She takes a swig from the bottle and glances at me out the corner of her eye. “Marry rich.”
I laugh and gently nudge her shoulder as I take the bottle for myself, deciding not to think too hard about who her rich husband could be. “I’m serious.”
Anya sighs and looks out on the glimmering river.
“Honestly?” She shrugs. “I don’t know what I want to do. I picked this job when I was seventeen and now I’m twenty four and I’ve barely done anything. This is my first professional job and I’m on babysitting duty.” She glances at me. “No offense.”
I smirk. “None taken.”
“I don’t know. I feel like I placed all my eggs in one basket when I was a teenager and now I’m trapped. Back then I wanted to be a director but now I don’t even know if that’s a genuine life goal, or a dream I just came up with as a child with no concept of what the job actually was or how to get there.”
“You don’t want to work in film anymore?”
“It’s not that. Or it is. I don’t know.” Anya leans her head back on the wall and reaches her hand for the wine. I pass it to her. “I guess I’m still working it out.” She takes a sip from the bottle. “What about you?”
I snort. “What about me?”
“Will I be seeing you at the Oscars one day?’”
I laugh. “I doubt it.”
“What are you talking about?” Anya exclaims. “You’ll definitely get one one day.”
“Maybe ifBetter You Knowhas a sequel.” It has the desired effect when Anya giggles. I want to record the sound and listen to it every day.
Once her laughter dies down, her smile causing her eyes to crinkle in the corners, the words tumble out of me. “I feel the same.”
She looks at me, confusion etched on her face. “Trapped.”
Her eyes study my face, searching for the lie.
“Well, what would you want to do?” She finally asks. “If you could do anything.”
I laugh, rubbing my hand across my face. “I don’t know.”
“Come on, there must be something. Selling whiskey, hosting a podcast—”
“Music.” I blurt out. I pinch my eyes shut. I can’t believe I just said that.
“That’s a great idea! Composing your own music?”
I gape at her, my head tilting in a jerky nod. This conversation has run away from me. I never thought I would confess this side of me, let alone to my bossy assistant. What are the odds she’ll let this go?
“Is that what you’ve been writing in your trailer?”
Not likely to let it go then. I’m stunned.
“What?” she asks, fidgeting. “Was it a secret?”
“No,” I say, quietly. “I’ve never tried to hide it, but no one has ever noticed.”
I take a swig from the bottle.
“You didn’t have music lessons or anything?”
“Oh, I had lessons. My father was all about making sure my education was well rounded. But it was made very clear to me that I had one avenue to take and that was this one.”
“So, you were forced to act?”
