In Like Flynn

by Dorien Kelly

  Dear Reader,

  It seems there are those people who glide through life. They’re never at a loss for the right words, they’ve never had to diet, and they’re immune to bad hair days. If you happen to be one of those super-perfect folks, stop reading now! I want you to go to your computer and drop me an e-mail, telling me how you do it. I’d gain a ton of shelf space if I could ditch my diet-of-the-week books.

  As one of those thoroughly flawed souls, I’m intrigued by the idea of perfection. Is it really all it’s cracked up to be? Actually, does it exist outside the pages of fashion magazines? In Like Flynn’s heroine, Annie Rutherford, is grappling with just these issues. Like me, she’s pretty much given up on bodily perfection.

  Okay, Dorien, but why an Irishman for a hot hero? Daniel Flynn is an exercise in self-indulgence, since I’m also seriously addicted to all things Irish. If you think I might be overstating the case, stop by www.dorienkelly.com and follow my dancing shamrocks!

  Wishing you love, laughter and nearly perfect Irishmen!

  Dorien Kelly

  This guy was Pierce Brosnan’s kid brother, not her boss’s lost twin.

  He said something to the blonde walking with him. She simpered in a way that Annie considered a slap in the face to all womankind. As they stepped off the airport escalator, she held her Flynn sign higher, practically daring Mr. Amazingly Gorgeous to be the missing Irishman.

  Not surprisingly, he started walking her way. As he approached, Annie heard the easy Irish cadence of his speech and felt her stiff spine begin to relax as she was drawn to him.

  She was going to marginalize this man?

  Annie dug deep to embrace her inner bitch, who she knew had to be in residence even on non-PMS days. After ordering the traitorous shrew within to can the sighing and mewling, Annie Rutherford got down to business. She had a man to handle.

  Dorien Kelly

  In Like Flynn

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  RITA® Award-nominated author Dorien Kelly is a former attorney who is much happier as an author. In addition to her years practicing business law, at one point or another she has also been a waitress, a law school teaching assistant and a professional chauffeur to her three children. She won’t shake that chauffeur job for another seven years…not that she’s counting.

  When Dorien isn’t writing or driving her kids around, she loves to travel, dabble in gourmet cooking and avoid doing the laundry. Winner of the Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart Award and the Georgia Romance Writers’ Maggie Award, she lives in Michigan with her husband, children and two incredibly spoiled West Highland White Terriers named Ceili and Seamus.

  Books by Dorien Kelly

  HARLEQUIN FLIPSIDE

  3—DO-OVER

  HARLEQUIN DUETS

  86—DESIGNS ON JAKE

  94—THE GIRL LEAST LIKELY TO…

  HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

  922—THE GIRL MOST LIKELY TO…

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  1

  Ann Arbor, Michigan

  ANNIE RUTHERFORD always carried an extra five—okay, nine—pounds as though they were her insurance policy against quick starvation. That being said, she still couldn’t fill out the top of her sister’s best black cocktail dress. The bottom, unfortunately, was another story.

  “Are you okay in there?” Elizabeth, her perfect elder sister, called from the other side of the bathroom door.

  “I’m fine…just admiring the scenery,” Annie replied. And what scenery it was.

  Elizabeth, a Harvard business grad who made major cash in the fast world of finance, lived in a gorgeous renovated Victorian on the fringes of the University of Michigan’s central campus. Her bathroom boasted French limestone floors, a steam shower large enough to host rainforest refugees, and a three-way mirror that amplified Annie’s attributes to a fault. Since she wasn’t a sucker for punishment, Annie averted her eyes.

  “So does the dress fit?” her sister asked.

  “Parts,” she hedged. The length, for example, was perfect. At least her hips and rear made up for the difference between Elizabeth’s five foot seven and her more pedestrian five foot five.

  “Come on, let me in.”

  Annie surrendered to the inevitable. Endowed Elizabeth entered, strolled an assessing circle around Annie, then stood beside her.

  “Maybe a gel bra,” she suggested.

  Annie met her sister’s matching gray gaze in the mirror. “Yeah, like a quart on each side. And what about the bottom half?”

  A slight frown settled between Elizabeth’s brows. “It’s not that bad…nothing a good foundation garment wouldn’t fix.”

  Now there was a thought to put a girl off her food. Maybe a girdle, or whatever, would thrill an eightynine-year-old named Tilda, but the hell if Annie would consider it.

  “I think I’ll just hit the stores for something in my size.”

