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.”

His face relaxes and he gives a little shrug before taking a bite of his salad.

“And then he just left,” I tell him. “That’s why I’m angry. It felt . . .”

He swallows, and then finishes the sentence for me: “Shitty?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, you can tell him all about how you feel next week. We’re taking him out to lunch.” Sal meets my eyes and bats his lashes innocently.

Fuck.

“SERIOUSLY, ANSEL,” I say, slipping into the booth at Great Maple for Saturday breakfast with the crew. “How much are you paying to fly here practically every week?”

“A lot,” he admits with a laugh and his obscene dimple poking into his cheek. “But actually I’m here this weekend because we are house hunting.”

“Uh, pardon?” I ask, leaning forward to stare at Mia.

“Say what?” Lola adds.

“The lawsuit from hell settled this week!” Mia squeals, and she’s beaming so enormously I could count every single one of her teeth. “Ansel is officially free to look for jobs here and he already has an interview at UCSD!”

“Holy crap, that’s amazing!” I jump out of the booth and make Oliver get up so I can tackle Mia on the other side. “I am so happy for you guys!”

Lola joins the girl pile and I hear Ansel say something about getting a video camera and maple syrup.

I climb off the tangle and smack Ansel’s arm before straightening my shirt. “I can’t believe it. It’s like we’re all going to be together!”

“Well. Almost,” Lola says, making a this-is-awkward face.

“Right. Except for Finn,” I say, and everyone kind of looks over at me like I’m made of glued-together eggshells and am rolling toward the edge of the table. I laugh, too loudly, sounding completely mental. The effect is to make it even more awkward. “Obviously I realize he’s not here anymore.” And then I add for no reason other than my mouth is still moving and no one else is coming to my rescue: “He left without saying goodbye.”

Lola snorts, petting my shoulder. “Shh, crazypants.”

I bite back a laugh. “That came out a little Glenn Close, didn’t it?”

“A little,” Ansel agrees, laughing.

“I went and saw him last weekend,” Oliver says, and I swear the sound of screeching brakes tears through my head.

“You saw Finn?”

“Yeah. I flew up to see what the hell was going on with him since no one here told me anything.” He gives me a pointed look, but then winks.

And see? This is what I mean by Oliver’s poker face. I’d never have known from his reaction nearly two weeks ago that he was so concerned over why Finn left that he would leave his new store in Not-Joe’s questionably capable hands and fly up to Canada just to check in.