Page 24 of The Boss I Can't Stand
“Because you put it in the damn contract,” he grumbled.
“Well, good thing I did,” I said, picking up a seam ripper and gesturing at my work area. “I’m going to need a major dose of caffeine to get through everything that has to be done tonight. I have to undo everything the machine just wrecked. And hopefully I’ll have time to fix the pants tomorrow because I wouldn’t want to affect your precious schedule. At this rate, I should probably just sleep here because no sooner will I get home than I’m going to have to turn?—”
“That’s it. You need to come with me.”
“I can’t go anywhere. I just told you I have all this work to do and it needs to be done before tomorrow morning.” I brandished the seam ripper like a weapon.
Finn mumbled something I could quite catch—something about “stubborn”—and strode toward me.
I yelped as he latched onto the back of my chair and wheeled it away from the sewing machine.
“What are you doing?” I demanded, whipping my head around. All I saw was a smirk disturbing that perfectly square jawline.
“Hold on,” he said.
“Finn!” I cried.
He rolled the chair faster, pushing me out the door of the shop and into the hall. If I tried to get up now, I’d only hurt myself. Instead, I latched onto the seat of the chair as he pushed me out a door and into the parking lot. This was literally how horror movies started.
“Where are we going?” I demanded.
“You’ll see,” he said, pushing the chair up a ramp to a building on the other side of the studio lot. The door creaked as he pulled it open. I’d never been in here before. Then again, I didn’t often go anywhere except the costume shop, craft services, and the occasional conference room.
Lights flickered on, revealing a massive warehouse that looked like it extended for miles.
“I bought this space and all the equipment in it from an older studio that was going out of business,” Finn said from behind me. “When we built the new studio, a lot of the old props and costumes got moved in here.”
My jaw dropped as I finally climbed out of the chair, setting my sights on the rows and rows of costumes hung on metal racks. I wandered down a row, lightly running my hands over the fabrics. It was like Finn had collected my own personal version of heaven.
“Finn…Oh my God! You literally have pieces in here by Oleg Cassini! This is amazing,” I said, pausing to inspect a blouse that had probably been hand stitched back in the thirties.
Finn shrugged, unimpressed. It was clear the name didn’t mean anything to him.
“He used to design for Marilyn Monroe!” I explained. “I’ve never actually seen anything like this outside of a museum. These need to be put in a glass box!” I was so excited it took me a minute to realize I’d started babbling.
I caught myself and snapped my mouth closed, looking over a little sheepishly. I expected Finn to have his arms crossed and be rolling his eyes at me, but to my surprise, he was smiling a little, like he was amused by my excitement. I didn’t know how to feel about that as my stomach flipped. “I’m floored…You’ve just been sitting on this goldmine this whole time?”
“Well, it doesn’t mean all that much to me. But you looked like you needed a break. Maybe instead of making everything from scratch, you can save time by doing alterations on what’s here. Help yourself anytime—whether you need to actually take something or just draw some inspiration.”
My heart was full to bursting. “Finn, that’s…thank you for showing me all this.”
He waved me off gruffly, like my thanks made him uncomfortable. “Maybe it’ll help you get out of your head.”
It was working because I was instantly in love with everything I could see, timelines be damned. “Oh, these are gorgeous!” I said, pulling a pair of men’s pants off a rack. “This is exactly what Tommy needs in the scene in the second act before he’s picked up by the mob. I wonder if they’d be too flared.” I turned and stared at Finn, measuring with my eyes.
“What are you doing?” he muttered, suspicious. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Try these on,” I said, thrusting the pants at him.
“What? No!”
“Yes, you’re the same build as Kaiden, and I need to see how they look.” I turned back to the rack, thumbing around for a top.
“These won’t even fit me,” he insisted, holding them up against himself.
“They’re definitely your size,” I said, staring at him. Hard.
“How can you tell?”
