"Well, I could check the schedule and–"
"I mean, what are you gonna do if he's fired?"
The question caught me off-guard. If Sammy lost his job, what could I do? I tried to think. "Well, I could tell the manager that you started it."
"And you think he's gonna care?"
"He might."
With a hard scoff, Flynn said, "Yeah, you keep telling yourself that."
"Just what are you getting at?"
"The truth," he said. "Guys like Sammy? Nobody gives a rat's ass what happens to them."
"But that's not true," I protested. "I care. And so does Carla."
"That's your problem, not mine."
What a total asshole. "But—"
"I already told you, don't worry.'"
Don't worry? It suddenly struck me that Flynn said that a lot. But didn't he get it? For the last several years, I'd spent so much time worrying that I'd become an expert.
I worried about the bills. I worried about my mom. I worried about my little sister. And now, I was worried about Sammy and Carla, too.
Shit.
Still, I knew a dead end when I saw it. I made a mental note to try to smooth things over for Sammy as best I could.
If Flynn was wrong, and Sammy did lose his job, we'd be discussing it again, whether Flynn wanted to or not. After all, we were living in the same house, so it's not like Flynn could escape me all the time.
And vice-versa.
I muttered, "And thanks a lot, by the way."
"For what now?"
"For not warning me about Felicity."
"If you needed a warning," he said, "you're not as bright as you look."
Oh, great. So now he was back to implying I was stupid? How nice. "I don't mean in general," I said. "I just mean, you should've told me she was coming to breakfast – or lunch, or whatever it was."
"Yeah? Why's that?"
"Gee, I don't know. Maybe we could've gotten a bigger booth. And I could've ordered the eggs exactly the way she likes." Yes, I was being sarcastic, but I was looking to make a point.
As usual, the point was wasted when Flynn didn't bother with a reply.
With growing frustration, I tried again. "I'm just saying, you should've told me."
"Yeah, but I didn't."
"I know you didn't," I said. "But why not?"
Chapter 27
Flynn
From the driver's seat, I gave Anna a long, sideways look. As far as her question, I had a good reason for not telling her.
I hadn't known – just like I hadn't known about Felicity thinking – wrongly, I might add – that she could fire the guys who'd been working on my house.
As far as the waffle place, Felicity's appearance had been a surprise to me, too – and not a good one. After I'd refused to let her into my house, I'd been counting on her pride to send her scuttling back to the coast.
Turns out, she wasn't as proud as I thought.
Or maybe she just had a hard time taking no for an answer.
Either way, I hadn't been happy to see her. After all, there was a reason I'd built my new place up here in Northern Michigan. And it wasn't to bring the Hollywood bullshit along for the ride.
Anna said, "Well? Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because you didn't need to know." Yeah, it was a shitty answer, but already, she'd made me think too much for one day.
There she was, sitting in the passenger's seat, looking too fucking good, even with blood on her shirt and that little frown pulling down the corners of her sweet mouth.
But it wasn't just her appearance that was distracting the hell out of me. It was her attitude about Sammy. I'd known him in juvie. We hadn't been friends. But we hadn't been enemies either.
As far as the scene in the parking lot, I'd known up-front that he wouldn't back down, just like he'd known that I couldn’t let that whole "pussy" comment slide.
That wasn't me.
And it never would be.
Was I a dick? Probably. Still, I didn't want him fired. And in spite of what Anna thought, I hadn't wanted to make a pregnant chick work extra shifts either.
I made a mental note to call the restaurant and remind the manager that it would be his ass on the line if it wasn't squared away.
Now Anna was saying, "You know what you should do?"
I was still thinking. "What?"
"You should invite them over for dinner."
What the fuck? "Who?"
"Sammy and Carla." Her voice picked up steam. "Just before you came outside, Sammy mentioned that Carla's a huge fan. I bet she'd really love to meet you."
"Oh yeah? Wanna know what I'd love?"
