Page 94 of Business or Pleasure

“I’m shocked you’ve lasted this long,” he says.

I pack up my bag. “I’ll have you know that was fascinating. What Cooper said about adopting one of the dogs that played a wolf extra? Precious. Or how Hallie was so convinced Caleb would turn out to be the show’s ultimate villain that the writers gave her a script with a different ending for the finale, one that had him betraying everyone?” It might have been cruel if it hadn’t been so terribly written—she’d known right away that it was a prank, one they can all still laugh about.

When I slip my bag over my shoulder and follow him outside onto the studio lot, I don’t miss the way Ethan walks a few paces behind us, like he doesn’t want to have to speak to anyone. I give him a forced smile, hope it seems authentic, and don my sunglasses.

“See you back here,” Finn calls out, holding open the door for him.

Ethan gives him an easy grin. A pat on the shoulder. “Sure, bud. If you can make it there on time.”

Finn stiffens next to me.

My eyebrows crease together. “What was that about?”

“Nothing,” Finn says, trying to brush it off. His hand tightens on my lower back. “Just something he used to do when we were filming. A joke.”

I decide not to press it, but it seems as much like a joke as Los Angeles seems like a charming small town.

We have lunch at a café on the lot, taking a seat in a shady corner outside. It’s relatively late in the day, not too busy, and now that he’s no longer under the studio lights, I can see the powder on Finn’s face and a bronze liner on his lower lids. A hint of color on his cheeks that’s just the slightest shade cooler than his natural blush.

I try to ask Finn more about how it feels to be back at Oakhurst, and while he gives me some answers I might be able to use in the reunion chapter, he pokes his quinoa salad around his compostable bowl, barely eating.

“Something’s bothering you.” I give his leg a gentle tap with my sneaker. “Hey. You know you can talk to me about it, right? If you want to?”

A long, slow sigh as he reaches his hand toward mine, threading our fingers together. “I know. Thank you. It’s just not the easiest thing to do.” He lets out a rough laugh. “I guess that’s been the thesis statement of this whole memoir.”

I allow a small smile at that, but I remain quiet, giving him the space he needs to elaborate.

He takes that time, rubbing his fingertips along my knuckles, then glancing around to make sure we’re alone enough to have this kind of conversation.

The glancing around: I wonder if that’s something he ever stops doing. If it’s something I’ll start doing when we’re in public, too.

“Ethan and I... haven’t always gotten along,” he starts. “I’ve never known why, exactly. Maybe he felt threatened because he was supposed to be the main character, and the Mexley shippers were more enthusiastic than the Calice ones. I don’t know. Maybe he’s just an asshole.”

“He definitely is,” I agree, giving my own salad a pointed stab.

A deep breath as Finn stares down at his salad. “He used to mess with me during filming. Little things—he’d drink from a glass of water and then pass it to me, ask if I wanted any. Laugh when I said no. Or he’d go through craft services and touch all the sandwiches when I was looking—real gross, immature shit. He loved trying to set me off between takes, just to see how far he could push me, and if any of my compulsions made me the tiniest bit late, he made sure the higher-ups knew I hadn’t gotten there on time. And bad habits die hard, I guess, because he’s a thirty-five-year- old man who derives joy from trying to trigger someone’s OCD.”

“What the fuck? That’s sick.” My stomach rolls over, imagining a twenty-year-old Finn, unable to manage his OCD on his own quite yet and dealing with a bully who thought the whole thing was a joke.

“Guess it’s not enough that he has this great movie career. He has to make the rest of us feel like ants.” A harsh laugh. “It’s almost funny—he was so horrible to Hux in season one, and he’s just as bad in real life. Some acting.”

“The book isn’t done yet,” I say. “We could put this in the memoir. In fact—I think we should. These are exactly the kind of microaggressions people should hear about. You want the book to shed light on mental illness, to destigmatize it... here’s how we show how not to act.” I don’t just want to bring Ethan down, although that would be deeply satisfying. I know enough about him to make the judgment that he’s simply not a good person, and I want any other Ethans who pick up Finn’s book to know that it’s not okay.

Finn’s expression changes, eyes flicking up to mine. “Yeah... I’d rather not.”

“Are you sure? Because I’m positive you’re not the only one who’s dealt with something like this.”

“Look—it’s my name.” He says it gently, but it hits me square in the chest. “It’s my book.”

“Right.” How could I forget? As much as this has felt like a partnership, in the most basic contractual terms, it isn’t. “Of course it’s your book. I’m just the one getting paid to write it.”

Finn softens. “Shit—Chandler. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to sound that way.” He reaches for me, running a hand along my forearm. I let him. “I just don’t want to feel like I have to tear anyone else down to make myself look better, even if they deserve it. Especially if they’re bigger than I am. I’d hate for anyone to think I’m name-dropping for the sake of sales.”

“I understand.” I force a smile, halfheartedly pierce a hunk of romaine. This salad cost $14 and it tastes like absolutely nothing. We’ve had far more uncomfortable conversations over the past few months, so I’m not sure why this one stings so much. I try to put myself in his position, and I do understand, even if I disagree.

But like he said: His name. His book.

I’m just the nobody who’s following him around, a little lost puppy. The person whose career cannot possibly compete with his. The ghost girlfriend.

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