic before.’
‘I have,’ says Art. ‘This industry can be brutal. Listen, McDermott, this shit will pass. I really don’t think anyone’s messing with us, but in the unlikely event that they are, they’ll get bored. In a few weeks everyone will be under less pressure.’
‘And in the meantime?’ I say.
‘In the meantime,’ says Art, ‘the pair of us will put our heads down and get the work done. And watch out for snipers, obviously.’
‘Ha ha,’ I say. But I feel weirdly comforted.
Just for a moment, and for the first time ever, I feel Art Sullivan and I are on the same side.
Chapter Twelve
INT: ANNIE AND ROO’S HOUSE/ INT:NORTHSIDEOFFICES
My warm and fuzzy feelings towards Art – such as they are – don’t last very long.
It’s not entirely his fault, though. I don’t think I’m capable of feeling warm and fuzzy towards anyone at the moment. Susan’s new notes arrive shortly after we return to our office, but I have to read through them twice before I can take them in. And even then I can’t seem to get a handle on any of the necessary tweaks. After attempting to focus for an hour and failing, I get up and go for a quick walk around the IBC grounds in an attempt to ease my jangling nerves. It doesn’t help much.
When I get back Art is lying on the couch, staring up at the ceiling and chewing a pen.
‘Please don’t say anything, McDermott,’ he says. ‘I’m on the verge of a widget breakthrough.’
I get back to work but it’s hard to concentrate on Mozzer McCaul’s romantic problems right now. I glance over at Art. His eyes are closed now and his arms are folded behind his head. There are shadows under his eyes and he clearly didn’t shave this morning and I wonder if he’s feeling as strung out and tense as I am.
You know what might release some of that tension? says a little voice in my head.
I do my best to ignore this unhealthy thought, then take a deep breath and return to my script. I set my timer but I simply can’t focus. I can’t forget that Art is just a few feet away from me. Horizontal. Tired and annoying and annoyingly attractive and possibly my only ally in all of IBC.
God, why did I have to kiss my only ally in all of IBC? What was I thinking? And why does that ally have to be the person who does my head in?