By the time the other assistants begin to arrive, I've skimmed through and taken notes on two scripts, immediately deeming one a soft "consider" and one a hard "pass."

Miranda Rosenstein barrels into our common work area. "Today's the day! I'm so excited that I had to run an extra mile this morning to calm myself."

My desk chair slowly squeaks toward her as I yawn. "Thank God it's finally Friday! I really need to sleep in tomorrow."

"Millie! How can you sit there and yawn when Fin Covington, the man starring in the hottest show right now, is coming into the office today? And he's not coming to meet with the agents upstairs, but to meet with our lowly commercial department?!"

Miranda is high strung to begin with and today she kind of reminds me of a chihuahua , all skinny and shaking the way she is. But it's not much of a surprise that she's freaking out. We usually don't get such huge stars in our division. Most big celebrities don't want to do commercials in the U.S. and if they do, their main agent or manager works out the deal with one of our commercial agents over the phones and we never see the actual actor in the office.

Then there's the fact that Fin Covington is only twenty-eight, supremely sexy, British and starring in everyone's favorite cable series, the critically-acclaimed historical drama about the Crusades called Templars.

I wouldn't dare admit to Miranda that I'm yawning right now because I spent an inordinate amount of time with my vibrator last night, fantasizing about him.

Hey, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do!

Last year, thanks to a potent mix of desperation, vodka and my roommate's suggestion, I tried out Tinder. It was a nightmare of epic proportions that I do not want to relive. I deleted it after one "date." And I use the term lightly. One drink and an Uber ride to a hotel room is not a date. There were way too many fuckboys on that app for my taste.

And since I spend so much time working it's hard to meet anybody in real life. Unless I want to date a co-worker, and while the written rule of RAA might be to avoid the talent, my personal unwritten rule is - Don't shit where you eat! I've learned that much in my twenty-four years.

So in order to keep myself patient and selective, the joystick it is.

I stifle another yawn. "It's not like we're going to get any time with him anyway Miranda. They'll probably immediately whisk him up to the conference room and we won't even lay eyes on him."

Just then, Eric strides in. My mouth drops open when I look at the time. He breezes past my desk with his typical morning greeting. "My office Millie."

He leaves the door open and I'm about to follow him, when Jeff Dunhill arrives and squeezes my shoulder as he passes. "Big day today!"

He smiles, showing off one of his dimples and I wonder if he knows something that I don't know. This is a possibility, since Jeff is department head Ryan Grubin's assistant and sometimes he's given confidential information before the rest of us are.

"Apparently so... Eric's even made it into the office before ten..." I nod toward the open door.

Jeff chortles because he knows the truth of my joke. I grab my notebook off the desk, and a stack of mail that was delivered after I left last night and enter Eric's office. I put the sorted mail into his hand and sit in one of the chairs across from him. He flips through the stack briefly before he talks.

"So... I know we have some calls to roll, but that will wait until later. Ryan and I got some new information on how to handle the Fin meeting. Apparently he prefers a more casual approach. I know I had you set the conference room up for ten fifteen. But Ryan really feels it would be better if we just meet in here. Keep it loose..."

Eric picks up the foam basketball from his desk and throws it at the hoop in the corner. It bounces off and rolls to my feet. I pick it up and throw it back to him. Then I flip to my notes for today's meeting and look over the list of agents invited to the ten thirty meeting. This is going to be a major change for the morning. I have a few extra tasks to do now that they've decided to switch things up. But I can't let Eric see my annoyance or mild panic as I glance at the time.

"Okay... so it won't be a full sit down with the whole department and all those screenwriting agents that wanted to meet him?"

Eric nods and I wonder to myself again why the screenwriting agents wanted to come too.

"In fact, Grubin thinks he's just going to do a pop in and not stay for the whole meeting. Covington is comfortable with this History Channel voiceover job with the one on-camera slot that I arranged and Ryan doesn't want Fin to feel pressured, like we're gonna hard sell him every commercial project now that we have a foot in the door..."

He tosses the ball again. It rolls off the rim and lands by my feet again. I pick it up again.

"Do you want me to draft the email to the other agents explaining the change? Or will you handle it?"

Eric picks a piece of lint off his Zac Posen pincord jacket. Then he holds his hand open, urging me to toss him the ball. But I keep it in my hand, waiting. He huffs. "You draft it, Millie."

I throw the ball to his waiting hand and stand up. "What about the food, Eric?" I know the answer but he likes me to ask.

Eric gets the ball through the hoop this time and pumps his arm. I squat down to retrieve it again. Eric peers over the desk at me.

"Have Lewis bring down a small selection of things, plus some coffee and tea. Then send out an email to the assistant, floater and mailroom groups to let them know there's food in the conference room. That should take care of the rest of it."

I stand up and casually toss the ball through the hoop. He raises his eyebrows. "Nicely done!"

