Page 39 of Business or Pleasure

“That’s perfect. She’s got interviewing experience.”

Finn holds my gaze. “You can say no, Chandler.”

I remember him in bed a few days ago. The sweetness in the way he kissed my forehead, my cheek, the inside of my wrist. Even if it was fake, even if I’m never quite sure which version of Finn is the real one, there’s some of that sweetness in him now. He’s looking out for me, and though it’s not something I’ve ever craved from a guy, it’s a simple kindness.

“If they don’t have anyone else...” Surely it won’t be that bad. I don’t love speaking in front of large groups, but none of these people are here to see me. “I can do it—I just haven’t seen the full show.”

“It’s okay,” Bree says. “The questions are all prewritten. You probably won’t be able to get us to shut up.”

In this moment, I become deeply grateful for my werewolf makeup, if only because it acts as another layer between me and the audience.

“Okay,” I say, half-certain I’ll end up regretting this. “I’ll do it.”

It takes about the length of time of the walk onstage for that regret to sink in.

The con staffer ran through what I’d need to do, which turned out to be slightly more complicated than reading questions off a piece of paper. I have to keep track of the time, watch for cues, transition to audience questions.

I squint at the lights, my stomach hovering somewhere in the vicinity of my throat.

“Um. Hi.” The audience seems to grow antsier by the second. “How excited are you about the Nocturnals reunion, huh?”

The room erupts into cheers.

My hands tremble on the sheet of paper. My first task is easy: introducing everyone, which I do as the Nocturnals theme music plays, a spooky punk-rock instrumental.

Then we all take seats in the black leather chairs onstage.

The questions start basic enough. “What are you most looking forward to about the reunion?” I ask.

“Seeing how far back Ethan’s hairline has receded, definitely,” Bree says, and this gets a lot of laughs. “No, I mostly can’t wait to be in the same room as everyone again. Being on this show was the most fun I’ve had in my career, and we just felt so lucky to be making it.”

Finn crosses his legs, brings his mic up to his face. “Exactly. We were taking a chance because most teen shows took place in high school. Since The Nocturnals centered on college, I always feel like we were able to get a little darker, go a little deeper, while exploring themes that felt universal. Even when we were battling evil creatures.”

“Like rising tuition costs,” Zach puts in, getting another laugh.

I stare down at the sheet of questions, heart pounding when I read one I have no earthly idea how to pronounce. What was it like battling the League Loup-Garou in season three?

Scattered laughs from the audience as I botch it. “It’s loup-garou!” someone yells out, correcting me, and my face flames.

“Took me forever to get that one right,” Finn says, with the briefest eye contact. Even if he’s just saying it to make me feel better, I appreciate it. “I know the league was a fan favorite in terms of villains, and it was just as exciting in front of the camera. We were only reading scripts a few episodes in advance, so we had no idea how that plotline was going to resolve. And I’m pretty sure I pulled a muscle during that chase scene in episode twenty-one.”

We cycle through a few more questions until it’s time for the audience Q & A. The first person who steps up to the microphone is wearing a Spider-Man mask that muffles his question.

“Sorry, can you repeat that?” Zach asks.

“I was saying,” the guy starts, tugging off the mask, “what do you guys think about—”

The rest of his question gets lost in the collective shriek the audience lets out, because standing at the mic is none other than Ethan Underwood, Caleb Rhodes himself. Finn, Bree, and Zach are slack-jawed—no one knew this was happening.

“Ethan!” Bree says. “I can’t believe you’re here. And I also hope that mask prevented you from hearing what I said about your hair.”

Ethan flashes a dimpled smile. There’s something magnetic about him, a particular leading-man quality, and he knows it. He’s in black jeans and a cream henley that appears to be a size too small, as though designed to show off his biceps. Lately he’s starred in only mediocre action movies that made bank at the box office, enough to secure his next role in whatever men-battling-machines franchise comes next. I’m ashamed to admit I’ve seen a couple, and that I knew his name before I knew Finn’s.

“This hairline?” he asks, fluttering his lashes at the audience as he tilts his head downward. “I’ve made my peace with the aging process. I’ve matured.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Finn says, a strange flatness in his voice.

Now Ethan’s hopping up onstage, and a volunteer is bringing out another chair even as Bree offers half of hers to him and the two of them squish in there together, much to the audience’s delight.

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