Coverage

Chapter 12

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."