7. Nell
7
NELL
I’m busy tapping out a furious message to the group chat about how I’ve been hoofed off my desk by a Stupid Nepo Baby Douchebag, when I look up to see said Stupid Nepo Baby Douchebag standing right over me.
‘Hey!’ Charlie says. ‘Bishi told me to come get you. I think there’s a meeting, or something?’ He’s flashing me his ridiculous dimpled grin. I cannot believe I found that grin vaguely attractive only half an hour ago. Right now, it is riding high in my list of Top Ten Most Annoying Sights Ever.
I stand up, offering him a pained smile that I hope communicates just how much I viscerally dislike him. But his own stupid smile just gets wider.
‘So, how long have you been here?’ he asks, as we head back towards the writers’ nook.
I keep looking straight ahead. I will not deign to give him eye contact. ‘It was my first day yesterday.’
‘Oh, cool. They all seem really nice.’
‘Mm-hm.’
I sneak a sideways glance at him. Does he not know this is supposed to be a one-intern gig? Did he even apply for this? Did he spend weeks editing his sketch packet? Did he lose sleep perfecting his cover letter? Or has his dad just shoved him straight to the front of a queue that isn’t even supposed to exist?
Is he even interested in comedy writing?
‘So, you must be a big fan of the show then?’ I murmur, trying to sound neutral.
He scratches the back of his neck. ‘I mean, yeah. I’ve seen it a few times. It’s funny, I guess.’
‘Uh-huh.’ Sounding neutral is becoming increasingly difficult. I clasp my hands tightly behind my back just to make sure I don’t involuntarily lash out and thump him.
We turn the corner into the nook just as Nate is ushering everyone into the writers’ room. I move to follow Charlie in with them, but Bishi calls me back before I can.
‘Nell, I’m really sorry . . .’ she begins. And as I watch Charlie stroll in and plonk himself casually next to Nate, my stomach sinks. Because I know exactly where this is heading. ‘There’s been a balls-up with the ticketing for this week’s show,’ Bishi continues. ‘I really need help going through a spreadsheet. It’s a bit of a dull, admin-y thing, but it’s urgent.’ She clears her throat and glances through the glass at Charlie. ‘I’m only asking you since you sat in on the meeting yesterday, and Charlie’s not had a chance to yet, so . . .’
I nod and smile, trying hard not to let the disappointment show on my face. After all, it isn’t Bishi’s fault. She looks so apologetic about asking me to do this that she’s literally wincing. I feel bad for her. But at the same time, I can’t help wondering: is this how it’s going to be from now on? All the dull-as-ditch-water, spreadsheet-y jobs go to me, and all the exciting, writer-y ones go straight to Charlie? My stomach sinks even lower at the thought, but Bishi is still grimacing at me politely, so I dial my smile up as brightly as possible. ‘Of course, Bishi,’ I say. ‘No worries.’
Relief floods her features. ‘Thank you so much, Nell. I really appreciate it. I’ll email you the spreadsheet now.’
She walks back to her desk. I’m just about to head down the corridor to mine when Talia comes rushing into the writers’ nook, clutching a takeaway coffee cup.
‘Hey, Nell! Shit, they’ve already started!’ She bounds past me, heading for the writers’ room, and then turns back. ‘You not coming in?’
I shake my head. ‘No, I’ve got to do something for Bishi.’
Talia frowns. ‘Oh . . .’ Then she glances through the glass at Charlie. He is chuckling away heartily at something Nate is saying. Her frown deepens. ‘Oh. Right.’ She stands there for a moment with her hand on the door handle. It feels like she wants to say something more. But she just gives me a kind of awkward nod and adds, ‘I’ll see you later then.’
‘See you.’
She walks into the room and closes the door behind her.
Just as I turn to go, yet another peal of raucous laughter rings out from inside the writers’ room. I stomp back to my desk, wishing I had never laid eyes on Charlie Francombe.