Obi’d had dreams once. He’d wanted to be a director. He’d almost finished his sixth semester at UCLA before bad decisions and worse friends finally caught up with him and rerouted his life to where he’d always meant to be: bartending, unable to make ends meet without three roommates, amounting to nothing and no hope for anything different in the future.
Except now, apparently. One of said three roommates, a journalist named Zen who was as uptight as he was fair-skinned, had talked Obi into waking up early for a perfect opportunity to get back to what you actually want to do. No, I’m not taking no for an answer. Up at 7 of your own volition or I get Mitsuhide to carry you out to the car in the morning. Which was how he found himself interviewing for a PA position on the set of the American version of the Great British Bake-off. He couldn’t even land an AD position. No, he was interviewing to be a production assistant for a lazy cash grab of a reality show that no one was going to watch.
“Why am I here?” Obi asked.
Haruka, the director and Obi’s interviewer, paused mid-sentence. One eyebrow raised, clearly telegraphing his displeasure at being interrupted.
“This is an interview,” Haruka said. “Or have you never had one of those before.”
Obi usually liked sass. Under different circumstances, he thought they might actually get along. As it was, though, he was confused and cranky from getting two hours of sleep and really not in the mood to just lie back and think of England.
“I didn’t apply for this job,” Obi said.
“Well, someone did. And as I’m conducting this interview as a personal favor to the Wistarias, I can only assume you’ve caught the eye of one of them.”
Wistaria. As in Zen Wistaria? Did that kid think any position on a set was good enough? A director could also be the caterer! Because why not!
“Look,” Haruka said, “I’ve heard you had your sights set on being a director, but the truth is, you didn’t even finish film school and you have zero experience. Even though nepotism is alive and well enough to get you this interview, I won’t pretend I’m even considering you for the AD role.”
Well, Obi could appreciate the honesty. At least they wouldn’t have to pretend Haruka had stumbled on his short film from sophomore year Pomegranate, A Tragedy in Three Acts and found it so brilliant he had to hire Obi on the spot.
“However,” Haruka said, “we have a slightly unique role we’re looking to fill. Impress us, and I’ll consider you for something closer to what you want to do in the future.”
Great. That meant he was going to get paid an assistant’s wage to do three people’s jobs. There was also no way it was going to be more than what he pulled in at the bar. Still, though, he was already in the room. Might as well hear what the job was. Plus, he wasn’t exactly sure where his ride home had wandered off to.
“Impress me with the job duties and we’ll talk,” Obi said.
Haruka’s jaw twitched in irritation, and Obi flashed his most obnoxious grin. That’s right. Obi wasn’t some desperate, starry-eyed kid willing to swallow on his knees and say, “Thank you.” This wasn’t the life Obi got to want anymore. If they wanted him, they’d need to make a damn good case for why he should give up the current stability in his life for the unknown.
Haruka’s eyes flicked over to the door, then back to Obi. He asked, “How do you feel about being this annoying on camera?”