"What?"
"Some peace and quiet."
"Is that a hint?"
"I don't hint," I said. "I’m telling you, I'm done talking."
She scoffed, "That's what you think."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning you didn't say two words on the way out."
"So?"
"So you owe me."
I had to give her credit for one thing. She had guts. I gave her a look. "You sure about that?"
At this, she sighed. "You know what? For years, I've felt terrible about what happened in high school. I even wrote some letters, trying to make it right."
If so, that was news to me.
When I didn't bother with a reply, she mumbled, "Not that it helped."
I kept my eyes firmly on the road. "Got that right."
"And honestly," she continued, "it wasn't supposed to turn out the way it did."
No shit. I gave her a quick, dismissive glance. "You done?"
"I don't know. Are you?"
"Done enough."
She was quiet for a couple of beats before saying with mock cheer, "So, did Felicity like her eggs?"
"No."
The truth was, Felicity didn't stick around long enough to get a taste. After some choice words back and forth, she'd left just as quickly as she'd arrived. As for myself, I'd high-tailed from the booth the moment I'd glanced out the window and spotted Sammy giving Anna a hard time.
I wasn't rescuing her. She didn't deserve it. But hell if I'd let Sammy give Anna grief. That was my job, not his.
Now, I leaned sideways and glanced at my reflection in the rear-view mirror. Shit. Anna was right. The eye was swelling.
She might not realize it, but it was her fault. Back in the parking lot, while Sammy and I had been going at it, I'd caught her in my peripheral vision just as she'd been jostled by a big guy in a baseball cap.
I hadn't liked it.
It had cost me, too.
That one moment of inattention had given Sammy the perfect opportunity to send his fist into my face. Still, it was the only decent blow he landed, and I might've left mostly unscathed if only I hadn't cut my hand on some broken glass in the parking lot.
Turns out, rolling around on the pavement wasn't without a downside.
But I'd known that already, hadn't I?
Back in the day, I'd been smarter about such things. Had I gotten soft? Maybe. Still, it felt good to be treated like a normal guy instead of a bigtime movie star whose butt was in constant need of kissing.
By now, my ass had been kissed so often, it was a wonder it didn't have callouses.
Sounding worried again, Anna said, "Joyce didn't get in trouble, did she?"
The question caught me off guard. "Who the hell's Joyce?"
"Our server. Remember?"
I didn't remember. But then again, I'd been a little busy dealing with my ex. "What kind of trouble?"
"I don’t know," Anna said. "I just mean, if Felicity complained, I could see Joyce getting in trouble for it."
"Don’t worry. It's fine."
"You keep saying that. But has it ever occurred to you that normal people worry about normal things all the time?"
I gave Anna another look. She wasn't normal. She was something else. Unfortunately, it wasn't the same something else that I'd been expecting.
/> I'd been expecting a spoiled rich girl, who thought of no one but herself. Yeah, I realized that she wasn't rich anymore, but in Hollywood, I'd known plenty of rich people who'd fallen on hard times – TV stars whose shows had been canceled without another gig lined up, starlets who lost their looks, moguls who invested in the wrong movie at the wrong time.
All of them had something in common – bitterness and the urge to fake it.
But as far as I could tell, Anna wasn't faking anything. She was sweet and sexy and way too stubborn for her own good – or rather, my own good.
I had to keep reminding myself to hate her.
Shit, maybe I was getting soft.
Now I almost regretted insisting that she stay at my place. Sure, the logic had been sound at the time. And yeah, I'd gotten some satisfaction in turning her world upside-down.
But the truth was, I hadn't counted on her doing the same to me.
If I wanted to keep on hating her, there was only one thing I could do – make damn sure she hated me back.
Luckily for me, I had a knack for that sort of thing.
Chapter 28
Flynn
Anna was sitting at the kitchen table. When I came in, she glanced up from her cell phone. "Do you realize, this has gotten like a million hits?"
