Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 92368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“So I’m not a good coordinating producer?” I ask, even more confused.
“You are. A good producer is a hard worker, diligent, and focused.” She sighs heavily. “But men like that? Older, confident, established, rich? They don’t face risks like we do as women. They aren’t building their reputations. They’re untouchable. But us?” She points to herself, then me, and it’s strange to be included in this sisterhood now. “We only have the work we do to build on.”
My skin crawls. I hate that she makes so much sense.
Her eyes pin me with a newfound intensity. “You and he—you’re in different places, Jules.” Something in her voice says she’s imparting vital knowledge to me. Woman to woman. Passing it on down the line with a plea—don’t get involved at your age with a man who’s already worked his way up.
I suppose it’s one thing to fall for a guy who’s young and hungry and scrappy, and entirely another to fall for a man who’s made it. Who has a family. Who might not want the relentless questing of my young heart.
But I say nothing. I don’t want to reveal too much of myself to her or too much of my heart.
Solange seems undeterred by silence. She simply adds to her point, “I want you to find your own way. I don’t want you to rely on a man.”
“I don’t rely on him,” I say, defensively.
“I know. But soon, you will. I can see it in your eyes,” she says. “I saw it this morning at the café. You’re quite taken with him.”
The knot in my throat turns into a lump, one that threatens to break.
“There are so many people out there wanting your job, wanting this opportunity you’ve made for yourself,” she says.
I think I get it now. “You’re saying watch my back?”
She gives a resigned smile. “Yes, I am. I don’t want you to lose your focus, or for someone to steal it.” She waves to indicate whoever is out there, wanting my job. Unnamed, unknown people. “You’re tenacious now. Don’t lose your tenacity because a man makes your life easier. I lost mine for a while, and it took me years to build it back.”
“But you’re in a great place now,” I say.
She gives an oh please look. “I’m forty-seven. It’s not easy.” Then, after a pause, she adds, “Correction—it’s especially not easy for women. Do you know what I mean?”
My skin tingles with understanding at last. She means fuck the patriarchy. She means it’s a man’s world, and women have to work harder, fight harder, and never get complacent. “I do,” I say, wishing I didn’t.
She lifts a hand almost like she’s going to squeeze my shoulder, but then drops her arm to her side. “Finn Adams can have anything he wants, and I don’t mean women. I mean companies, businesses, and choices. All we have, women like you and me, are our choices.”
Translation: get my shit together and stop being a starry-eyed girl.
“I understand,” I say.
“Good. Let’s have lunch.”
That’ll be fun.
Lunch isn’t fun. But it’s eye-opening as she lets me into her world, sharing behind-the-scenes tidbits on productions she’s worked on, telling tales of the business. With something like the pride of a self-proclaimed mentor, she says, “I see big things for you.”
The message is clear: choose work because love won’t last.
She’s probably right. Not for the reasons she’s said, but for even more complicated ones.
Ones I shouldn’t ignore any longer.
Finn and I were never destined to be real. It was only ever role-play with him.
28
MY IMPOSSIBLE WISH
Jules
Things that make me feel like I’m doing something wrong—furtively glancing behind me while I knock on the door of Finn’s hotel room in the early evening.
I already texted and told him I wasn’t sure if I could meet tonight, but he asked me to come by to talk in person anyway. I’m not cut out for sneaking around. I can’t keep doing this.
No less than two seconds after I knock, he opens the door, his expression resigned.
I step into his room, wanting to fall into his arms but knowing that’d be a mistake. “Hi,” I say heavily.
“Hey, you.” His voice is like a warm hug, one I hardly deserve.
“I was such an idiot to be so public with you,” I say, my shoulders falling.
“Don’t say that. You’re brilliant and bright. You’re not an idiot.”
“But I am. For thinking I could…”
Could what? What’s the point of this confession? Finn and I never made any promises to each other. We never said we’d do anything but spend every night together in Paris. We were always an affair.
I draw a soldiering breath and try to put the lunchtime conversation in its proper place—it was a valuable piece of advice that I was lucky to receive from a woman who’s made it. “Solange said I should focus on work, and she’s right,” I say, resolute.