I gave a silent scoff. Oh yes. Whether I wanted to face it or not, it had felt heavenly to be held in his arms, to make the fiction feel like a reality, to throw myself head-first into this twisted little act that we'd been putting on for the world.
This might've been fine enough, if only I hadn't fallen for the act myself in spite of the fact that I knew it was based on a lie.
Or fakery.
Or whatever you wanted to call it.
But what did it matter? It would be over soon enough.
I was still looking out the passenger's side window when he drove through his big iron gate and up to the turnaround in front of his house. Through the passenger's side window, I stared at the place I'd been calling home for the past three months.
We'd had some good times there. And some terrible times, too.
Now, a dreadful silence settled over the car as neither one of us spoke. I might've fled the car entirely, except for the fact that I wasn't even sure I had my house key, which meant that I'd probably just make a fool of myself all over again.
I could practically see it now, me standing on the front porch like a total idiot while he watched from his car. Laughing? Now that would be a good joke.
On me.
I was still contemplating that sorry scenario when Flynn said, "So, are you gonna tell me what happened?"
I shrugged. "Nothing you didn't see for yourself."
Even though I couldn’t see him, I swear I could feel him watching me with that penetrating gaze of his. When he spoke again, his voice was very quiet. "Tell me."
"Tell you what?'
"What's wrong?"
There were so many things wrong, I didn't even know where to begin. But I wasn't one to play games, and he had asked. He'd even asked more politely than I might've expected.
With a sigh, I turned to face the front windshield and said, "I just wish you hadn't said it, that's all."
That's all?
Talk about a massive understatement.
He replied, "Said what?"
"That thing about my job."
He was silent for a long moment before saying, "Your job? What'd I say?"
Well, that was rich.
So he didn't even remember?
But of course he wouldn't. To him, it would be nothing at all, a passing statement to put Mackenzie in her place. But to me, it was something else entirely.
When I spoke again, I couldn't quite keep the bitterness from my voice. "You told her I wasn't going back, to the waffle place, I mean."
"And that's a problem?"
A flash of anger made me turn to look. "What do you think?"
He studied my face. "I think you're pissed off, though I can't figure out why."
"Oh, come on! Think it out." Using the same condescending tone he'd used on me back in the beginning, I said, "You're a smart guy, you'll figure it out."
But already, he was shaking his head. "I wouldn't bet on it."
"All right, fine. You've met Mackenzie. What do you think she's gonna do when she hears that I'm back at the waffle place?"
His gaze darkened. "Fuck Mackenzie."
Now, I had to laugh, but not in a good way. "Speaking of which, it's gotta be pretty nice to have the fiancé's permission."
"What are you talking about?"
"Oh, please. I mean, the way it sounds, he offered her up on a silver platter." As if Flynn weren't fending off enough girls already.
"Yeah. And I told him to shove it."
I gave him an exasperated look. "Well, you could've at least mentioned it to me."
"Yeah? And why's that?"
"Because she's my friend, not yours." At something in his expression, I added, "Well, I mean she used to be my friend."
"And now she's not." His jaw clenched. "So like I said, fuck her."
"That's easy for you to say. You're not gonna be put through the wringer when she wants waffles."
His eyebrows furrowed. "What?"
"I just wish you hadn't told her that."
"So you said."
Great. Now I was repeating myself.
When I said nothing in reply, he asked, "You feeling okay?"
I knew exactly what he meant by that. "If you mean 'Am I losing my mind?' the answer is 'Yes. I am.' There, are you happy?"
"I'm something." From the look in his eyes, that something was annoyed.
Part of me couldn’t exactly blame him. I knew that I was babbling like an idiot. But the other part of me wanted to tell him to pull his head out of his ass and look at things from my point of view.
Then again, why would he?
He was the employer.
I was the employee.
It was this sudden reminder that made me say with false cheer, "Well, at least we put on a good show."
He frowned. "What do you mean?"
I recalled the small crowd that had gathered around us when I'd lost it. No doubt, there'd been plenty of cell phones pointed in our direction. For all I knew, the footage had already gone live on a bunch of social media accounts. From there, I could only imagine where it would end up.
In my mind, I could already see the headlines. On a sigh, I said the first one that came to mind. "Flynn's Waffle Waitress Flips."
From the driver's seat, Flynn said, "What?"
"Nothing. Just another headline."
And with that, I pushed open the car door, praying like hell that I had a key in my purse, because I knew one thing for certain. The door wouldn't be unlocked. When it came to security, Flynn was more vigilant than anyone I'd ever met.
As I strode up the front steps, I was relieved – and stupidly disappointed – that Flynn didn't follow after me. As I moved, I dug into my purse, praying like hell that the key was there.
And of course, it wasn't.
Still, like a total dumb-ass, I lunged for the front door and gave the knob a desperate twist.
To my surprise, it actually opened. Confused, I paused and glanced toward the car. In a flash, Flynn was out of the driver's seat and striding toward me, not bothering to shut his car door behind him.
As he moved, he said, "Get in the car."
I shook my head. "What?"
