Page 55 of Business or Pleasure

I press my lips together. Hard. “Mm-hmm.”

Finn has readjusted on the bed, sitting up with one leg half inside a pair of jeans, the other tucked beneath him.

“Sorry to call so late,” she says breezily. “But I was just too excited. I finished your outline this evening and absolutely loved it. I think you two are on exactly the right track.”

The tension eases in my shoulders as Finn flashes a thumbs-up.

“We’re thrilled to hear that,” I say.

“Chandler’s really been working overtime. Long hours.” He gives me a lift of his eyebrows. “Late nights.”

I hold a fist to my mouth as I nudge him.

“Consider this your official green light,” Nina says. “I can’t wait to read the draft.”

“Thank you so much,” I say, and Finn echoes me. “We’ll dive right in.”

When I end the call, the room goes silent. It occurs to me that it isn’t too late. That we could keep going.

“We should get some sleep,” I say instead of beckoning him closer. “So we can start drafting first thing in the morning.”

“Right. Of course.” Finn rummages around for his shirt, his cheeks coloring when they land on the discarded vibrator. “Great work, by the way. I had a feeling we’d nailed it.” Then he catches the double meaning. Grimaces. “Why are there so many writing-related innuendos,” he mutters, and when I laugh at this, it sounds hollow.

He only dates within Hollywood, I remind myself, because it seems worth remembering. If I ever feel myself wavering on the wrong side of casual, I’ll simply replay that conversation. I’m not in the industry. End of story.

Still, I’m not sure why, but as I walk him to the door, I feel oddly grateful for the interruption.

Or why, when we’ve already made substantial progress on both our outlines, I can’t stop thinking about that tender press of his lips on mine.

FINN WALSH: YOUR ULTIMATE NERD CRUSH

BuzzFeed

Somehow, we kept watching The Nocturnals not for the gratuitous shirtless shots of Ethan Underwood, who plays alpha werewolf Caleb Rhodes, but for the sweet, determined, adorably geeky Oliver Huxley, aka Hux. And it turns out, he’s not too different from his real-life counterpart, Finn Walsh.

As the story goes, Finn got the part because he actually spoke in Elvish during his audition—yes, the made-up language from Lord of the Rings. If that weren’t enough, we have it on good authority that he read from his character’s biology textbook between takes, and even consulted a real scientist to make sure Hux would sound as authentic as possible. Swoon!

What do you think about Finn Walsh? Glasses or no glasses? And with all that red hair, do you think he blushes everywhere?

chapter

fifteen

DENVER, CO

Finn with you? Just got a call from con staff and he was supposed to check in twenty minutes ago. Not picking up his phone, either.

I frown down at the text from Joe Kowalczyk, Finn’s manager. I’m in the hotel lobby, waiting for Finn to come downstairs so we can head to the convention center for Rocky Mountain Expo. He hasn’t answered the text I sent earlier this morning, either, the one about how apparently at this hotel, continental breakfast means plain yogurt and an unripe banana. I just assumed he ignored it because it wasn’t exactly thrilling commentary.

Despite my debilitating millennial fear of phone calls, I call him. No answer.

That’s odd.

When we checked in last night, his room was right across the hall from mine. He seemed tired, which was fair, given we’d opted to go up five flights of stairs to our floor. A reasonable trade-off for waiting behind a family getting onto the elevator with their eight suitcases. He said he was turning in early, and I guess it wouldn’t be strange if he slept in, even unintentionally. Although my anxiety helpfully informs me there are a number of accidents that could befall him alone in a hotel room, several of which are now parading through my mind.

The elevator isn’t fast enough, so I take the stairs again.

Out of breath, I knock on the door gently at first. Probably too gently. “Finn?” I say, and then wait. Nothing. Surely, he’s just in the bathroom. Or still sleeping. Definitely not lying on the floor unconscious. No need to panic. Except the not-panic pitches my voice even higher as I start banging on the door. “Finn? Are you in there?”

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