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put up with this.” I turn to leave his
trailer, now completely fed up with the whole situation.
    “Are you quitting?” He says as if he knows my answer.
    “You know what?” I give him a sly smile. “I am.”
     
    With that, I run down the three steps from his trailer and
make my way down the lot. I know Melissa will be upset with me. After all, she
did recommend me for this position, but she has to understand that I can’t work
for someone who doesn’t respect me. I also can’t work for someone who freaks
out if his breakfast is two minutes late. Here I am, just overwhelmed by the
bagel selection at craft services, and he’s got a freaking timer on his omelet.
     
    I guess Keith was right. Johnny Braylock is a dick.
     
    Childhood dreams: crushed.
     
    I stop by craft services to grab a bagel: hey, if I’m
quitting, I might as well leave on a full stomach, but I don’t get as far as
cutting the bagel in half, when I feel a presence behind me. I quickly turn
around, holding my plastic knife in front of me.
     
    Let it be known that I have never been attacked, I have
absolutely no background in self-defense, and I’m pretty sure if I were ever
truly in danger, I would freeze. But for some reason, at 7:30 in the morning,
on a guarded studio lot, I felt the need to defend myself with a plastic knife.
     
    “Johnny.” I whisper, surprised to see him. “I mean, Mr. Braylock.”
    “Oh dear, call me Johnny.”
    “Right. Yes.” Sure, I’ll call him by his first name, except
it doesn’t matter, because I will never see him again after a few moments.
    “Five dollars an hour more than what you were getting paid.”
    “What?” That wasn’t even a sentence. What is he trying to
say to me?
    “Your P.A. pay. I’ll make sure you get five dollars an hour
extra to be my assistant.”
     
    Okay, I had no idea there was wiggle room on the pay. Why
didn’t I think of that? The winds have now changed!
     
    “Ten.”
    “What?” Now it’s he who doesn’t know what I’m talking about.
    “I want ten dollars an hour more than my P.A. pay.”
    He gives me a knowing smile. “I’m not sure if I can do
that.”
    I shrug at him. “I’m not sure if I can be your personal
assistant.”
    “Fine.” He quickly jumps on my dispute.
    “I want it in writing.”
    “You’ll have it by noon.”
    “And yet you expect your omelet in two minutes.” I almost
laugh at my quick debate.
    Johnny swiftly looks away and then looks back to me. “If my
omelet is in my trailer in five minutes, you’ll have your salary in writing by
eight.”
    “I can do that.”
     
    I confidently begin to walk away, when I realize I actually
have no idea how to do that. Where’s the omelet guy? Who normally brings Johnny
his breakfast? Is that my job?
     
    Oh gosh, what did I just get myself into?

 
     
    CHAPTER SEVEN
     
    “Johnny, no, that’s not a thing. I can’t get you caffeinated
herbal tea. It’s naturally decaffeinated.”
    “You’ll figure it out.” He smugly leans against his trailer
counter.
    Oh my gosh, this man is drivingme
crazy. “I won’t figure it out because it’s not something you can figure out. It’s
the way the world works and the world doesn’t caffeinate herbal tea.”
    “And yet they make decaffeinated tea that was originally
naturally caffeinated.  Do you see how your logic makes no sense, Caroline?”
     I want nothing more than to scream at him. So I almost do. “It’s
your logic that doesn’t make sense. Decaffeinating things is a process. They
steep the leaves and then rinse them with either dichloromethane or ethyl
acetate for a good ten hours to get rid of that caffeine. That, or they use
pressurized liquid CO2 to extract the caffeine. Either way, it’s a process.” I
stomp my foot to show that I am finished.
    Johnny raises his eyebrow at me, but doesn’t speak for the
longest second of my life.
     
    And then he does, and I want to slap him. “Why do you know
so much about tea?”
     
    I throw