Flipping His Script: A Loathing to Love Romance

by Sabrina Stark

  "What?"

  "They missed. But who does it hit?"

  "Who?"

  "Frank Nelson."

  Randy grinned. "The cop? No freaking way."

  I grinned back. "Oh yeah. He wasn't in uniform or anything, but that didn't stop him from hauling the waffle-thrower off to jail."

  Randy gave a loud guffaw. "Now I know you're joking."

  I shook my head. "Nope."

  "Man, I wish I could've seen it."

  "It was pretty awesome," I admitted. "I mean, not that Frank was hit, but that the guy who threw it got dragged off. You should've heard him, too. He was yelling that it just happened to 'slip' from his hands."

  The idiot.

  My smile faded as a grim recollection hit home. Years earlier, Flynn Archer had been dragged away too. And he'd also been yelling, at least from what I'd heard.

  That time hadn't been funny at all.

  My gaze strayed to the front door, where he and Felicity were still talking.

  Next to me, Randy asked, "So, how do you know him?"

  "Flynn? I, uh, knew him in high school." I felt like I should say more, but I didn't know exactly what. The truth was, I didn't yet have my story straight, and I wasn't quite sure what I was pretending to be.

  From what I could gather, I hadn't yet acquired fictional girlfriend status. For this, I was glad. It spared me the trouble of acting jealous, especially a minute later when Felicity threw herself into Flynn's arms.

  As for Flynn, he looked irritated more than anything.

  When his arms never closed around her, Felicity yanked herself back and said something too low for me to make out.

  When Flynn's only reply was a careless shrug, she turned and gave me a speculative look. When our eyes met, she yelled out, "What the fuck are you looking at?"

  Busted.

  I hadn't meant to stare. Or, at the very least, I hadn't meant to get caught staring. Quickly, I looked away, only to stifle a nervous laugh when Randy said, "See?"

  "See what?" I asked.

  He lowered his voice. "She's mean, just like I said."

  I glanced toward to the luggage. "So, what are you gonna do?"

  "What do you mean?" he asked.

  "If Flynn doesn't let her in, what happens next?"

  "Got me," he said. "It's never happened before."

  Now that I could believe.

  But soon, the question was settled when Felicity turned and stomped back toward us. She stopped within spitting distance and glared at Randy. "Well?"

  He took a small step backward. "Well what?"

  She pointed toward the luggage. "Aren't you gonna load it back up?"

  He hesitated. "Should I?"

  She gave a little huff. "God, you're even dumber than I thought."

  Enough was enough. "Hey!" I said. "He is not."

  As she turned to look at me, her lips formed an ugly sneer. "Says the townie. What, are you two cousins or something?"

  Randy and I shared a glance.

  He replied, "I, um, don't think so."

  Felicity gave a hard little laugh. "What, you don't know?"

  I spoke up. "Actually, we're not related."

  She smiled. "So I guess that means you're not fucking."

  I squinted in confusion. "What?"

  She made a show of looking around. "In this town, I bet you only fuck your relatives."

  God, what a cliché. I laughed in her face. "Only when the cows are busy."

  She frowned. "What cows?"

  Talk about a waste of a joke. I sighed. "You know what? Never mind."

  But already, Felicity had moved on. Stepping away from us, she pulled out her cell phone and made a series of calls while Randy reloaded the luggage. As he did, it belatedly struck me that all of the workmen were gone.

  How had I not noticed that earlier?

  I pulled out my own phone and checked the time. It was just after two o'clock in the afternoon, hours away from quitting time. I sidled closer to Randy and whispered, "Hey, where'd everyone go?"

  "The workers?"

  When I nodded, he glanced toward Felicity and whispered, "She fired them."

  I frowned. "Can she do that?"

  "I don't know," he said. "But she did."

  The news made me feel just a little bit sick. Jobs weren't easy to come by, and the thought of anyone losing theirs on a whim was pretty hard to stomach.

  But as it turned out, the guys I'd seen earlier weren't the only ones who experienced a sudden change of employment, as I discovered all too soon.