  Elizabeth sighed. They both knew Annie couldn’t afford anything as elegant as Prada on her own. “I still think this could work. You’ve got a few days to straighten out the details.”

  “Too bad we can’t just move my butt to my boobs,” she said, then ignored Elizabeth’s talk of “a consistent exercise program.”

  Generally, Annie was no slave to fashion, but the company cocktail party she’d be attending on Friday merited a raid on her sister’s glamorous wardrobe. Word was that Hal Donovan, who had just returned from a month-long vacation in Ireland, planned to make a big announcement.

  Hal was the elderly—but definitely not old—chairman of Donovan Enterprises, the parent company of Donovan’s Wood-Fired Pizza. When Annie joined the Donovan empire fresh out of her not-quite-Harvard graduate school program, Hal had taken a liking to her and stepped in as her mentor. After months of drifting, she had discovered that she possessed a surprising gift for forecasting and interpreting trends. Not that this crystal-ball talent did anything for her on a personal level.

  At least she was vice president of long-range planning and the only non-Donovan in the company’s upper management. She had a great title and business cards to die for, but much to her regret, Donovan’s had already conquered its market. Her job was a fast trip to nowhere.

  Given Hal’s fondness for nepotism, unless she married a Donovan—which was unlikely since the only single, nonjailbait one left was Annie’s best friend Sasha, and she just didn’t feel that way about her—Annie had reached the top of the ladder.

  Maxing out at twenty-nine was unacceptable for a member of the Rutherford clan. Even Annie’s brother, Sam, the family nonconformist, had quit his band, followed an accelerated track and finished his doctoral studies in archaeology, then quickly snagged an associate professor’s position at a small college in Maine. All of which in Annie’s estimation made him a total show-off.

  Since she was now officially the lone, clueless Rutherford, she had been working late into the night on an idea that would make her résumé as sleek as her sister’s dress—when her sister was wearing it, she amended, taking another glance in the mirror.

  “Look, I can understand why you’re excited about this party,” Elizabeth said, “but from the stories you’ve told me, it sounds like old Hal can be—”

  “Arbitrary? Quixotic?” Hal had grown a corner pizza shop into the largest privately owned carry-out and restaurant chain in the country. Annie figured he was entitled to be imperious. />
  Elizabeth nodded, then began to fuss with Annie’s uncooperative hair, dragging it into a knot atop her head. “Don’t get your hopes up. It’s just as likely that his announcement won’t be about your overseas franchise proposal.”

  Annie shooed her sister’s hands away and stuck her hair behind her ears. She had slaved nearly every night for over six months on that franchise plan and figured it might well be her only shot at the big time. When she’d finished her proposal, she’d asked Elizabeth to vet it. For once, she’d received nothing more than a “great work” in response from her brilliant—and critical—sister.

  If Annie had her way, Donovan’s would set up company-owned outlets in airports and train stations throughout Europe. Once their product was familiar to consumers, the organization would step into phase two and sell franchises. If the idea worked in Europe, next they could tackle Asia. Major exposure without major expansion in Donovan’s staff levels was a no-brainer.

  She’d pitched the idea to Hal right before he’d left at the beginning of May to explore his roots. He’d seemed enthused. Or at least Annie chose to think he had.

  “I have to get my hopes up,” she said to her sister. “That’s what life’s all about, right? Besides, Sasha managed to pry loose from Hal that I’d be ‘damn pleased’ with his announcement. A guy wouldn’t lie to his own granddaughter, would he?”

  Of course, Hal wasn’t exactly fond of Sasha, which added a kind of troubling dynamic. Annie pushed aside doubt and struggled with the dress’s zipper. It had stuck at an annoying midshoulder-blade spot that only a contortionist could reach.

  Elizabeth brushed aside Annie’s hand and eased down the zipper. “It’s a solid business plan. No matter what happens, you should be proud of it.”

  Which was easy for Elizabeth to say.

  “Thanks, but if it’s totally unproven, it does nothing for my résumé. Manhattan calls, and I need to be shopping myself with headhunters before I hit thirty. It’s just going to get tougher after that.”

  “Relax,” her sister said. “Turning thirty means nothing. You have years to prove yourself.”

  Again, easy words from Elizabeth, who never failed to excel. Annie, on the other hand, always scrabbled on the lower reaches of “almost outstanding.” Just once, she wanted to cling to the pinnacle. And she was determined to do it in the center of the business universe—New York City. She would move there, settle in, then never have to pack her belongings again. But without the international franchise deal up and running, she suspected she’d be lucky to hire in as a bottom-rung research grunt, let alone in the consultant’s role she craved.