I didn't ask what she was watching. From the look on her face, I knew. It was the footage of me and Sammy going at it in the restaurant parking lot. Turns out, the scene was a getting more attention than it deserved.
On the upside, I'd promised the restaurant some free publicity. And they'd gotten it, all right, even if it wasn't what I'd had in mind.
Between the footage of Felicity barging in unannounced and the video of me and Sammy fighting outside afterward, the waffle joint had scored some serious airtime.
With her eyes glued to the phone, Anna winced. "Ouch." She was wearing a little pink T-shirt and black shorts. The shirt clung to her curves in a way that made me want a closer look.
Her outfit wasn't obscene, but my thoughts were. Like a dumb-ass, I'd actually dreamed of her last night.
In my dreams, she'd been wearing a lot less than that.
What the fuck?
She looked up and frowned. "Did you have to hit him so hard?"
By now, my eye was swollen mostly shut. Good thing I wasn't in the middle of filming. Because if I were, there'd be hell to pay with the director, the producers, and shit, even the makeup people.
But the only thing I had to worry about now was looking like a mugging victim in my own kitchen.
Still, as the saying went, "You should see the other guy."
It was the day after the fight, and I'd just woken up in search of orange juice or whatever. It was barely seven o'clock, and I'd been betting on Anna still being asleep.
Turns out, I bet wrong.
"So," she said, "did you?"
"Did I what?"
"Have to hit him so hard."
"Hell yeah."
"But why?"
"Because he swung first."
"Yeah, but only because you goaded him into it."
When I said nothing in response, she lifted a hand and made the same "bring-it-on" motion that I'd made to Sammy. With an impudent smile, she said, "Remember?"
I didn't smile back. "What, you want me to hit you?"
Her smile vanished. "No."
"Then you might want to use another gesture to get my attention." Yes, it was a threat, but it was as hollow as the plot of the latest unwanted script I'd received from my agent. The truth was, I'd never hit a girl – not even Anna Burke, who some might say had it coming.
She said, "I wasn't trying to get your attention. I was reminding you what you did to Sammy."
"You mean before I saved his job?" True to my word, I'd called the manager last night and made it plain that the restaurant owed Sammy, not the other way around.
In the end, I'd gotten a raise for him and some paid time off for his girlfriend – not that I'd be sharing those details with Anna.
At the table, she said, "I'm just glad they didn't fire him."
I was glad, too. It saved me the trouble of convincing the manager in person.
Her gaze drifted to my eye, and she gave another little wince. "How's your eye, by the way?"
I gave her a long, curious look. Did she care? If she did, she was a fool. I scoffed, "Better than the other guy's."
"I believe that." She paused. "His nose – you don't think you broke it, do you?"
What the hell?
I was staring now, well as much as I could with only one working eye. Who was this chick, anyway? In the parking lot, I'd seen and heard enough to know that Sammy had been giving her a hard time.
So, why was she sticking up for him?
She was crazy, that's why. Only a crazy person would be worried about some cook with an attitude.
Ignoring her question, I turned and headed for the fridge. I poured myself a big glass of orange juice and then turned to head back the way I'd come.
As I left the kitchen, she called out, "But wait! What am I supposed to be doing?"
I stopped and turned around. "What?"
"Well, I supposedly live here, for the next few months anyway. How should I be spending that time?"
I made of show of looking around. "You see any reporters?"
"No."
"Then the answer is, I don't care."
"But you must care," she said, "or you wouldn’t be making me stay at your house."
I gave her a look. "I'm not 'making' you do anything."
Was this a stretch? Maybe. But I wasn't going to let her play the victim, not on my dime.
She frowned. "You are, too."
"Wrong," I said. "I'm paying you for a service. And you took the deal on your own. It's a two-way street, remember?"
"But even if it is," she said, "what am I supposed to do all day?"