  Chapter 19

  Anna

  "Don't worry," Flynn repeated. "I fixed it, just like I said."

  Fixed it? Seriously? I glared up at him. "I'm not worried. I'm annoyed."

  This was a massive understatement. After Felicity's departure, I'd reluctantly returned to the house only to be informed by Flynn that he'd fixed it with my job so that I'd have not only tonight off, but also the next several months.

  As we faced off just inside his front doorway, he replied, "You're not the only one who's annoyed. I had to promise a favor."

  "What kind of favor?"

  "Free publicity."

  "So let me get this straight," I said. "You called the waffle place and told them to give me a leave of absence?"

  "Pretty much."

  "And they were okay with that?"

  "They are now."

  "Why? Because you're gonna do a commercial for them or something?"

  "Something like that." He shrugged. "So hey, you're welcome."

  "What, you think I'm gonna thank you?"

  "You could."

  I forced a laugh. "Why?"

  "Because that job sucked."

  He was right. It did. The money wasn't great, and the stench of waffles – which I'd found so tantalizing during my first couple of weeks – had invaded not only my ugly uniform, but my skin, too.

  I swear, there were times when I showered, I could still smell the waffles and syrup oozing out of my open pores.

  Or maybe it was just my imagination.

  Either way, my own mixed emotions were giving me a serious case of mental whiplash. If someone had asked me just a week ago whether I'd like a four-month paid hiatus from the waffle place, my answer would've come hard and fast.

  Definitely.

  But the thing with Flynn was making me nervous.

  It had been less than a week since he'd steamrolled his way back into my life. During this time, I'd been insulted, manipulated, and now, put at his utter mercy.

  I mean, if things went seriously south, I'd have to find another job – and fast.

  Already, the cash advance was long gone – paid to the landlord and utility company, not to mention the grocery store.

  Until yesterday, our cupboards had been horrifyingly bare. Now, they were still more bare than most, but at least Becka could make a sandwich or something.

  Still, I was already counting the days until the end of the month, when Flynn would give me the rest of this month's payment. Afterward, I'd be paid on a monthly basis at the completion of each month, except apparently when it came to the bonus, which I'd receive in one giant lump sum.

  Forty-thousand dollars, all at once. It was the only thing that kept me from telling him exactly where he could shove his arrangement with the waffle place.

  Now he was saying, "So are you gonna get changed or what?"

  I blinked. "Excuse me?"

  He gave me a quick once-over. "Your clothes."

  "But you never said, why would I need to change?"

  With a look of quiet contempt, he replied, "Because you reek of waffles."

  Chapter 20

  Flynn

  I watched as a slow blush crept up Anna's cheeks. Her little button-down shirt was creamy white, which made the new pinkness of her skin stand out like a glowing neon sign.

  If she were anyone else, I might've found it cute. Now, I was just eager to get this over with.

  She looked down and gave
her shirt a quiet sniff before looking up to say, "I do not."

  My only reply was a pointed look.

  Frowning, she took a small step backward. "Do I? Smell, I mean?"

  In truth, I didn't know, and I didn't care. No way I was getting close enough to sniff her, but the comment had obviously done the trick.

  Was it cruel?

  Maybe.

  But I didn't care about her feelings. Back in the day, she'd said a similar thing about me. Only I'd reeked of grit and gasoline, not breakfast food.

  So the way I saw it, she was still getting off light.

  More to the point, I wanted to see if the clothes in the upstairs closet fit. And I was in no mood for another argument. If the sizes were wrong, I'd need to fly someone out here to make the appropriate adjustments.

  That someone – a professional shopper – was the same person who'd selected the clothes personally after paying a subtle visit to the waffle joint.

  The shopper was good – a high-end pro who'd assured me that everything would fit like it was tailor made.

  But me? I wasn't a trusting kind of guy. The clothes wouldn't do dick if Anna wasn't able to wear them, and the clock was ticking too fast for me to be nice about it.

