I Ran His Biggest Hate Account, Then Became His Live-In Assistant novel · Chapter 15 of 24

Chapter 15: Two Confessions, Interrupted

The last day of shooting ended at four in the morning with the director weeping on a prop bench and a flight at seven.

Yao had meant to speak on that bench.

Instead Lanzhou fell asleep on his shoulder in the car, and Yao carried the confession home in his chest.

Then came eleven days of rehearsals, fittings and a producer who said "synergy" at breakfast.

Now it was the nineteenth of December, seven at night, and the courtyard house smelled of ginger and scorched garlic.

Fang's text had come at noon.

"Midnight. Then I stop being patient."

Yao had rolled the burner into the duck sock and shoved the sock under his pillow.

Lanzhou was in the kitchen in an apron that said nothing, rolling dumpling wrappers with the concentration of a man defusing a clock.

"Sit," he said. "I'm making dinner, and I'm telling you something, and the order matters."

"I have to tell you something too."

"Then we have a crisis." He did not look up. "I go first. I've been writing it for three weeks."

Yao sat on a stool with his heart climbing into his ears.

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