I smile back as I open the door. "I try. Open or closed?"

He squints as he contemplates. "Closed."

After I shut the door behind me, I hurry back to my desk to draft the required inter-office emails. Miranda comes back from the kitchenette with her green tea and stands beside my desk.  "For someone that doesn't think she's going to get any time with Fin Covington, you certainly look very nice today. Tight skirt and a full face of makeup..."

I hold a finger up to Miranda as I send the draft of the email to Eric and buzz his office. He picks up. "Ready for my copy and paste?"

"Yep. Can I run up to Lewis in the conference room now?"

Eric's answer isn't immediate as I know he's proofreading what I sent him. "That's fine. This looks good, no changes needed."

I hang up and turn to Miranda. "Well I'm glad I did, because now the meeting is in Eric's office."

Her eyes grow wide. "I need to freshen my face!" She grabs her purse and rushes toward the ladies room.

My email to the rest of the office is easy enough to write. "Food. Conference Room @ 10:30."

Then I jog, as best I can in my heels, back to the lobby. I wave hello at the receptionists as I head up the curved staircase to the conference room above. Lewis' balding head is focused on arranging the platters of brunch food along the sideboard.  "Sorry Lew, there's been a change in plans."

As I approach him I look at his tie. Every day his bow tie features a different food. Today it has little fried eggs on it, which almost look like tiny eyeballs. Behind his immaculate apron, Lewis' shirt is pristine. His face matches it even as it colors slightly from irritation. But he immediately begins adjusting things to accommodate the new request.

He drawls with his southern twang. "Tell Eric I'll be down in a minute. You best get going Miss Millie. It's after ten already." He taps at his leather wristwatch.

I nod and rush out of the room. As I start to descend the stairs I notice that my heart is beating faster than I would like it to. Maybe I should get in shape and try jogging or yoga with Miranda. Then I wouldn't get so out of breath from running around the office.

And that's when I see that Fin Covington is sitting on the sectional in the lobby. I freeze on the third step from the top.

What the actual fuck? He's early! I've worked here long enough to know that celebrities are hardly ever on time, let alone early!

I study the scene below me. Fin is leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. His hands are crossed with his chin settled on them. He's staring at the trade magazines on the coffee table.

How long has he been waiting? He wasn't in the lobby when I rushed through before was he? Did I even look over to the seating area before? I rack my brain trying to remember. Dear Lord, I hope Eric answered the phone when the receptionists rang to say Fin was here!

When Fin looks down at his suede shoes and the drab, military-style messenger bag resting there, I see top of his head is a riot of messy dark curls. This sparks a flashback of one of my fantasies from the night before. In my mind, my fingers are twined in those ringlets.

I grip the railing to keep myself from swaying, then take a deep breath and force myself to move again. Three more steps down and he hears my heels on the stairs. He looks up. We make eye contact and my heart hammers harder. I slow my pace hoping my pulse will follow my feet's rhythm.

His eyes are brown and soulful. I see the scar through his right eyebrow that he infamously earned performing one of his own stunts during the first season of Templars. Fin sits up straighter and his gaze breaks away from my face. But his eyes travel the rest of my body as I continue down the steps.

As soon as my first foot touches the base of the staircase, he lifts his bag and stands up. He places the strap over his head and across his chest. It reminds me of how he drapes the sword across his sculpted pecs on his show. My eyes trace the green strap along his tight shirt in slow motion. It feels as though I'm in danger of swooning like a tween fangirl and I know I need to collect myself.

I'm not sure what I should do or say because I don't want to take him back if Eric is unprepared to see him or wanted to escort Fin back himself. I walk forward and Fin does too. Just as I open my mouth to greet him, the door from the back offices swings open and Eric rushes over to us.

"Fin! I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting."

Eric extends his hand and Fin accepts it. They shake. I finally snap out of whatever momentary hysteria I felt before and dislodge my tongue.

"It's my fault. Eric didn't know I stepped away from the desk."

Ever the assistant's plight to throw yourself on the sword and take the blame when your agent needs it, I play my role well. Fin turns to me and smiles. His teeth are very nice, but definitely not veneers. It's refreshing.

"Considering I know I arrived early, I wasn't waiting long at all. Plus, I rather enjoyed the lobby while I did. Excellent view..."

Eric looks momentarily confused since the lobby has no windows. Then he casually gestures toward me. "My assistant Millie Stevens."

It feels warm in here even though I know how cold it is. Fin takes my hand in both of his.

"Millie, it's very nice to meet you."

"Likewise."

I hope I don't sound as flustered as I feel. Looking down at his hands, one of his thumbs grazes my wrist. Is he checking my pulse? Quickly I look at his eyes again. They crinkle with a smile before he lets go to follow Eric. He takes the door handle from Eric. "Ladies first."

As I walk through, his hand gently touches the small of my back. The two receptionists crane their necks to watch us proceed into the back.