It was a good question. And like a dumb-ass, I didn't have a good answer. Beyond having Anna at my beck and call, I hadn't given it much thought.
I said, "What would you normally do?"
She gave me a stiff smile. "Normally, I'd be serving waffles."
"Good," I said. "I like mine with strawberries."
She made a scoffing sound. "Oh, so I'm supposed to be making you breakfast?"
"Hey, you asked."
"Do you even have a waffle-maker?"
"I dunno," I said. "Check the cupboards."
"What, you don't know?"
The truth was, I'd paid someone to furnish the kitchen with everything I might need. I wasn't big into cooking and didn't plan on hiring a chef, not in this house.
In this house, I planned to live like a normal person – well as normal as things got for someone like me.
In reply to her question, all I offered was another shrug. And then, I turned away, leaving her to figure it out on her own.
Or not.
Not my problem.
Or at least, that's what I told myself, even as she called out, "If you're expecting waffles, I want a raise!"
Chapter 29
Anna
I found the waffle maker in a lower cupboard. It was small, but nice – brand new and still in the box. Unlike the restaurant, it didn't make big round Belgian waffles, but rather smaller heart-shaped waffles, one at a time.
I stared at the picture on the box. Heart shaped? This had to be a joke. There was no love in this house, that's for sure.
I'd never made waffles before. Oh sure, I'd put the toppings on them, but that was hardly the same as making them from beginning to end.
But how hard could it be? At the restaurant, they used a mix. Searching Flynn's pantry, I found no waffle mix, but I did find a box of pancake mix that could be adapted for waffles – at least if the box was telling the truth.
I wasn't even sure why I was going to all the trouble. If Flynn thought I was going to be his personal chef, he was in for a rude surprise.
It was disappointing in a way. I loved cookin
g. I loved baking, too. I especially loved cooking for people I cared about.
But Flynn wasn't one of those people. He was rude, abrasive, and seemed to get off on goading me.
The thought had barely crossed my mind when I felt my lips curve into a slow, evil smile. He wanted waffles? Oh, I'd give him waffles, all right.
I was monitoring my third waffle in the maker when Flynn suddenly appeared in the kitchen doorway. With a grimace, he said, "What the hell is that smell?"
I gave him my sweetest smile. "Waffles, just like you asked."
His gaze drifted to the waffle maker, sitting on the kitchen island in front of me. "They don't smell like that at the restaurant."
"Well sure," I said. "But they have professional cooks." Deliberately, I perked up. "And besides, they're not very creative. I mean, anyone can make a regular waffle. But a spicy waffle, that takes some imagination."
From the look on his face, his own imagination had just kicked into high gear. "Spicy?"
"You're not allergic to curry, are you?"
When his only reply was a cold stare, I added, "Or chilli powder?" When he still said nothing, I gave a breezy wave of my hand. "Don't worry, I made a variety just in case."
His gaze scanned the kitchen, as if searching for the promised – Or should I say threatened? – waffles.
In the most helpful tone I could muster, I said, "I'm keeping them warm in the oven."
Just then, the light blinked on the waffle maker. I held up a finger. "Hold that thought."
"What thought?" He frowned as he made his way toward me. "I wasn't saying anything."
I smiled. "Oh. Sorry. My bad." Carefully, I lifted the lid on the waffle maker and inspected my latest creation.
When I looked up, Flynn was giving the waffle a concerned look. "What are the green things?"
"Jalapenos."
His eyebrows furrowed. "What happened to strawberry?"
"You didn't have any strawberries." I pointed to the fridge. "But I think I spotted some grapes in the crisper. Want me to give those a try?"
From the look on his face, he wasn't loving the idea of grape waffles any more than I was.
So, we had something in common? Go figure.
Without waiting for his reply, I grabbed the nearby tongs and extracted the jalapeno waffle from the maker. "Hey, can you grab the serving dish out of the oven?"
Flipping His Script: A Loathing to Love Romance Page 11