  Already, I'd been hearing from the studio and their publicity team, which meant that Anna needed to be ready, willing, and able to play the part she'd been assigned.

  The truth was, I didn't care much what people thought of me. But I did care about covering my ass and getting the publicity people off my back.

  For months, the studio had been making noises about me and Felicity getting engaged. They'd even coined a nickname for us. Flynnicity.

  Seriously, what the fuck?

  For months, I'd been telling them that it wasn't going to happen. And for months, they'd been fueling the rumor mill anyway, hinting and leaking stories so far-fetched, they made all those movie plots look realistic in comparison.

  Knowing Felicity, she was in on it.

  But it didn't matter. Either way, I was done.

  Shit, I'd be even more done if I weren't on the hook for appearances and premieres when the movie came out. Without someone new in my life, I'd be expected to lock arms with Felicity and play the role everyone wanted.

  Mister Lovestruck.

  But that wasn't me, and never would be – not if I could help it.

  Now Anna glanced toward the stairway. Her face was an open book, and I could practically hear her thoughts. Should I really change my clothes?

  I said, "Yeah. You should."

  She gave a little jump. "What?"

  "Get changed, just like you were thinking." I made a show of looking at my watch. "Pick something nice, but not too nice. You're going for a manicure, not a photo shoot."

  Her face – pink just a moment ago – drained of color as my words hit home. "Photo shoot?"

  "That'll come later," I said, "whether you want it or not."

  She was frowning again. "Really?"

  "Or," I added, "whether I want it or not."

  So far, I'd been able to keep a low profile here in Sugar Falls. Other than my trip to the waffle joint, I'd been ordering takeout and keeping close to the house.

  Not anymore.

  Now, it was time to start dropping hints of my own, and I didn't mean to Anna.

  The next day, when she showed up with her suitcase, I was ready to get the show on the road, even if she wasn't.

  Chapter 21

  Anna

  From his open front doorway, Flynn said, "You're late."

  I wanted to strangle him. Of course I was late. I'd had to pack up my stuff and explain the situation to my mom – well, as best I could without violating the secret terms of my agreement with Flynn.

  Maybe it didn't matter. Lately, she'd been having a hard time understanding much of anything, mostly because she didn't want to. Then again, she'd always been good at ignoring anything remotely unpleasant.

  Now, standing on Flynn's front porch, I dropped my suitcase and said, "Yeah, well you're late, too."

  "Meaning?"

  "Meaning I've been standing out here for like ten minutes. Why didn't you answer the door?"

  "Because you're gonna be living here," he said. "I figured you'd get the message and open it on your own."

  Un-freaking-believable. "So you didn't answer on purpose?"

  Looking annoyingly unruffled, he said, "So you didn't use your key on purpose?"

  "I don't have a key."

  "Oh yeah? You check the ring?"

  "What ring?"

  His gaze drifted to the little red sports car that I'd arrived in. The car belonged to Flynn, but it was mine to use – for the next four months, anyway. Cute or not, I didn't want to be driving it at all, but he'd insisted, telling me that no one would ever believe he'd let me drive, in his words, a "total shit-heap," if we were truly together.

  In reply, I'd pointed out that technically, we were still just "old friends," so it shouldn’t matter what I was driving, not yet anyway. But he'd been insistent, telling me that I'd better get used to the car now while we were still flying under the radar, whatever that meant.

  Now, under his steady gaze, I pulled out the keyring and gave it a quick look. Sure enough, there was an extra key that I hadn't noticed earlier.

  I was still looking at it when Flynn said, "Yeah, that ring, that key." His voice hardened. "If you think I'm gonna be your butler, forget it."

  I looked up. "Oh, please. Like I'd ever confuse you with a butler." Under my breath, I added, "Butlers actually have manners."

  He gave a low scoff. "I guess you'd know, huh?"

  "What?"

  "So tell me," he said. "What was the name of your butler? Jeeves?"

  I almost laughed in his face. "I never had a butler."

  "So just a maid then?" His mouth tightened. "A cook and housekeeper? A guy to mow the lawn and trim the hedges? Anyone else?"

