Dirty Rowdy Thing (Wild Seasons, #2)(75)

“What do you think Dad would have done if I’d come home from the Pantene shoot and handed him a check, saying, ‘Go get your camera, babe’?”

I roll my face into the pillow and groan. “Dammit.”

“What are we ‘ dammit ing’?” Dad asks from the doorway, lifting his mug to his lips to sip his coffee.

“Your daughter is learning relationship rules,” Mom says.

He snorts. “Finally.”

“Are you two done giving me crap?” I ask, climbing out of bed in a half-feigned huff. “I am very busy and have important things to do.”

“You work today?” Dad calls to me as I stomp down the stairs. I can hear from his tone he doesn’t think I am.

I pause on the third step, shooting Dad a dirty look he can’t see. “No!” I yell back.

“Call Finn!” Dad shouts at me down the stairs. “I like him!”

THE PROBLEM IS, I don’t want to call Finn. I want to drive to Canada, kick him in the nuts, and then drive home. He’s acting like a giant baby, and leaving town the way he did showed his ass. I’m tempted to mail him a care package with a plastic halibut, a copy of Salvatore’s latest film on DVD, and a box of tampons.

I officially leave my internship at NBC, and I swear no one will even notice I’m gone, or if they do, the narrative will be Hollywood Child Can’t Hack Being Coffee Girl. Salvatore sets up an office for me in his Del Mar building, and when I promise him I’ll be the best coffee girl he’s ever had, he laughs and tells me that’s great, but I’ll probably be up at the Los Angeles offices with him at least three days a week so someone else can handle coffee duty.

This news is dropped like a bomb full of glitter and puppies in my lap: Not only has he given me a job, but he’s made me his primary assistant. I went from NBC coffee-pourer to the right-hand woman of one of Hollywood’s biggest producers. My dad doesn’t even blink when I tell him the news.

“Knew it was just a matter of time,” he tells me instead, and gives me that smile that makes me feel like I’m the brightest, most beautiful star in the entire sky.

But even with this big change on the horizon and a week full of phone calls and contracts and picking out office furniture . . . a whole week without Finn around is weird. I almost call him about a thousand times, just to tell him what I did all day, or share my excitement with him about the job with Sal.

But as soon as I pull my phone from my purse and notice the complete lack of texts, calls, or emails from him, I manage to fight the urge to let him back in.

Salvatore mentions him at lunch, just over a week after Finn split town. “Your boyfriend is quite —”

I point my fork at him. “Finn is not my boyfriend.”

Sal holds up his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine, your friend, Finn—is that better?—is a class act.

He worried the damage on his boat might cost more than the value of using it for the set and said he was unable to work with us at this time, but he did suggest some great options up in the area and agreed to be our primary consultant for Release Horizon.”

“Oh?” I can’t tell if the maniacal drumming of my heart means I’m elated that Finn will be involved in some way and has taken the professional initiative to call Salvatore, or if I’m terrified that I am going to completely lose my shit when I inevitably see him at some point.

“We’ll head up there next week to check out some boats.” Salvatore looks up when my fork clangs loudly on my plate.

“Next week? But filming doesn’t start until April.”

“You work for me now, Tulip,” Salvatore reminds me, using my family’s pet name for me to take the edge off his gentle chastisement. “I need you up there. Is coming along to Canada a problem for you?”

“Obviously what’s going on with me and Finn has nothing to do with any of this. Sorry, Sal. I just had a moment. I’m fine.”

He pushes his chin out, doing his best Godfather. “You want I should break his face?”

“No, I’d be devastated if you took the opportunity from me.”

I take a bite of sandwich, chew, and swallow. I leave out the part where I actually like Finn’s face.

“God, I hope you’re not making a mistake bringing me on for all this,” I say. “I know the business, but are you sure you wouldn’t like someone with more—”

“I’ve got enough experience for the both of us,” he says, shrugging as he spears a green bean. “You know how these things work, and I get to train you to be exactly what I need you to be. I like your backbone and I’ll get you up to speed. It’s hard to find people with your combination of loyal, smart, and ballsy.”

I take a second to stare adoringly at Sal. “I love you, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He takes a sip of his iced tea. “So what happened with Finn?”

Sighing, I drop my napkin on the table. “I didn’t exactly tell him I was talking to you about using his boats to film a huge multimillion-dollar Hollywood production. He was angry. Blah blah.”

His eyes lift back to me, half amused, half incredulous. “You’re kidding.”

“Before you say anything else, please note that I’ve heard from everyone that I’m wrong here. I feel like an idiot, actually.”