“Absolutely not, I’m not doing it.” Esca narrows his eyes at Cottia, who is proffering a garish looking laptop screen in his direction.
“I’ve already filled in all the details on the application form,” she chirps, in her super-efficient, aren’t-I-the-most-helpful-agent-ever voice, as if she is actually doing something
, something Esca
her to do. “And uploaded a picture. All you have to do is add a bit here and there.”
“No. And if you submit that without my permission I
“Esca. You haven’t even
me for 4 months.”
“Fine. I will continue not to pay you.”
“Exactly! This is why this is such a good idea. Come on. It’s a golden opportunity. Think what it will do for your profile. Think how many viewers shows like this get.”
“Yeah, prepubescent school girls and desperate middle-aged housewives. It’s hardly my core demographic.
I don’t think they’re the kind of people who are like: right, I enjoyed that, now I’m going to watch some Jeremy Kyle, eat some chips, and then head off to an interpretative dance show.”
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