This whole conversation feels like whiplash. I can still feel the warmth and shape of him in my mouth. My hands are shaking, my eyes stinging with the threat of tears. “Finn, there’s only been a couple of conversations so far. They know you need to fix your boats.” His face turns red, his jaw tightens, and I hasten to add, “They’re really excited to work with you on this.”

“A shit ton of decisions can be made in a couple small conversations. Are they counting on this?”

I feel my stomach drop out. “I think they’re ready to move forward on their end, yeah.”

His expression grows thunderous. “Why couldn’t you have talked to me before you ever approached Salvatore?” he asks, turning and pacing the room. “Why did you think it was a good idea to meddle in this? This is my business, Harlow, this is my life. My family. How do you even know if this could work for us? You’re here shuffling papers and getting donuts for NBC executives downtown while I’m trying to save an entire business my grandpa started when he was eighteen, for fuck’s sake. My dad and brothers and I depend on this! I don’t even know what you told these guys!”

“I can tell you everything,” I say, following him and putting a hand on his arm. “When I talked to Salvatore at his place—”

“Aw fuck, Snap,” he interrupts, not hearing me and starting to pace again. He pulls his hat off, rubs both hands over his scalp and down his face. “This is a fucking mess.”

This whole conversation has me feeling unsteady on my feet, struggling to figure out what to say to make it all clear that it’s a good thing. “This is money that allows you to fix your main boat,” I remind him, trying to keep my voice steady. “And to use it exactly as you’ve been using it before it broke. You wouldn’t have to do the reality show to keep your boats. This would allow your business to stay solvent, to work with your brothers and get in front of—”

“Do you have any idea how naïve you sound right now?”

I gape at him. I can actually feel my pulse in my neck, that’s how hard my heart is pounding. “You know what? Why don’t you call me later and we can talk about this. You’re being an epic asshole.”

He turns to look at me, flabbergasted. “I’m being an—?” Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath and then exhales, opening his eyes again. “Yeah, it’s probably best if you go.”

MIA PULLS THE third mug of coffee out of my shaking hands. “I don’t think you need any more caffeine, sweetie.”