Page 118 of How To Plot a Payback

Between the gurgling mix of Coke, candy, and popcorn in my stomach and the rehashing of every minute with Finn up till now, needless to say, I spent the night staring at the ceiling, thinking.

Considering.

Fingers drumming the blanket in cadence with my restless thoughts.

What to do now . . .

By two in the morning, I leaned toward one direction over another.

By three thirty, I had a plan.

By five, I had confidence in that plan.

Now here I am, Pepto-Bismol bravely floating on the crashing waves of a Coke-and-candy sea, pale but determined.

Where is he?

The set is littered with people. Everyone is moving quicker than usual. I assume this is an effect of my slow-as-molasses pace. They zigzag around each other with folders, papers, makeup brushes, and phones in hand.

Actually a lot of phones.

In fact, most everyone has a phone.

A guy whips around me, head bent, lips moving as his eyes scan the words he’s reading on-screen. I can feel something new, something heavy. It’s quiet. Much too quiet for a typical Thursday morning.

And then, all of a sudden, it’s loud.

A cacophony of noises and words rises as one person, then another, cries out. People are whipping their heads around, looking for comrades, gripping wrists, speaking fervently.

“Lavender!” Sonya cries. And then I, too, have someone gripping my wrist. Her eyes are bright. She studies my expression and knows I’m in the dark.

“What is going on?” I say.

She pushes her phone into my hands. Just before my eyes drop to her screen, I catch a glimpse of him.

Finn stands in a cluster of writers and producers, a gathering of eight or so, huddling and talking excitedly. But his eyes are on me, and as our gazes lock, a small smile lifts his lips.

I’m about to take a step toward him when Sonya pushes the phone closer to my face.

Now I feel my own phone dinging in my pocket. Emails are flooding in. Texts.

Something big has happened.

And then my head falls . . . oh, of course. How could I have forgotten?

Our agent’s name is at the top of Sonya’s email. The subject shouts “CONTRACT UPDATE.”

Sonya’s foot is tapping madly, her impatience clear.

I pick up the pace.

Terrific news. Network agreed to terms at the ninth hour, which as a reminder include a 12.9% salary increase from last year. And better, they want you to sign on for a THREE-YEAR CONTRACT at this rate. This is unbelievable, Sonya. Honestly, I didn’t think they had it in them. See attached updated contract and let me know if you have any questions. I know we’ve gone point by point a dozen times, but in case you need a reminder, I’ll lay it out below.

Quickly I scan the remainder of the email, the details of everything from taxes to vacation time to publicity commitments.

Then I pull out my phone. Read through the details of my own email.

The answer to my most burning question comes halfway through a paragraph: