I feel awful.

The combination of tequila, confusion, whiskey and regret made for a fitful night's sleep. This morning I'm trying not to think about Carter, Fin or the paparazzi, but I'm failing miserably. I hoped putting on my bikini to get some sun would have at least improved my mood, but once again I was wrong. And lying in a beach chair on the roof of my building certainly isn't helping improve my hangover.

My cell rings and I can't be bothered to answer it. It's probably just my parents. They're the only people to call me this early on a Saturday and it's always the same conversation. All they ever ask is how I can possibly squander my degree as a glorified secretary. After that, they'll tell me they're worried because I work way too much for way too little. I send the call to voicemail without looking at the screen. But then my phone immediately rings again and so I answer it with a huge chip on my shoulder. "What?!"

"I'm glad you didn't send me straight to voicemail again! Now tell me all about what went on last night!"

"Miranda?"

"Yes it's me!  Millie, you're all over the gossip sites this morning!"

I put her on speaker so I can open my web browser and see for myself. The pictures from the previous night are splashed across the first four sites that I go to, as their top story.

Miranda reads some of headlines out to me. "Fin Sweeps Fan Off Her Feet... Covington Nearly Naked and Nimble... Who Is Fin's Damsel In Distress? Covington Ends One Crusade And Starts Another..."

Groaning, I close the browser in disgust. I'm tempted to throw my phone but I can't afford to repair or replace it. "Miranda, I can't deal with this right now. I'll call you later."

I hang up on her before she objects and I stand up to pace. But that makes me feel lightheaded so I sit back down and contemplate starting to drink. Not only will a little 'hair of the dog' help with my hangover, maybe it will help me forget the heap of shit I've just found myself in. But it feels too pathetic to drink at home, alone, at ten on a Saturday morning. So I abandon that idea and wonder if I should call Eric to explain myself. Just as I'm about to pick up my phone to dial him, my cell rings again. I see the initials FC that I entered into my contacts (for you know who) and my stomach suddenly feels like it is full of whiskey again.

"Hello."

"Your script is bloody brilliant!"

"You've read it already?"

"Millie, I stayed up half the night reading it, thinking about it and making notes for you. I'm ready to return it."

"Oh, okay."

"Are you home?"

"Yes."

"Really? Because I'm pressing your buzzer..."

"What?!"

"Nevermind, someone just let me in. I'm coming up your stairs now."

Nearly tripping over myself, I rush to gather my stack of coverages, notebook and water bottle. As I get down the stairs from the roof onto the landing by my door, Fin is coming up the last set of stairs at the same moment. He's wearing wrinkled pants, has a heavier beard than last night and his curls can only be described as bedhead. But he's grinning at me like a Cheshire cat. He adjusts his eyeglasses and looks me up and down. "Where are you coming from?"

I tug at my bandeau top, which is a little too small for me thanks to gaining weight over the last two years of sitting my on my ass in an office everyday. "Tar beach."

He rubs at his chin. "Now I need the translation."

I point above my head and blush as I pull my key from my cleavage. "The roof. I was sunbathing up there."

I unlock the door and Fin follows me inside. "Why the roof? I noticed a beautiful park close by."

I put my things down on my desk and shrug my shoulders. "Secure Wifi, clean bathroom, no leering creeps. Can I offer you a drink? I was just thinking about making myself one."

Fin chuckles and scratches the back of his neck. His bicep flexes and I notice a tattoo peeking from beneath the short sleeve of his tight white shirt. I want to step closer and see what it says but he puts his arm back down and it's hidden again. He clears his throat. "I'm not sure if that's such a good idea."

He shifts nervously and clutches my script with two hands. I gesture at my couch and he sits. But even then, his posture is far from relaxed. He leans forward on the edge of the seat. "Millie... last night... I hope you don't think... I mean I don't want to... Well I do want to... But, if you don't want to... It's just...Feck! I must sound like I've lost the plot right now... This is why I act! I'm not always good at finding the proper words. I'm much better at reciting somebody else's." He takes his glasses off and pinches the skin between his eyes.

When he looks back up at me and I point toward the bottles of booze on a cart in the corner of the room. "Are you sure you don't want one?"

Fin shakes his head no again and cleans his glasses on the hem of his shirt before replacing them on his face. "Look, I know I can come on strong Millie. As you can tell since I've just showed up unannounced at your door. In hindsight that probably wasn't the best idea... But I was so excited by your screenplay, and I wanted to tell you that I would never intentionally do anything to make you jeopardize yourself or your career. So when my publicist called me early this morning about..."

"...the photos. Yeah I just got off the phone with a colleague who's a friend..." I'm lightheaded again, so I sit beside him and he clutches my hand.

"I feel terrible if I've made anything complicated for you. I'll keep my distance if that's what you want." Fin lets go of my hand to illustrate his point.

I take my screenplay from his lap and flip through to read some of his notes. As I review his words on the page before me, I feel him surveying me. Then suddenly he gets up and steps over to my bookcase. He runs his hand along the spines, investigating the titles. "It just occurred to me that you must have a flatmate."

"I do." I wonder where he's going with this.

Fin points to the shelves. "I'm guessing that not all of these books are yours then." He pulls a copy of a trashy novel written by a social media star out of its spot, followed by a book about fashion and makeup. He holds them up and smirks.

I bite my cheek and try not to smile. "Are you saying I'm not fashionable Fin?"

"Not at all! I quite appreciate your style. I especially like what you have on right now..." He slowly slides them back into place. Then he turns and takes a tentative step toward me before he stops and looks around again.

I laugh. "Jane isn't home... in case you were wondering. She's at the Jersey Shore for the weekend."

He clenches his hands at his sides and then shoves them into his pockets. "I should go. The car is waiting outside."

I stand up and drop my screenplay onto the coffee table. "You've had a car outside this whole time? What if they tipped off the paparazzi?"

My stomach knots up at the thought. I peek past the white linen curtains on the window. It's a bright day and I squint against the sun as I scan the bushes and parked cars.

Then I feel Fin's warm hand splay across the small of my back. It is firmer than the light touch he used leading me through reception the first day we met. He takes the curtain from my hand to close it again. He turns me to face him. "I used the driver service that the Templars production company provides me with. That's who took you home last night and how I got your address. Don't worry... they're very discrete."

The bright morning light filtering through the room makes his eyes the color of the whiskey we drank last night. My skin is suddenly covered with goosebumps. His eyes drop to my traitorous flesh and he reaches across to rub my arms. Then he looks back into my eyes. "I would really love to get to know you better Millie. Or at the very least... to work with you on developing your screenplay. Will you think about it?"

My mouth feels dry and I lick my lips. "Yes, I'll think about it."

This is a gross understatement of what I will be doing of course, because already my brain is going in a million directions. Does he seriously want to develop my screenplay? Or is he just saying this to get me into bed? Fin could sleep with anybody he wants to. He certainly wouldn't need to read my script or show up at my door for sex! He's starting a production company and if he has a serious interest in my writing then I probably shouldn't sleep with him.

Fin is still holding my arms. He smiles an adorably lopsided smile at me. "I guess I'll see myself out then."

"Oh no! I mean, I'll walk you to the door." As we step into the hallway, his reflection betrays that he's watching my ass.

He notices me, noticing him, and makes a little huff. "Sorry, couldn't help myself..."

I open the door and he steps through to the landing.  Then suddenly he leans forward and presses his lips against mine. It's almost a chaste kiss, with not even a hint of tongue involved, but it takes my breath away nonetheless. When he pulls away, I definitely want more of him, which I'm sure was his objective. He is a trained actor after all and he probably studied Stanislavski in "uni" as he calls it.

Then Fin puts his hand on my cheek. "Please don't take too long to decide Millie. I'm only here until the end of August and I would hate to waste any time." He turns and walks down the steps.

I close the door and then go to make myself that drink. I should probably check for fresh batteries too.