"The car," he said. "Get in."
Something in his tone made my blood run cold. And yet, before I could even think to move, an unfamiliar male voice from directly behind me said, "Hey, if you insist."
I whirled to look and spotted him standing in the open front doorway. He was tall and muscular with ice-blond hair and piercing blue eyes. As I stared up at him, I felt myself swallow. Holy hell, I knew him. Or rather, I knew who he was.
After all, I'd seen his picture on the back of all those books. They were the same books that had formed the foundation for Flynn's movies – or rather the movies that had made Flynn a star.
Still, I had to wonder, what was Jack Ward doing here?
Chapter 67
Flynn
I stopped in mid-stride and gave Jack a look of death. What the hell was he doing here?
And why was Anna staring at him like she liked what she saw?
From the open doorway, Jack looked to me and said, "So…should I get in the passenger's seat? Or am I driving?"
My jaw clenched. "What?"
"You said to get in the car." He made a show of looking confused. "Unless you were talking to someone else?"
He knew damn well who I'd been talking to. Obviously, I'd been talking to Anna, who until just a moment ago had looked nearly ready to cry. Now, she looked rattled like she didn't know whether to break down in tears or ask Jack for his fucking autograph.
Shit, maybe she would.
I stepped forward and told Jack, "Oh, fuck off. You know who I meant."
Jack looked to Anna and said, "So you're really putting up with this guy?"
Her face colored like he'd just told her a dirty joke. "Uh, yeah," she stammered, "I mean, someone's gotta do it, right?"
As far as a comeback, it wasn't half bad. But even now, I could see
the strain in her eyes and hear the tremor in her voice. She wasn't up for company.
I knew this just as surely as I knew there had to be some reason for Jack's surprise visit. And the sooner I found out the better.
I looked to Anna and said, "Do you want to go upstairs and take a nap or something?"
I was giving her an out. Whether she took it or not, that was up to her.
She bit her lip and looked from me to Jack and back again. "Uh, yeah," she finally said, turning back to Jack. "Well, anyway, it was nice meeting you."
After he returned the sentiment, she trudged past him and headed into the house, not pausing to look back.
When she disappeared from sight, Jack said, "You know you're gonna pay for that, right?"
"For what?"
"For sending her to her room." He laughed. "Don't tell me. Without supper?"
I gave him a look. "It's not like that."
"No?"
"No." I crossed my arms. "And why are you here?"
"Aside from your warm welcome?"
"Yeah. Aside from that." I didn't bother asking how he'd gotten in. Jack had a way with locks and security. In the back of my mind, I made a mental note to upgrade my system, even as I told him, "So cut the crap and tell me."
"All right," he said. "I wanted to see how it's going."
"Why?"
He shrugged. "Morbid curiosity."
Jack and I had known each other for years – long before either one of us had become famous. And okay, he was a curious guy, but he lived hours away, by private jet, no less.
I gave him a look. "So you decided to what, drop in?"
"Sure, why not?"
There was something he wasn't telling me. But unless I wanted to beat it out of him – as tempting as that might be – he'd tell me in his own time. So instead, I said, "How long are you staying?"
"A couple of nights."
Fuck.
If I had a best friend, Jack would be it. But as far as timing, it could've been better. That whole scene downtown had shaken me more than it should've.
It wasn't just Anna's reaction. It was my own.
That Mackenzie chick – I'd wanted to kill her for treating Anna like dirt. And I wanted to kill myself for almost making Anna cry. And while I was at it, I wanted to kill Jack for showing up in the middle of this glorious clusterfuck just to satisfy – in his own words – morbid curiosity.
From the open doorway, he gave a slow nod. "Yeah, I figured as much."
I frowned. Had he said something I missed?
I gave him another look. "What are you talking about?"'
He shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned casually against the doorframe. "Just so you know, that doesn't work on me."
"What doesn't?"
"That look," he said. "Save it for the camera. It loves you a lot more than I do."
I wasn't amused. "So I hear." I strode past him and entered the house, leaving Jack to shut the door behind us as I veered toward the kitchen.
Following after me, he said, "So, are you gonna give me a tour?"
"Of the house?" I almost snorted. "What, you didn't already go through it?"
"Sure," he said. "But I figured it might be interesting to see what you'd show me." He paused. "And what you'd leave out."
I turned to look at him. "Meaning?"
"Hey, if you don't know…"
"I don't."
"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that." He flicked his head toward the stairway. "By the way, I'm staying in the pink bedroom."
I froze. "What?"
"Did I say pink?" He grinned. "Sorry, I meant gray."
He wasn't sorry. He was being a dick. As far the "gray" bedroom, I didn't know which one he meant. I had two that might be called gray or beige or whatever. Except for the pink, it's not like I'd picked the colors myself.
I glanced toward the stairs. "Shit, I'm surprised you didn't steal my room."
"Yeah." He laughed. "Me too."
For a writer, the guy had a lot of nerve. Then again, he wasn't your normal kind of writer and had the scars to prove it.
