Page 46 of Over & Out

In the last three days, Hopper hasn’t asked me a question beyond logistical things like whether there’s gas in the vehicle he wants to drive. But now he’s asking me about his career? For some reason, this pisses me off. It’s like an ambush.

I open my mouth to respond, but before I can, the PR guy looks up from his phone and says, “With all due respect, Hop, what the hell would she know? She’s a temp.”

Hopper visibly bristles. “Did I ask you, Brian?” Hopper asks. His tone is pissed off. But it’s not the same pissed-off voice he gives me. This one has more heft. It’s icy.

“Please, Chris,” Hopper says, his face neutral as he turns back to me. “If you have an opinion on this, I want to hear it. What do you think?”

My mouth is dry, but I clear my throat, gathering my irritation for strength. “I think you should apologize to me.”

If Hopper is taken aback, he doesn’t show it. But he does show a flash of something else. I don’t think it’s guilt, though maybe that’s there. I think he’s…impressed.

Brian sets his phone down. “See? Can we not?—”

“And,” I add, ignoring him, “I think you shouldn’t need me totellyou to apologize. Once you treat me like a part of your team, I’ll answer like one.”

I didn’t know I was going to do this. The words just kind of came out. But I stand by them.

On screen, Adrian looks very interested. Mabel lookslike she’s going to have a coronary event. And Brian, who I sincerely thought was called Jeff, looks like a piece of shit in a headset.

Hopper’s eyebrows are up. But he doesn’t look like he regrets asking me. Again, he looks impressed.

“But that’s just what I think,” I say. “Since you asked. About the question, I think you should look at the indie project.”

Brian rolls his eyes. “Oh for fuck’s sake. Donotlisten to this girl, Hopper. She doesn’t know shit about this business.”

Hopper whirls toward the screen. “Maybe not, Brian. But she knows me. She has a better read on me in a month than you’ve developed in five years working with your firm.”

“But I?—”

“No. Do not speak again until I address you.”

Hopper turns back to me, his jaw popping. He takes a step closer, his lips a thin line. His head is bowed slightly, eyes pinned on mine beneath his furrowed brow. I didn’t see it before, but he looks stressed, like he’s been carrying something backbreaking. There are shadows under his beautiful blue eyes, like he hasn’t slept.

“Chris. I’m sorry.” His voice is low. Intense. Like he has a desperate need for me to hear every word. “I was an ass. You didn’t do anything to deserve what I did. I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure out the best way to make it up to you, but I should have just made the time to say sorry.”

My chest clenches. He doesn’t look relieved for having said it. If anything, he looks at me like he thinksthis isn’t enough. He hasn’t asked for my forgiveness. He’s asked for nothing, just taken responsibility for what happened, including not coming to apologize to me on his own. I don’t think anyone’s ever said sorry to me like this, with pain almost visibly radiating from them. Not for crimes much worse. I’m floored, frankly.

Brian makes a choking sound. “Jesus. Is he sleeping with her?”

“What is wrong with you?” I exclaim, glaring at the asshole I’ve had just about enough of.

But Hopper’s already on it. “Mabel,” Hopper says, a look of stormy rage in his eyes. “Remove Brian from the call.”

“Hopper, I’m only looking out for your?—”

“If you’re about to say you’re looking out for my interests, no, you’re not.” Hopper looks directly at Brian, face calm, tone like ice. “You’re looking to make a buck by doing as little as fucking possible. You’re fired, Brian. And you know what? Consider this termination with the agency too.”

“Hopper!” Mabel exclaims. “You can’t be serious.”

“As a fucking chest wound,” Hopper says to her. “Get rid of him.”

Hopper nods at the screen, and the call shrinks to just the two remaining participants.

“Hop—” I say, but he presses a hand to the counter, ignoring everything in the room and on the screen, his eyes on mine. “Why the indie?”

The answer is right on my tongue, but I need a breath to collect myself. He’s so close. And he just fired a man—a whole firm—because he said a dickish thingto me.

As nervous as it makes me—because fuckface was right; I don’t know anything about this industry—Hopper was right too. Because I’ve been listening to him. I’ve been watching him. I was a server from the time I was eighteen years old. I learned how to read subtle clues, along with not so subtle clues. Before that, I had to adapt to situations that weren’t always safe. To protect myself, I had to pay attention to the things people wouldn’t say. “Everyone writes you off as being a temperamental asshole,” I say. “They assume you’re saying things to be argumentative. Or because you’re grumpy about everything. But you’re not just spouting off nonsense. You’re saying things that are important to you, if only people would listen.”

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