  My face warmed. Until Gordon's imprisonment, we actually did have a daily cleaning service. And a professional landscaper too. But it wasn't the way Flynn made it sound.

  I gave him an annoyed look. "It's not like we had live-in servants, if that's what you're getting at."

  "So you didn't wanna feed them? House them? Is that what you're getting at?"

  "That's not what I’m saying at all. I just mean, it wasn't like that."

  He gave a tight shrug. "If you say so."

  "I do say so." And I meant it, too. The way Flynn talked, I could barely wipe my own butt. But the truth was, even when times were a whole lot better, I hadn't been free of chores – or worry, for that matter.

  It was just a different kind of worry, that's all.

  Flynn's gaze drifted to my suitcase, and he frowned. I didn't bother looking. I didn't need to. As far as the suitcase, I knew it was small and shabby.

  The size, I didn't mind. I didn't have a lot in there, anyway – just undergarments, some makeup, and a few toiletries. Nothing else. After all, Flynn had made it painfully clear that my own clothes were entirely unacceptable.

  Who knows, maybe he was right. I hadn't purchased anything new in forever. By now, even my undergarments were on the shabby side. It's not like they were disgusting or anything, but they were old and faded, just like everything else in my life.

  But what did it matter? I was the only one who ever saw them, especially these days, when I had no time or inclination to date.

  In fact, the last time I'd had anything resembling a romantic relationship had been in college, before the bottom had dropped out, leaving me more worried about survival than sex.

  With grim resignation, I reached down and picked up my suitcase. "So, what now?"

  He flicked his head toward the staircase. "Go up and get unpacked. Then change your clothes. We're going out."

  Out where? I glanced down at the casual dress that I'd arrived in. Yesterday, it had come from the pink closet, so it was surely acceptable, right?

  I asked, "What's wrong with what I'm wearin
g now?" Before he could even think to respond, I added, "And don't say it smells because I know that it doesn't."

  Of this, I was absolutely certain. I'd worn the dress yesterday for the manicure and then to the surprise hair appointment – meaning that the appointment had been a surprise to me, but not to Flynn.

  Apparently, his assistant had arranged the whole thing.

  By phone.

  From the West Coast.

  How lucky for me.

  Later on, when I'd finally returned home from the whole nails-and hair-thing, I'd splurged on an extra load of laundry, just to make sure the dress was clean and fresh.

  And then, to be absolutely certain that it didn't end up reeking of waffles, I'd kept the dress in my mom's closet, not my own, for fear that my work uniform might accidentally contaminate it.

  Was I paranoid?

  Definitely.

  Even worse, I had a sneaky suspicion that Flynn was doing all of this on purpose, making me second guess everything just to keep me off-kilter.

  And now, Flynn was saying, "You wore it yesterday."

  "So?"

  "So you're gonna wear it two days in a row?"

  Damn it. In truth, I hadn't given it much thought. Back in high school, I never would've worn the same thing two days in a row. But that felt like a different lifetime ago.

  Cripes, it was a different lifetime ago.

  But in my own defense, it's not like I'd worn the dress out in public with Flynn. During the manicure and hair appointments, he'd waited in the parking lot, behind the tinted windows of his car, leaving me to wonder why he'd insisted on accompanying me at all if he wasn't going to come inside.

  I mean, I could've driven to the appointments myself. They were, after all, pre-paid.

  Under any other circumstance, I might've felt like Cinderella getting ready for the ball. But not now, not with Flynn.

  Mostly, I felt like Marie Antoinette, dressing for an appointment with the guillotine.

  With a resigned sigh, I said, "Fine. If you want me to change, I'll change." I looked toward the stairs. "What should I wear? A dress? Or jeans? Or what?"

  "Jeans," he said. "And a long-sleeve shirt, something nice."

  I almost scoffed out loud. Everything in the closet was nice. In fact, every single item – even the casual stuff – was a lot nicer than anything I'd ever owned, even back in high school.