In the kitchen, I went straight for the fridge, grabbed a couple of beers and plunked them down on the counter. Mine was halfway gone before Jack even reached for his.
But hey, more for me. I had several more bottles in the fridge, but not nearly as many as I wanted, all things considered.
I paused drinking only long enough to say, "You figured what?"
He arched an eyebrow, but made no reply.
"On the porch," I said, "you said you figured something. What was it?"
I hadn't meant to ask. And I hated that I was giving him the satisfaction. But today had been a big enough cluster already that I was off my game and lacking in self-control.
He replied, "I meant, I figured you were a goner."
I paused with the bottle halfway to my lips. "Like what, dead?"
"No," he said. "Worse. And you know what I'm saying."
Now I did. But I didn't see the humor. As I stared in silent wrath, he popped the top off his beer and took a good, long pull. When he lowered the bottle, he said, "You poor, miserable bastard."
Chapter 68
Anna
Up in the pink bedroom, I flopped back onto the bed with an angry sigh. I'd been sent to my room, for God's sake.
As I replayed the events of the day, I had to wonder if that's how Flynn treated his real girlfriends, too. I considered Felicity Saint Cloud. Would she put up with that?
Doubtful.
Then again, she hadn't been a fake girlfriend. She'd been the real deal.
Well, goodie for her.
But even as I thought it, I considered Flynn's reaction when the front door had miraculously opened. He'd been concerned for my safety, even more so than for his own. That much had been glaringly obvious, even after our argument.
Feeling more confused than ever, I reached for my cell phone. Desperate for some sort of insight, I pulled up my browser and did a quick Web search on "Flynn Archer."
It was no surprise when the top search results were peppered with references to me, and not in a good way. I clicked on a random link and was rewarded with a photo of me and Flynn sitting at the local coffee shop. The photo had been taken through the shop's window from somewhere across the street.
We were holding hands across the table. At the image, something squeezed at my heart. It all looked so pretty – me gazing at Flynn while he looked back at me with something that looked an awful lot like love.
It looked so stupidly real – so real, in fact, that I might've believed it myself if only I didn't know better. I mentally announced, "And the Oscar goes to...Flynn Archer, for his performance in…?" This is where I hesitated. I couldn't think of a decent movie name. But I did know that I was tired of starring in it.
As sweet as this fantasy was, I was longing for something real, something that I could wrap my mind around in a way that made sense, something that wouldn't give me the mental whiplash between fiction and reality.
And yet, like some sort of glutton for punishment, I clicked on a related video link and felt myself stiffen. It was that godawful interview with my mom. Until now, I'd only watched it the one time. And why? It was because once had been more than enough.
Still, I kept my gaze on the screen, even as she paraded the reporters through our shabby little apartment and threw open my closet door to reveal that stupid waffle uniform in all its pink glory.
I wasn't ashamed of who I was or what I did for a living, but I was ashamed of how my mom preened for the camera, even as she gushed, "They knew each other in high school, you know. They've got a very deep connection."
I grimaced. About this, my mom was right. Flynn and I had a connection all right, but she knew darn well that it wasn't the way she'd made it sound. By the time the video ended, with my mom making some sly hints about wedding bells, I felt nearly nauseous.
No wonder I hadn't watched it a second time.
And yet, like a
total dumb-ass, I kept clicking on related links until I landed on something that made me suck in a horrified breath. It was a video from today and not too long ago either.
I didn't need the video's time stamp to tell me this. All I needed were my fresh memories, even as the embarrassing scenario played out all over again on my phone's miniature screen.
The video opened with me stalking blindly toward the camera while Flynn strode along beside me, giving me long somber looks right up until the moment I nearly walked into traffic, at which point he'd looked nearly frantic as he yanked me back to safety.
Now in the quiet bedroom, I squeezed my eyes shut as the video continued to play. Unfortunately for me, it had also sound, which meant that it captured loud and clear that awful moment when I'd actually yelled at Flynn on the street.
Lovely.
Even now, I was nearly certain that I'd never done such a thing before in my whole life. It was sad to think that the first and only time had been captured for the whole world to see forever and ever.
It was sadder, too when I considered that I'd said such a thing right after he'd saved me from a near-squashing.
I looked like a total bitch.
And yes, I guess I'd acted like one, too.
I sighed. But at least it was a jolly good show, right?
By now, I had a raging headache and was utterly exhausted. I tossed aside my phone and stared stupidly up at the ceiling until my eyes drifted shut of their own accord and I fell into a mindless sleep.
By the time I woke, the room was pitch-black. Momentarily confused, I fumbled under the covers for my cell phone, intending to check the time. The effort was a waste.
The phone's battery had died while I'd been asleep.
And how long ago was that exactly?
I had no idea.
It's not like there was another clock in the room. I lay back on the bed and listened for other sounds in the house but heard absolutely nothing. No voices. No laughter. No Flynn.
My heart ached at the memory of how awful our outing had ended and how stupidly I'd handled the whole situation.
Heat flooded my face as I recalled that I'd practically screamed at him – in public, no less.
Flipping His Script: A Loathing to Love Romance Page 26