Page 9 of How To Plot a Payback

Funny.

Most people call that getting promoted.

“But know this, Masters,” he continues, and there they are again, those rain-cloud brows moving together forebodingly. “I don’t like to waste my time. If you’re in, this is an all-in position. If you’re one of those people who likes nights to themselves—”

Who’d want that? Staying at work late to write is part of the gig.

“—weekends—”

Sure. I am accustomed to occasional Saturdays in the writers room.

“—holidays—”

Whoa now.

“—time off for ‘weddings’—”

Why did he put that in air quotes?

“—funerals for your aunt’s next-door neighbor’s niece—”

Well—

“—and all those other little extracurriculars—”

I mean, I’m fairly certain no one in the history of the world has referred to a funeral as an extracurricular.

“—then this job isn’t for you. But if you are willing to work, to consider coming in early as on time and leaving late as standard, and the thrill of seeing your ideas come to life and entertaining an entire generation is sufficient . . .” He pauses and lifts a finger as if to declare that his next words are key. “If you can give 150 percent to this job, then name your price and I’ll double it.”

He stops.

And is waiting for me, it seems, to answer.

With an actual number.

I’m tempted to look around me, half expecting this to be some cruel party trick bigwig celebrities play on the lowly nobodies at parties. Which would then be caught on camera.

Then shared, of course, and everyone gets a good laugh.

While I get fired.

But there is the chance.

The deliriously hopeful chance.

“Ten grand per episode,” I say.

Bold is the right choice, yes?

I scrutinize his expression in that blink of a moment, hoping I am right.

Mr. Goodwin is stoic for far, far too long.

Then he laughs.

“You’ll do it for five,” he replies and slaps me hard on the back. “And if you last till June, we’ll talk. Now if you’ll excuse me . . . I’ll see you Monday morning.”

And suddenly he’s strolling towards the exit doors.