Page 114 of How To Plot a Payback

“Oh.” And at this her expression turns to puzzlement, as if the conversation is taking an unforeseen direction. She shifts subtly away from the phone cameras, shielding her face by my chest. “What’s up?”

“I saw . . . Kye.”

She blinks. Blankly.

“More specifically, I saw Kye with Goodwin’s niece, Maggie, in his dressing room.”

“Oh.” She seems to take this in, chewing on my words. “And . . . this makes you feel . . .”

“Incredibly frustrated,” I admit. Is that a curtain of disappointment that falls over her face? “On your behalf,” I finish.

She blinks a few times, her forehead creasing. “Mine? Why are you frustrated for me?”

“Look, I’m not blind,” I say. “I’m aware of how, how close you two are. And it’s evident how much he wishes to”—I fumble for the polite words—“to know you more . . . intimately—”

I’ve never seen a hand move so quickly. She posts it like a stop sign in front of me. “Hold on right there, Finn. Let’s get a few things straight. Starting with: I don’t care about him and Maggie snogging in the dressing room.”

“You don’t?”

“No. Now would I prefer Kye keep his attention on one woman at a time? Sure.” Her voice hitches up. “But that conversation’s been had with him, and he doesn’t listen to me, or Sonya, or really anyone with a head on their shoulders, and hopefully one day he’ll wise up. But the point is”—she shakes her head slightly—“Fine. Whatever. The intern’s a sweet girl and frankly he could do much worse.” She pauses. “So. Now that that’s cleared up . . .”

She’s waiting for me to say something.

To add to this.

I scratch the back of my head. “So. Well. Terrific. It’s just . . . I didn’t want your heart to get trod on—”

A flicker of a smile passes over her face. “Nope. My heart isn’t with him, so never fear.”

“It’s just . . . you do realize how heavily he hits on you?”

“Yes, well, 90 percent of that is to keep the papers guessing, and the other 10 percent I suppose happens when he’s really in a dry spell and has to aim his cupid eyes somewhere.”

“And that”—I hesitate—“doesn’t bother you? You’re fine with his attentions? I just want to make sure. As your producer. I want to take care to look out for you and make sure he’s respecting your boundaries.”

“As my producer,” she repeats back. “Ah. Well, yes. I mean, I could do with a little less touching of late—”

“I’m on it,” I say, nodding curtly, my hand inching toward my phone. “I’ll have a word with him right now.”

My hand is actually reaching into my pocket, my feet ready to pivot, when her hand grips mine, stopping me. “I can handle that myself. Particularly as I’ve set my sights elsewhere. But thank you all the same. As my producer. Who is looking out for me.”

She hasn’t let go of my hand, nor does she seem inclined to.

This is the part where I’m supposed to ask her where exactly she has set her sights.

This is the moment when I should throw away my resolve and quit denying her hints.

But this is also the moment when I will most assuredly not.

For her sake. Because a woman like her deserves the best.

Today I will stay strong.

Gently, I free my hand from hers. Take a small step back. “I’m glad to hear it, Lavender,” I say, then add with the most sincerity in the world: “Because, quite frankly, I believe you deserve a man far better than Kye Walker. Frankly, the more I know you, the more I’m convinced you deserve the best in the world.”

With a curt nod, I take another step back.

Turn.