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do that? What did he say I said?” I’m
freaking out.
    “Calm down, Caroline. I get it. You didn’t offer to sleep
with him.”
     
    I’m still freaking out. Do I just go around giving the
impression that I want to sleep with people?
     
    “So Johnny…”
    “Mr. Braylock.” She corrects me.
    “Right, so Mr. Braylock didn’t say that I said I would sleep
with him?”
    “He didn’t say that.”
     
    I start laughing again because now I’m ridiculously
uncomfortable, and it’s the only thing my body will allow me to do.
     
    “Phew. Now that we got that covered…” I really don’t know
what else to say.
    “Mr. Braylock wants you to be his personal assistant.”
    “What? No, I’m the production assistant.” I don’t know why
I’m arguing. She knows what I am.
    “Right. That’s what I said, but he’s the star of the movie
and he’s refusing to work with the personal assistant assigned to him, so we’re
going to switch your roles.”
    “But…” I’m in shock. I don’t know if this is a promotion or
a demotion or if I’m excited or mad or happy or sad.
    “I’ve already tried fighting on your behalf, but it’s out of
my hands. He wants you in his trailer.”
    “When?” I’m still in shock.
    “Now.”
    “Now?”
    “Now.”
    I spin around in a circle, because for some reason, I think
that will help me. It doesn’t. “Okay, wow, okay, then I should…”
    “Yes, you should.”
     
    So my day has completely changed. I guess I’m no longer a
P.A. Well, no, that’s not true. I’m still a P.A., but now it stands for ‘personal
assistant’ rather than ‘production assistant’. Why do I feel like that’s a
demotion?
     
    I’m in front of his trailer. Okay, deep breaths; I can do
this.
     
    “Knock, knock.”
     
    Maybeit would be more
helpful if I actually knocked on the door rather than meekly called “knock,
knock” from the other side.
     
    So I knock, for real this time, and the door quickly swings
open.
     
    “Oh good, you’re here.” Johnny doesn’t even look at me,he just turns around and walks back into his trailer.
     
    Is there something on my face? Why is no one looking at me
today? Is it because I chose yet again to wear my glasses instead of my
contacts?
     
    “My supervisor said you needed to see me?” That seems like
an easy enough way to break into a conversation.
    “I’m your supervisor now.”
    “Excuse me?” I don’t know if it’s his tone, his curtness, or
the fact that he still hasn’t looked at me, but I’m actually annoyed.
    “Check on my breakfast.” He quickly makes eye contact with
me from the reflection in the mirror.
    “What?” I’m still very confused as to what is happening.
    “My breakfast is supposed to be delivered at 7:15. It is now
7:17. Therefore someone has made a mistake.”
    “And I’m supposed to find out who made that mistake?”
    “Precisely.”
     
    I have the sudden desire to step back and laugh at him. Who
does he think he is? So his breakfast is two minutes late. Who the hell cares? Is
he serious? Is this really how his world works?
     
    “I’m going to be candid with you, Mr. Braylock, I have never
been a personal assistant, nor do I care to be a personal assistant.”
    “Okay.” He lightly replies.
    “So…” I’m not quite sure what his ‘okay’ means. “We’re good
here?”
    “Are you finished complaining?” Just in case you were
wondering, he still hasn’t looked at me other than in the reflection from the
mirror.
    “Excuse me?”
    “I said, ‘are you finished complaining?’”
     
    He spins around from the mirror and lands directly in front
of me. He’s staring into my eyes for the first time, and I feel myself
literally go weak in the knees. You have to be kidding me. Seriously? The smell
of his redolence overwhelms my senses, and I find that I no longer have the ability
to be angry with him.
     
    But the mere fact that I am no longer angry makes me even
angrier.
     
    “I don’t have to