Page 110 of How To Plot a Payback

“Always.”

“Always?”

The question lingered, light as a feather in the air. I grabbed and anchored it with firm resolution before it could fly away.

“Always.”

A smile blossomed on her lips that was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

And before I knew it she kissed me on the cheek. Patted me once on the chest. Turned.

“Good night, Finn.”

“Good night.”

So yes.

Maybe I was having a good day.

Maybe I was letting myself linger in the haze of the past weekend.

Maybe I was happy deluding myself for just a few hours before I slapped myself across the face and reminded myself it was technically never going to happen.

I push up from my desk.

“I’m going to check on Lavender about that line. It still seems a bit off.” I suck in one more sip of coffee, then set it down. Swipe some curls away from my face. Take off my glasses and drop them on the desk.

Decide the world is too blurry and put my glasses back on. “Right. See you in a jiff.”

“Finn?” Paula’s gaze follows me out my office door. I pass through the common room, where the table is covered in a Petro’s taco spread and people are scattered about standing, sitting, huddled over computers while munching nachos or clutching coffee. I check my watch. One fifteen. Lunch break.

I have walked through Lavender’s door—let’s see—three times for the same purpose in the past four hours.

But so what if I’m heading to Lavender’s to ask her opinion on the word “haberdashery” for the third time?

I am a producer.

I care intently about my job.

I am merely going above and beyond for that which I love.

Which is, for the record, my job.

I’m not going to say I am whistling as I stroll down the hall. But there are tiny distinct, off-key noises zipping through my lips as I round the corner nearest her door.

Kye’s door is open, and my head naturally inclines towards it before registering what I am seeing:

Kye, hands gripping young Maggie’s shoulders, leaving absolutely no room for a sheet of paper between them.

My feet slow to a stop.

After standing in the hallway for what feels like an eternity, my feet start to move again. And with great care, I file what I’ve seen in the back of my mind, fully intending never to think of it again.

But then the post-lunch rehearsal happens.

Kye steps on set and slips his arm around Lavender’s waist, and he whispers something in her ear with all the cockiness of the last living male among a sea of available ladies at a Bridgerton reenactment ball, and that . . . that is when I snap.

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