I sigh, following him into the living room. I flop onto the couch while he sorts through his mail. “Blah.”
“Why?”
“Just one of those days where whenever I got a minute, something else popped up.”
He flips an envelope over before tossing it on the coffee table. “You eat lunch?”
“Benny brought me something but honestly, I couldn’t tell you what it was. It’s probably still on my desk behind a stack of papers.” I’m exaggerating. Most of what I do is digital, and food doesn’t exactly interest me these days anyway. I’ve been battling bouts of nausea. As far as withdrawal goes, I’ve mostly gotten off easy with a few random headaches and an uneasy stomach. There’s no use worrying Finn, so I skip over that. “And to make matters worse, Rich and I can’t avoid each other, so he was in my office being annoying.”
Finn looks up. “What?”
“Whatwhat?” I ask.
“Why’s Rich at your office?”
I sit up a little. “He works there. For my dad. You knew that.”
“No I didn’t.” He drops the rest of his mail on the table. “You told me your dad founded the agency, and that your dad introduced you to Rich. That’s all.”
“Oh. Well.” He’s right. It hasn’t come up. I didn’t intentionally omit it, but . . . maybe out of subconscious self-preservation. Ihavebeen avoiding talking about Rich’s job. “He works on my floor, but his office is all the way—”
“Halston.”
I cross my legs underneath myself. “I guess I should’ve told you.”
Finn sits on the coffee table in front of me. “Does he bother you?”
“Just about work stuff.Mostlyabout work stuff.” So far, I’ve managed to avoid being in the same room with Rich and my dad since deciding to keep the relationship charade going. But Rich is being his usual ostrich self about this break-up, pretending everything’s normal between us, even when we’re alone. Once in a while, he even surprises me with a sweet comment or gesture. “We have projects together, you know?”
“No, I don’t know. Tell me.”
My hair is suddenly scratchy on the back of my neck. I twist it up into a makeshift bun as I talk. “He’s an account manager. A liaison between the client and the agency team. Sometimes we have to work together on things.”
He leans his elbows onto his knees. “I’d think you would’ve mentioned seeing your ex every day. Is there a reason you didn’t? Do you still have feelings for him?”
I stop messing with my hair, taken aback by his bluntness. “Not romantic feelings, no.”
“But other kinds?” he asks. “Because people look for all kinds of things from a relationship, and if he gave you something I don’t—”
“No,” I say. “It’s not that. Not at all.” Knowing Finn’s sensitivity to cheating, I should’ve been more upfront. I can’t fault him for being a little paranoid considering his history. “I didn’t keep it from you for that reason. If anything, it was something else.” Finn values honesty. He won’t be mad, as long as I tell him the truth. I think. I look at my hands. “I guess on some level, I was afraid if I told you we worked together, you’d ask about Rich’s job. And Rich . . . he has a lot of sway in his position.”
“Meaning?” Finn asks.
“He can make changes or decisions about lots of things if he wants, including creative. In some cases, he’ll hire or recommend people for jobs. Like photographers for print or digital campaigns.”
He sits back. “Oh.”
“I could’ve given him your card when I met you. Or any time since then. But I haven’t. I feel weird about that.”
“You didn’t like my portfolio. Why should you recommend me?”
I open my mouth. “That’s not what I meant.”
“It’s true, though, Halston. You implied my older stuff was boring.”
“It isn’tboring.” I hold his gaze so he knows I’m telling the truth. “I said it lacked something, but the photos you took of me? They’re everything, Finn. They don’t lack a single thing. If I showed him your work, we’d probably hire you, but . . .”
“I get it,” he says when I don’t continue.
