Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 128211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
“I don’t know. You’re pretty close.”
I rolled my eyes, kissing his jaw. “I’m sure I’ll screw up again. You probably will, too. But we’ll figure it out.” I hummed. “In fact, I will be apologizing to you in the morning.”
“For?”
I trailed my fingers over the buttons of his shirt. “Ruining this when I tear it off you.”
Finn tipped his head back in a loud laugh, his profile outlined by the glow of passing streetlights. When he settled, his eyes were on me, heated and satisfied and so full of love it made me weak.
“So… what’s next, Chef?” I whispered.
His hand found my jaw, lining it softly before he used his knuckles to tilt my chin.
“No idea, Firefly,” he said, his mouth on track for mine. “But as long as I’m with you?”
A kiss, strong and sure and sweet.
“I’m happy.”
CHARTER CONFESSIONAL
CLOSE QUARTERS
SEASON 4, EPISODE 15
CHARTER 9/SEASON END
FINN PEARSON: HEAD CHEF
PRODUCER
That was some speech you gave at the table last night.
FINN
I guess. I was just speaking my truth, since I doubt you lot will tell it.
PRODUCER
We just show the footage we have— hey, wait, we’re not done yet.
Finn unwraps mic.
PRODUCER
Wait. Finn, please, just one more moment of your time.
Finn stands, places mic on chair.
AUDIO SWITCHED TO BOOM MIC
FINN
Listen, my friend — I said goodbye to Cap. Ember has already filmed her last shot and she’s waiting for me on the deck. You’ve had your pound of flesh.
Finn stands.
FINN
But I get to take control of the story now, and your time in it is over.
PRODUCER
You’re contractually obligated to attend the reunion.
FINN
Then you can feck off until then, can’t you?
Finn exits.
The lights above were hot and relentless, washing out every feature, every flaw, and somehow still highlighting them all at once. I swore the makeup artist had caked on a full jar of foundation, but even that wasn’t enough to hide the months of stress that lined my face.
I was wishing an ill-timed wedgie was still the worst of my problems, but alas, it was this damn reunion.
The cameras were already rolling in the backstage holding area, mostly phones held up capturing exclusive live content for social media. Nothing was sacred. I knew better than to pull up the stream on my own phone and read the comments rolling in.
No doubt, more than half of them would be shitting on me and Finn.
Speaking of the handsome Irish devil, where I was trembling, he was solid, standing beside me like an old oak tree with roots too deep for even the strongest storm to disturb. He was sexy as ever, his golden-brown hair tussled, the navy-blue suit he wore bringing out the deep aqua of his eyes. His stubble was a well-grown beard now, trimmed short and tight to his jaw but thick and purposeful. He had one hand stuffed into his pocket, the other linked tightly with mine.
He hadn’t let go since we arrived.
In fact, he’d rarely let me go since the day we left the Sinking Sun.
For the first two months, we worked. We found a gig together on a yacht in Greece, for old time’s sake, and threw ourselves into doing what we do best. Fortunately for us, we were with an older, more experienced crew — and there wasn’t a single ounce of drama.
Which was great, because we’d had enough of that to last our entire lifetime.
When it was getting close to the show airing, we holed up together at my apartment in South Florida, laying as low as we possibly could. We would watch the episodes when they aired, but Finn kept me from spiraling when I saw what I already knew would happen.
The production crew made us look awful.
Not that we were innocent — we were far from it. But the show had attacked not only our character, but our professional abilities, too. They somehow twisted the footage to make me look like a micromanaging perfectionist who was putting all the work on Bernard and Leah as opposed to taking it on myself. I wanted to cry when I saw the post-production interviews where Leah and Bernard were weaseled into saying just enough that the production team could use it against me.
Bernard had texted me when the third episode aired, apologizing profusely and promising me they’d twisted his words. I believed him, of course — but the damage was already done. Still, it was nice to have at least one member of the crew reaching out to us, and Bernard even came over to watch an episode with us when he was in the States for a tour the show had set up for him. Turned out he’d made quite the splash and had fans demanding more of him.
Bernard was happy to oblige.
The show wasn’t nice to Finn, either. They highlighted the smallest comments from the guests about something they didn’t like about his food rather than the mountain of compliments he received all season. It didn’t even make sense. We wouldn’t have had as big of tips as we had if the food sucked. My team wouldn’t have run so smoothly until the very end if I was a bitch.