Parties in the industry are all the same; they are all catered by the same restaurants, with the same bartenders behind the same chrome bar tops, and the guest list is drier than the martini Finnick orders every time.
Usually, he's in and out in less than two hours - regardless of whether it's a party in his honour or not. Sometimes because his manager Mags insists he go home and rest up for whatever his schedule has in store for him the following day or because he needs to make a display of taking Cashmere back to his apartment.
He and Cashmere are as much of a show as his guest appearances on The View. No publicity is bad publicity as it drives the tabloids wild that pop sensation Finn Odair is fucking Victoria's Secret model Cashmere Roberts. However, when Annie Cresta comes along his whole routine changes and the world takes notice.
Finn becomes less of an enigma, he chats with press more willingly and even sticks around at events until three in the morning. Oddly enough, the constantly watchful eyes don't catch the way Annie is always within his line of sight in her big, floral headband.
Maybe those eyes aren't as attentive as he thought.
He tries being a little bolder by staying within a foot of her instead of across the room. Getting so far as to stand back to back, their elbows brushing as he does his job flirting with every woman in the room and she bats her long, painted lashes charming people with her girl-next-door appeal.
Even when she is ready to release her second studio album under Capitol Records (which is nothing short of a masterpiece) on which they co-wrote all thirteen tracks, not one shutter clicks or article surfaces about Finn and Annie being more than friends.
They toil with words, notes, and rhythms for days - months even - until they tell their story in their own words. A story about hope, struggle and a little bit of love. By the time Annie records her last song, performing for the small audience inside the booth, Finn is in tears. And once everyone packs up and leaves for the day, he accompanies her in one last rendition of the song before making love to her on the leather seats of the limo.
The night of the launch party, she opts for no escort down the receiving line - ignoring Finnick's insistence that a lady should have a date to her own party.
"And what kind of message would I be sending? 'Hey, girls! Start developing relationships the moment you start a new job. Don't focus on your success. Sex and commitment are more important!'" Annie chides, as her prep team works their make-up magic in the dressing room of the studio.
Finnick bites his tongue, not wanting to point out that's exactly what has happened.
"Fine, but let me know if you change your mind." He lets out a deep breath before heading towards the doorway.
"I won't."
Just like she said, Annie shows up to Victory Lounge alone; but just like every other party Finnick keeps his eyes on her from his spot at the bar. She may not be new to fame but being a mainstream artist is a totally different ballgame. Every man and woman will eat her alive, thrusting their desire to touch, taste and know Annie Cresta before she knows herself. Well, her mainstream self.
He wishes she could just be dry, snarky, pianist Annie, but the public wants the pretty lace dress with the bows and flowers in her hair. Much like she is dressed now. Speak of the devil, there is Caesar Flickerman, head "journalist" at TMZ, salivating over her purity. Finnick hopes she bites his hand off.
Finding no use in working himself up over something he can't control, Finnick downs his martini before ordering a rum and Coke. (The best part about these things is that he always gets served first). As he waits, his fingers tap out a rhythm on the countertop barely audible over the pounding bass of Thresh's new track. Finn tries to play with another four notes but they don't feel right. Annie would know which do.
He draws his eyes up further beyond the crowd of neon wigs, but her classic brown hair is no where to be seen. Foregoing the drink, his heart pounds with anxiety as his search for her continues in vain. The bench before the baby grand on the stage remains empty along with the dance floor. Where could Annie Cresta have gone?
"Already lose your girl, Odair? That was much faster than I expected," Cashmere retorts, amused, as she saddles up beside him. It doesn't matter if you are from Capitol Records or just a personality, everyone attends these parties. It's almost like a high school reunion the way everyone runs into past lovers, former friends and career rivals.
"I didn't lose her. She just went to the washroom. She'll be right back," he replies coolly. Finnick hates nothing more than Cashmere asserting her arrogance.
"With my brother? I think that's a little bold for her?"
Finn flashes one of his charming smiles that speak volumes in murderous intent. "Don't lie, Cas, it's unbecoming."
"Oh but Finnick, darling, I wish I were." She pats him on the shoulder. "If it makes you feel better, I think he took her outside for some fresh air. The poor thing was having a panic attack in the middle of her conversation with Flickerman."
An image flashes before his eyes of himself standing in the middle of a stage and everything going dark, holding the microphone between slippery fingers, when a lone spotlight highlights his anxiety-soaked body. Every nerve stands on end as the whites of the audience's eyes illuminate through the black. Somewhere in the distance, he hears Annie sob his name but he can't find her. Finnick searches as far as he can, but she's not there.
Taking a long, deep breath, Finnick abandons everything that gets between him and Annie: the screams of his name, the reaching hands. All he can focus on is getting to Annie and how scared she must be. What had Caesar said for her to lose her cool? Not once in the year that they have been working on the album has she broken down, even when they had a screaming match over whether the B flat sounded better than the A sharp.
With knowledge of the building's schematics, it's a hop, skip and a jump to the only isolated spot in vicinity of the lounge. As he swings open the metal door, Finnick's heart sinks right to his toes.
Gloss is squatting protectively over Annie's rocking, curled up body, his fingers pulling slowly through the waves of her brown locks while his crystal blue eyes watch her lovingly.
"It's going to be alright. Nothing is going to happen to you. You're Snow's brand new will be a good way for people to put a face to an album!" Gloss says.
"A sex scandal, Gloss, really?" Finnick can hear the sneer in her voice. "This is not what I wanted."
"No one does, but you'll make it through like the rest of us. I promise."
