Nick hands me another black coffee. “Couldn’t hurt.”
I shake my head as Nick smirks at me and I find myself wondering, for the hundredth time, why Chloe can’t see that he’s perfect for her. They have the perfect romantic comedy flirty-bickering chemistry, and I see the way he looks at her when she isn’t paying attention. The thing is, Nick is cute—he’s tall and skinny, with light brown skin and that perpetual five-o’clock shadow. Chloe could do a lot worse, and as I know all too well, she has done a lot worse.
“Escape (The Piña Colada Song)” starts to play, and Chloe sways back and forth. “This is my jam,” she says, pouring syrup into a cup.
“This song?” Nick asks. “Seriously? It’s all about a guy and his wife who are trying to cheat on each other.”
Chloe hands the cup to a customer with a smile, then turns to Nick and immediately becomes indignant. “Um, did you miss the end of the song? They end up together! It’s romantic!”
Nick throws his hands in the air. “They hated each other! She wrote a personal ad, looking for some other dude, and he responded because he was trying to leave her. How is that romantic?”
“Oh, my God,” Chloe says, looking at me as if I can help her. “Do you have to ruin every little thing, Nick?”
I bite my lip to keep from cracking up at the rom-com playing out in front of my eyes.
I raise my cup. “Gotta get this to Tommy before it gets cold.”
Nick raises a hand. “See you in half an hour.”
As I scoot out the door, I can hear Chloe groan as Nick says, “And don’t even get me started on that personal ad. ‘Getting caught in the rain’? Seriously? These people are walking clichés and they deserve each other.”
When I find Tommy, he’s deep in conversation with some crewmembers, so I stand off to the side, holding his coffee. As I wait, I look around and take it all in. I’m here. On a movie set. And, sure, it’s not quite as glamorous as I thought it might be—after all, it’s practically in my backyard, not on the New York City streets or an LA backlot—but it’s a real, big-budget movie. One with fancy lighting and sound machines and a costume department and . . .
Actors.
“Be careful around this one,” Drew says to Brody as they appear in front of me. “She once spilled an entire cup of coffee on me.”
Brody raises his eyebrows, and I can feel my cheeks redden. I mean, yes, technically this is a statement of fact, but I know he’s making fun of me. “Sorry about that,” I mumble.
“Looking for someone to throw that one at?” Drew asks, pointing to the cup in my hand. “Because I’ll move out of the way. I don’t really want to take another coat to the dry cleaners.”
Brody takes a bite of the candy bar he’s holding and keeps silent. Even though his character is Drew’s fast-talking, goofy best friend, in real life he’s apparently more taciturn.
“I can pay for your dry cleaning,” I say, because really, it’s the least I can do, but Drew just chuckles.
“I’m not going to make you pay for my dry cleaning.” And then he leans in—surprisingly close—and says, “See you around, Coffee Girl.”
Brody lifts his candy bar to me like a toast. “Coffee Girl.”
And then they walk away, and I’m left thinking about what I should have said back. Coffee Girl? Okay, so Tommy’s troubling caffeine dependence does mean that I spend a large part of my job getting him coffee, but seriously? That’s not my job title, and it’s a little—or a lot—condescending to reduce me to Coffee Girl. I’m an assistant. I’m a writer. I have a name.
“Thanks, Annie,” Tommy says from behind me, and I turn to hand him his coffee.
“Yes,” I say forcefully. “Annie. That’s my name.”
“Sure is!” Tommy says cheerfully, looking at the clipboard he’s holding.
I let out a frustrated sigh and look across the street. Drew’s standing there, talking to Tarah and Brody, his annoying profile directly in my line of vision. Try as I might to look away, my eyes snag on him. I mean, I get it—I get why he’s famous. He’s cute, yes, but there’s more to it than that—there’s something about him, some sort of charm that he radiates, some ineffable quality that the rest of us mere mortals don’t have. Although if Chloe