Page 52 of How To Plot a Payback

“It sounds bad when you say it like that,” I say.

“And you are trying to make amends.”

“Yes.” I pick up a muffin. A muffin seems like a good place to start. “I’ll take him one of these.” I pick up a second one. “Two.”

Her brows shoot up. “Wait. He’s here?” She darts her eyes around the room. “Who is it? Who is this man you’ve destroyed?”

“Finn Masters.” I point across the room to Finn standing in the center of a circle of writers. He looks quite natural there. Maybe it’s the midafternoon light, but his face seems less swollen, and though I can’t tell what he’s saying, I see he’s talking. Actually, he looks like he’s commanding the room. For the first time since I’ve laid eyes upon him, he looks very much like he’s in his element.

“See. And it clearly worked out.”

“The new supervising producer?” she says, mortified. “The one who almost died Monday from an allergic reaction to that pretzel you gave him?”

I pick up a third muffin. “One and the same.”

“Good grief. Misfortune follows him around, doesn’t it?” She gazes at him for a long moment. Then turns to me. “But he looks like he’s recovered from the ankle incident. I’d say he’s doing alright now.”

“Yes, but I have to do something.” I watch him duck his head to look at something somebody is showing him on paper. He starts to nod. I’m not entirely sure how it’s possible, but it’s an attractive nod. A quiet, I-know-what-I’m-doing nod. Open-faced. Contented. Intelligent.

Ah, and now I’m finding him attractive on top of it.

“I hate to think there’s someone out there holding a grudge against me,” I say, adding a turkey sandwich to the pile in my hands.

Sonya snorts. It’s the kind of laugh she never uses on set. “Only you, Lavie. Only you would be in this gig for a decade and just be finding out now what it’s like to have someone who doesn’t adore you. Welcome to the world the rest of us live in.”

Finn slips momentarily out of view as Maggie, Kye’s new PA, walks by on wobbly heels, hauling a load of coffees. She glances around a little aimlessly as she passes them out, then spots someone. Huh. She makes a beeline for Finn.

A cool-gray shade of a girl if I ever saw one.

And then, just like that, I know how my apology is going to start.

Chapter 11

Finn

Wednesday, Script Edits, Writers Room

I’VE GOT A SURPRISE—

If I look like I’ve just received a death threat tucked into the liner of a muffin placed anonymously beside my laptop, it’s because I have.

I’m just unfurling the slip of paper and reading the flowy, peppy handwriting, feeling the blood drain from my face, when Paula stops talking abruptly. She’s sitting with her feet propped up on a chair, waving the Yoo-hoo in her hand as she argues passionately to the rest of the writers about what exactly Sonya’s character should do with her failing career, when she eyes me and halts midthought to say, “Finn? What is that? You look like a ghost sent you a muffin.”

With trepidation, I unfurl the rest of the roll and read.

—FOR YOU.

I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping with all my might as I turn the paper over that it’s signed by a serial killer instead of Lavender.

WARMLY, THE OTHER PUCK AND AUNTIE OF MILES’S NEW BEST FRIEND.

No.

No. No. No. No. No.

What I want to do is drop my head on the long rectangular table where we have been gathered for the last hour arguing through the new script. But I have just fought tooth and nail and managed to crawl out of the hole and into the good repute of those around me after a day of hard-earned thoughtful ideas and tactful responses.

After tearing down the hall and throwing open the door to the writers room yesterday at 8:58 a.m., I managed to resist every physical inclination and hold my head high. I sucked in my breath despite the fact I was almost to the point of passing out. Despite every frayed nerve going haywire, I managed to act precisely the opposite of how I felt as I addressed everyone in the room: confident, self-assured, prepared. I was friendly. I was professional. I pretended my first day simply never existed.