Page 72 of How To Plot a Payback

“He also recently moved up to co-exec,” Lavender puts in with smiling eyes and a prompting nod at me.

I will not be fooled by such appearances.

I will not be fooled.

“And I don’t know,” I continue, keeping a trained eye on Sonya. I have to tread carefully here. She’s one of the show’s three stars. Her happiness is a key factor, whether I like it or not. I know I am new and, quite frankly as I’ve experienced firsthand, very much disposable. Everything I do has to be delicate. “That’s not really my area—”

Wrong words. Her eyes have become saucers.

“What are you going to do about Ashley and Lance?” she says. “Are they getting married at the season finale?”

“I’m legally bound not to discuss it,” I say, then add very, very quietly, shifting my eyes towards Chris, “publicly.”

She snaps her head towards him. “Go away.”

“Nope,” I say, grabbing Chris by the arm. “It’s fine,” I say calmly. “I can’t talk about it at all. But I will say, changes on shows are normal. We are at a point where we have to make some tough decisions. The show’s been on a long time—”

“Is it because of the ratings?” Sonya persists. Her voice drops with suspicion. “What’s Goodwin see in the ratings?”

I tug on the leash. Oookay then. Time to leave. I’m about to be at the center of a crime scene. I can just imagine her storming into Goodwin’s office, saying, “Finn Masters says . . .” The less I say, the better.

“Are they thinking of canceling?” she says as I begin walking. She keeps pace with me.

The bodyguard across the lawn who was just fascinated with the rubbish bin over yonder also starts keeping pace with me.

Lavender follows, keeping pace with me.

Chris has grabbed his things and is keeping pace with me.

Even Bernie stumbles along, keeping pace with me.

We’re one giant, pacing unit.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Lavender begins.

“Lavie,” Sonya huffs. “We’re fifteen episodes into our tenth season. They haven’t renewed our contracts yet—and they’re four months overdue. Let’s be honest here.” She shifts her focus back to me. Puts a hand out in front of me, which, quite frankly, has the effectiveness of a glowing blue (or red? Possible villain here) lightsaber standing between me and the gate. She levels her gaze. “What do you know, Finn?”

I think I liked it better when she disparagingly called me the new guy.

Now she’s using my name like a weapon.

“Nothing,” I say. It’s not good to lie. It doesn’t lend itself to winning trust down the line, so I add, “Well. Not nothing. But enough to know I was hired on to be a fresh eye on the show, which I believe is reasonable for any show after a length of time, and to think of new ways to drive the plot and the characters. I have your best interests in mind, Sonya. We share mutual goals here. My desire is to keep the show thriving, and I hope you can trust us as we strive to do just that.”

I end my monologue looking her straight in the eye. She looks back at me without blinking for so long that the bodyguard seems to be calling someone on the phone for backup.

“Aw, look. Our dogs are becoming friends.”

Everyone turns to Chris, who is smiling at Lavender, who is looking down to where he’s pointing. Bernie has taken the French Bulldog beneath him and is either playing rather forcefully or about to eat it alive.

“Bernie is Sonya’s dog,” Lavender says.

“It’s your dog,” Sonya snaps.

“She’s in denial,” Lavender says, smiling, undeterred.

“She’s in denial,” Sonya replies. She looks at me. “About everything, I think.”

“Sonya . . . ,” Lavender says with a lilt in her tone.