Page 50 of Business or Pleasure

“You should have said something. Made her feel like shit about it.”

I shrug this off. “Maybe. I sort of just wanted to get out of there.” At that, I can’t help laughing. “And because of you, I guess I did. In more ways than one.” Coincidence, fate, a cosmic joke—whatever it was, in this moment I’m radically grateful for it. This job has been unlike any of my others, which was exactly what I needed. “I’m starting to think there’s no such thing as a dream job. I sort of hoped I’d start out with these lighter assignments—influencers, reality stars. And then I could move on to something deeper. Something with a little more... substance.”

“Where do I fall on that spectrum?” He draws a fingertip along the table. “You assumed I wouldn’t have any substance because I’m an actor?”

“I—no.” I’m not used to being put on the spot like this, and maybe it should give me a little more empathy for him. I’m fully aware he probably has enough for at least a couple chapters on me at this point. “Well—maybe at first. You probably have to have some semblance of ego to see yourself onscreen, right?”

Finn shrugs. “Sure, it’s an ego trip for plenty of people, but I’ve loved acting since I was a kid. A lot of us do it for the pure love of the art form.”

“I’ve been wrong before,” I continue. “That reality star had a lot more to say than I initially gave her credit for. But then I’m also like, who decides what’s substance and what isn’t? Maybe what doesn’t matter to me is substance for someone else.”

“And you’re trying to find my hidden depth.”

When his eyes flick to mine, I get a flash of us in bed back in Minnesota, shoulder to shoulder. Finn’s throat pointed toward the ceiling, telling me in that rough voice that he was so close.

“For what it’s worth,” he says, pushing his empty red basket of food off to the side. “You’re doing a fantastic job.” Then something seems to occur to him. “All the ghostwriting... you don’t ever want to write a book of your own?”

My face absolutely ignites, and I reach for my empty glass of water, then glance around anxiously for the server.

“Oh. You do.”

“I mean. Doesn’t everyone want to? The great American novel and all that?” I try my best to laugh it off. I haven’t vocalized it to anyone in a long, long time. That dream died before I gave it enough space to breathe, and it’s barely a hobby anymore. In fact, I haven’t opened that document since we left Seattle.

“I used to,” I clarify. “But not anymore. Now...” I gesture around us. “I do things like this.”

He must be able to tell that it’s not something I want to linger on because he doesn’t push it. Still, it’s almost like yesterday in the pool was a promise. I want to know things about you, too.

Except with me, there are limits.

And those conversations don’t end with both of us getting a paycheck.

“There’s something else I’ve been wondering,” Finn says as we step into the bright midafternoon, as he slides on a pair of sunglasses. An hour later, and it still feels a little like his cursor is hovering over that file folder on my computer. When I nod, he does that thing again where he pauses to summon his words, rubbing at his stubbled chin for a moment. “What’s in this for you? The ‘few pointers’ you’ve been giving me.” Those words freeze me in place right on the sidewalk. “I’ve been thinking about it, and I figure you can’t possibly be doing it out of the goodness of your heart.”

I wish I could see his face, especially as the sun burns a blush onto my cheeks. It’s a much easier conversation than the one about my writing. “I guess I’ve had my reasons. For years, I was in love with one of my closest friends,” I start, and strangely, it’s not too difficult to admit. “Wyatt. I’d had a bit of a crush since college, and it never fully went away. I’d date someone else, we’d break up, and the crush would come back with a vengeance.”

Finn nods, doesn’t interrupt.

“A few weeks before I met you... he and I slept together. And I had all these delusions—of course, I didn’t realize that’s what they were back then—that we’d instantly become this perfect couple. I liked him so, so much, and I’d been patient, and it just felt like everything was falling into place.” It’s not some dark secret, and yet it’s not the most fun to relive. “Until he told me that wasn’t going to happen. That I was a ‘relationship girl,’ and he wasn’t looking for a relationship.”

“What does that even mean?” Finn asks. “A relationship girl?”

I think back through my dating history. Justin, my high school boyfriend and the first person I slept with, an act that lasted a total of six minutes. David, who I dated sophomore year of college, who’d been so supportive when I got pregnant and decided to get an abortion. We only broke up because he left to study abroad for a semester and neither of us wanted to do long-distance. Then there was Knox, the first guy I had an orgasm with, which made me bolder with the rest: a handful of other guys throughout my twenties from a handful of different dating apps, relationships lasting from four to eighteen months, until they ended and I went back to pining for Wyatt.

“I guess I haven’t ever done the casual thing. Until now.” I scrape at my thumb again, loosening a little stripe of blue. “In a way, he’s right. It just felt like the worst dig, coming from him— from someone who knew me that well, and who I liked so much. I was a relationship girl... but he didn’t want to be in a relationship with me.”

It’s the first time I’ve put those exact words together. Because that’s the truth, isn’t it? If he’d wanted to be with me, it wouldn’t have mattered, what kind of girl I am.

I glance back up at Finn, intent on brushing all of this away if he thinks it’s too normal-person trivial. I’m not sure why that’s my first inclination. But when he speaks again, his voice is serious.

“There’s nothing wrong with being a relationship person. Or not being one,” Finn says softly. “I’ve done casual—the first year the show was on. I’m not proud of all of it. Even more so, imagining how terrible that sex probably was. But I was young and inexperienced and entirely out of my depth.” He tries a grin. “Maybe my enthusiasm made up for it.”

I have to laugh at that. “Have you only dated within Hollywood?”

A nod. “I’ve found that no one else really seems to get the industry,” he says. “Sure, it can be stressful, but it’s easier when both people understand that very unique kind of stress.”

What he’s saying makes perfect sense—and yet I can’t explain why it lands in a strange place in my stomach.

“You still have feelings for him? Wyatt?” Finn’s tone is tinged with a guarded curiosity, like he doesn’t think he should care about the answer but still really wants to know.

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