For a second, Finnick wants to crawl back inside and drink away the envy that plucks at his heart strings, talk to Annie about it in the morning. However, the creak of the hinges gives him away bringing Gloss' eyes up towards his. The crystal shatters and the shards come flying at him faster than Finn can dodge once Gloss stands and straightens - trying in vain to be taller than Finn.
Before Gloss' lips can pull back in a sneer, Annie readies herself onto unsteady feet and puts a gentle hand on his broad shoulder. She turns those bright sea green eyes to Finn. They are more sad than angry, relieved than flustered.
"They know about us. About our romp in the studio and it terrifies me," The words tumble out of her mouth without a shiver. Annie is as composed as ever even though there are mascara and eyeliner streaks down her face.
"How?" Finnick finds it to be the only word that doesn't get lost in the sound of his fear pounding against his ribcage.
"How do you think?" Gloss answers, jaw clenched and eyes hard. But only for Finnick because when Annie looks up at him they are as soft as daylight. Even when she pulls from his grasp and moves toward Finnick, they don't lose their shine.
"So, what do you want to do about this?" Finnick sighs, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Gloss offered to take me home after my set and I'm going to take him up on that." Annie perches on her toes like the ballerina that Finnick knows she is and stares him down.
"What happened to no escorts?" Finn can't help salting the wound. Her lip juts out in a scowl, refusing to dignify him with a response. She shouldn't have to justify her actions to him, not after he got them into this mess.
Reaching out for him, Finn expects that hand to curl around his neck, draw his face down to hers and kiss him senseless but when her palm makes contact with his cheek the burning skin is all that's left as she heads back to the party - Gloss in tow - her unscathed hand weaved through his.
Which leaves Finn standing in the dark with no spotlight to guide his way anymore.
Finnick can't remember how he got home last night or how he managed to put on a pair of lounge pants but he did. And in the split second that follows his stupor comes a gentle calm - as if everything in his world is the right side up and he doesn't feel the throbbing from the welt on his cheek. Until he rolls over, instinctively reaching out for Annie, but she isn't there. Then the weight of the night falls over him like an Acme anvil. His brain works in overdrive, putting together the pieces of how they wound up in this mess and how to fix it.
He tries calling, but each time her phone goes straight to voicemail which leaves him no choice but to talk with her face to face and try to have a reasonable conversation with her, explain that he has plan to fix it. And he holds onto that hope the whole drive to Annie's apartment; and all the way up the elevator until he knocks on her door where Gloss answers in nothing but a towel around his hips.
"Oh, Finnick." Gloss doesn't bother to fake surprise. "Annie didn't say she was expecting you."
"I thought I'd stop by, see how she's doing. Must be dandy if you're still here. Little sex therapy help her out last night?" Finnick steps well within Gloss' personal space until their chests are touching and Finnick can look square into those blue eyes.
"I didn't sleep with your girl last night. What's wrong with you? She needed a friend so we watched movies together until she fell asleep," Gloss says.
It's hard to believe an actor when they are the world's best liars.
"Where's Annie?" Finnick asks.
"In her bedroom, getting changed. I'm dropping her off at the studio. If you want to talk to her I suggest you do it there."
"I'd prefer to speak to her now, thanks." Finnick pushes past him and rushes through the main room until he reaches her wide-open bedroom door. Being the gentleman that he is, he knocks softly on the doorframe while her back remains turned.
"Gloss, geez, it's fine for you to just walk in. I've told you that how many ti-Oh," Annie calls, lifting her damp, tangled head from the towel she is drying it with.
She may be dressed but that doesn't stop Finnick's blood from boiling. No one else is to see Annie in lingerie but him, especially not the lilac slip he bought her for Valentine's Day.
"How long have you been standing there?" Her voice is as stony as the expression on her face.
"Long enough. Can we talk?" He takes a step closer.
"There is nothing to say that shiny heartthrob Finn Odair can say that'll make this better."
Rounding the corners of her bed, he tries to close the distance between them. She takes as many steps back until the crooks of her knees hit her nightstand and her hands grip around the ledge.
"There is nothing Finn can do, but Finnick is going to fix it, okay?" He dips his head low, cups her face in his hands as his lips pulls up in a smile instead of threatening to press a kiss to hers.
Annie's eyes flicker with interested before falling in suspicion. "How?"
His thumb curls around, sealing her lips. "It's a secret."
The distrust in her eyes gets stored in the back of his mind in the box labelled 'Things Annie Cresta really doesn't like'.
"I don't need you to protect me, I'm more than capable of doing it myself."
Finnick sighs. "Just trust me on this one, okay?" He touches a kiss to her forehead before heading back out the door. "I'll see you at the studio, alright?"
He knows it isn't good enough for her, but there is nothing else he can do. Walking out into the hall, past Gloss, he descends back to his car. Gripping the leather casing on the steering wheel tightly, Finnick takes a long, deep breath before speeding off.
He makes a beeline for the top floor, Finnick stops in front of the intimidating wooden door with its white gold knocker. Upon closing his eyes, he counts to fifteen before lifting the hanger and tapping it against the door.
The door appears to swing open on its own, until he sees the stone-cold face of the president's secretary. She doesn't question Finnick's presence as she walks him down the blood-red carpet to President's desk, where he sits in his throne of a leather chair with a large grin stretched across his face.
"I was wondering when you were going to get here," Coriolanus Snow says over tented fingers, thrill swimming in his bright eyes. "Have a seat, Mr. Odair. Let's have a chat."
Without so much as blink, Finnick sits down with his feet flat on the floor and his hands folded in his lap. It's now or never. "Yes, let's talk."