but I gotta pass,” he says, heading off toward his trailer.
“He needs to have some fun,” Tarah says as he walks away, rubbing her hands together to keep them warm.
“He needs to have some food,” Brody says, his hand in a bag of Fritos.
“Annie, listen,” Tommy says, grabbing my arm and pulling me gently to the side. “Are you busy tonight? I need something.”
“I’m not busy,” I say, shaking my head, because sure, I should be writing some internet content about how to properly use painter’s tape, but it can wait if Tommy needs me.
He points a thumb toward Drew’s trailer, where the door has just swung shut. “I need you to take Drew out.”
My mouth opens. Once I’ve regained the power of speech, I say, “I’m sorry, what?”
Tommy waves his hand dismissively. “He’s spending too much time by himself, and I think he needs some human interaction.”
I shake my head quickly. “I don’t think I can—”
“Annie,” Tommy says, placing his hands lightly on my shoulders. “Are you my assistant?”
I nod.
“I need some assistance, please,” he says. “If you really can’t, then okay. But Drew’s performance is gonna be better if he doesn’t just head back to his hotel and spend his evening staring at a television, and if his performance is better, the movie is better. You care about the movie, right?”
Well, he has me there, because I do care about this movie. My name will be in the credits . . . I mean, probably five minutes into the credits and so tiny that no one will ever see it, but still. I need the first movie my name is on to be as good as it can possibly be.
“I don’t think he likes me,” I say.
“He needs to be around someone who’s gonna take the piss out of him,” Tommy says. “And I have a feeling that’s you.”
I frown. Going out to dinner with Drew Danforth? The guy who caught me googling him, made fun of my job, and seems amused by my general presence on this earth? I guess if we run out of conversational topics, I can always trot out some mortifying memories from my childhood. How about the time I puked on a field trip to the art museum? I’m sure he’d love that one.
Tommy must be able to read the hesitation written on my face, because he claps me on the back like he’s a coach for a youth soccer team. “Live a little, okay? Go have some fun.”
* * *
• • •
Chloe was excited when I texted her about this dinner—in fact, she called it a date, a designation I quickly denied. This is a work obligation. This is a cocky movie star who’s too good to even spend time with his castmates being stuck going to dinner with a lowly assistant. This isn’t anyone’s idea of a good time, and it certainly isn’t “straight out of a rom-com,” as Chloe insisted.
“You don’t even believe in love,” I texted.
“Not for me,” Chloe texted back. “But you’re a hopeless romantic. Love exists for people like you. At least you’ll get to eat somewhere good.”
She has a point there, I think as I slide into the passenger seat of Drew’s car. I don’t know the first thing about cars, but even I can tell that this is a lot nicer than Uncle Don’s Prius. If cars had names, Uncle Don’s would be Brenda, and she would be a sassy, no-nonsense HR manager. This car, whatever it is, would be named Cristal, and she would probably be an Instagram influencer.
“You drive yourself, then?” I ask, clicking my seat belt into place. “No drivers or limos?”
I don’t look right at Drew, but I can tell he’s looking at me with that infuriating smirk on his face. “I think you might have a slightly inflated sense of my net worth.”
And you definitely don’t understand how little I get paid for writing articles about DIY bathroom renovations, I think.
He insisted on driving, even though I offered—it’s not like he knows his way around, but perhaps he was feeling chivalrous or, more accurately, thought I was incapable of operating a motor vehicle or doing anything other than fetching coffee. As his phone calls out lefts and rights, I finally ask him where we’re going.
“Oh,” he says, his voice sounding both teasing and ominous, “you’ll see.”
* * *
• • •
It’s McDonald’s. Drew Danforth, star of screens both large and small, takes me to the home of the McNugget.