Page 60 of Business or Pleasure

“I’ve been trying to get Chandler to watch The Nocturnals for years,” Noemie continues, straightening her posture to her full height. “When she told me she was meeting you, I nearly died. I’ve always felt that Hollywood never properly recognized you. You should have been getting better roles. More challenging, more interesting roles.”

Finn throws a pointed look my way. “It’s so nice to finally be around someone who appreciates my talent.” It’s a testament to said talent that he’s able to say this with a straight face.

“Oh please,” I say with a roll of my eyes, waving an arm around the room. “What do you think all of this is?”

Finn bites back a grin before he returns his attention to my slowly melting cousin. “Chandler told me you’re really into subscription boxes,” he says, and Noemie bobs her head in a nod. He takes out his phone, swipes through some photos. “I did one of those for cocktails a few years ago. That’s the only reason I have a somewhat decent cart.”

“I’ve gotten that one! It’s great.”

The two of them start comparing their monthly boxes, chattering away. This whole thing is surreal, my best friend and my... whatever Finn is. Collaborator doesn’t sound quite right, and yet neither does anything else. Everything Noemie doesn’t know about the two of us.

Because this SOS also means I need to tell Noemie what’s really happening on this trip.

“They’re doing a private screening of the finale tomorrow, two parts back-to-back, with commentary from me and Cooper,” Finn is saying. “If you’re still in town, I have VIP tickets...”

Noemie gapes at him. “Are you serious? That would be amazing. More than amazing. Thank you!”

This shouldn’t surprise me—Finn is a kind person. Generous. And yet this offer sparks a strange tug in my chest.

One that makes me even more grateful she’s here.

Noemie and I spend the evening at the beach, squinting at the sun and drinking watery cocktails. The space away from Finn helps me breathe a little easier, but it hasn’t brought me any more clarity.

“I can’t believe you were able to get the time off,” I say as I put on the hat I bought for five dollars on the boardwalk. Back in Seattle, I’d be wearing at least five layers. “Unless...” I break off with a gasp. “Does this mean you finally quit?”

She pretends to be very interested in adjusting her sunbed. “Not exactly,” she says. “I, um, took on two new clients?”

“Noemie.”

Her sad smile reminds me of how she looked when she told me she wasn’t going to study journalism anymore. That public relations was a better fit for her, and the journalism job market terrified her. “I know. I’m going to do it. After this project. I swear.” She takes a sip of her margarita. “So. Spill it. I know you didn’t ask me to fly out here just because you miss me.”

I wait a moment, worrying the frayed edge of my towel before dropping it in the sand beneath us. The beach has emptied out a bit, families collecting their sunburned children and twentysomethings trading the ocean for Miami nightlife. “It’s complicated.” All day, this secret has felt too heavy, and suddenly I feel like I might collapse with the weight of it. A few deep, cleansing breaths, the kind we learned how to do when Noemie dragged me to aerial yoga last year. “Do you remember the guy I hooked up with in September? Right before I met Finn and took this job?”

“The worst sex of your life.”

“Right. And remember how I had no idea who Finn was at first...” I trail off, hoping she’ll connect the dots so I don’t have to say it out loud.

Her eyes grow wide as she twists in her chair. “No. No. That’s not—tell me they weren’t the same person, Chandler.”

I drape my towel over my head. “He gave me a fake name. Neither of us knew who the other was until that lunch in Seattle.”

“You slept with Oliver Huxley,” she says slowly. “Holy. Shit.”

“There was absolutely nothing holy about it,” I say, my voice half muffled by the towel.

She reaches forward, snatching the towel away and shaking her head in disbelief. “I’m sorry, my brain is rewriting everything it’s ever assumed about Finn Walsh, cinnamon roll nerd of my dreams. This is absolutely devastating.”

“It’s been killing me, not telling anyone.”

“And you still wanted to work on this book? It’s been okay? Because as much as I’ve missed you, I’ve been really, really happy that you’re doing this.”

I chew on my straw, wondering what that means specifically. “We agreed we weren’t going to talk about it, that it was firmly in the past. But then I wound up telling him what that night was like for me, and it evolved into this joke that maybe wasn’t a joke at all, about me helping him improve his technique in bed. And, well...”

“You’re giving Finnegan Walsh sex tips?” Noemie nearly falls off her sunbed. “I’ve never been happier or more shocked to be related to you.”

“And I’ve never been thirstier in my entire life. It’s like the more we’re together, the more I want to be with him. It’s a terrible, horny paradox. Is this the stupidest thing I’ve ever done?”

“Aside from the questionable ethics of the two of you working together... I don’t know. I’d never judge you, except when you were going through your JNCO jeans phase.”

---