  Distracted, she began to peel off the dress, then paused. She really didn’t need to share every padded curve with her sister. Luckily, the phone rang.

  Elizabeth glanced at her watch. “It’s almost seven, so that has to be Gordon’s nightly call,” her sister said, referring to her rich and handsome long-distance boyfriend. “He wants to fly me to London this weekend. I wish it wasn’t Mom and Dad’s anniversary dinner…not that I could take the time from work, anyway.”

  Elizabeth rushed from the room, fleet on the wings of lust or love or whatever it was she felt for this guy she seldom saw.

  Annie managed not to roll her eyes. She adored her sister, but it was depressing to be related to her. “Round-the-world popularity. Such a tragedy.”

  Clifden, County Galway, Ireland

  MIDNIGHT NEARED. Daniel Flynn drew deeply on his final cigarette, as would any condemned man. And as was the case with most poor, doomed bastards, he’d brought fate upon his own head. He tipped back his head and slowly expelled the smoke, savoring this final moment.

  Finished, he stubbed the cigarette butt in an ashtray on the brown wooden pub table and made a silent vow that this truly would be his last smoke. Of course, that particular vow was well oiled, having been used more times than Daniel could count. Around him, friends and family laughed, sang and drank, always game for another party at Flynn’s Pub.

  He loved this place, truly he did. It was peat-smoke scented, dimly lit, warm and comfortable, even more home than the house down the street where he’d grown up. Daniel tried to summon a decent level of enthusiasm for the celebration surrounding him, when all he wanted was to escape to his flat above the pub. This fest in his honor was sitting nearly as poorly as was the thought of no more cigarettes.

  Thailand and Tibet had been grand adventures, last year’s autumn in Tuscany none too hard to take, but eight weeks in America? Agreeing to anything more than a month had made him a victim of his own bloody greed. To him, America was much like an amusement park. All the brash attitude and excitement were entertaining for a time, but then he found himself weary and looking for a hole to hide in.

  “To Daniel,” bellowed his brother James over the noise of the crowd, “may you find all the American women you want, and may they not find you wanting.”

  Daniel gave a sketchy smile and raised his pint glass in response. This trip was about refilling his bank account and nothing more. He didn’t regret for an instant offering up his life savings to help rebuild the family pub after last year’s fire. Still, a man needed to eat. He absently reached for his cigarette pack, found it empty, then recalled the vow he’d made seconds earlier. Aye, a man needed to eat…and not to smoke.

  Just then, Aislinn O’Connell grabbed him by the hand and urged him up from his seat.

  “One last dance,” she said, “to tide me over till you come home again.”

  They’d no sooner cleared the tables and stools from the center of the small area than the music changed from hard-driving radio tunes to live music—a slow air, cloyingly sweet and romantic. Since he could hardly walk away, he took Aislinn in his arms and shot a glare at his other brother, Seán, on the fiddle, who laughed in reply.

  Neither of Daniel’s brothers understood his need to wander. They could see no purpose in traveling farther than the few hours from their town, across the boggy green landscape of Connemara, to Galway. And all in the family had hoped that one day he’d marry Aislinn. True, they’d once been lovers, but it had never been serious for either of them. She would not venture out of Ireland, and though he always came home, Daniel would not stay.

  “So two months this time, is it? And during tourist season, yet,” Aislinn said as they danced to the old melody.

  “It was too good an offer to turn down.” He was sure that his mam—always on the lookout for a good meddle—had already given Aislinn the financial particulars down to the last jingle of pocket change.

  “Are you not worried that old man Donovan’s mad?”

  Daniel shrugged. “You met him during his visit. He’s opinionated, to be sure, but not mad.”

  “Anyone offering his kind of money should be locked away.”

  “And here I thought you knew my value,” he teased.

  Aislinn laughed. “I do. That’s why I’m thinking he’s mad.”

  He squeezed her tightly to him for moment, an affectionate hug for an old friend. Aislinn’s expression grew serious.

  “What would have been wrong with staying for at least one summer?” she asked. “It’s not as though your family couldn’t use an extra hand. And of course there’s that book you need to be writing.”

  “I’ve got conscience enough already.” Not to mention sufficient guilt being heaped on him by his mam and da, who were currently snapping pictures of the party as though it might be the last Flynn’s Pub would ever see.

  He glanced again at Seán and James, and wondered how he, too, could be so strongly stamped a Flynn, with the family’s height, dark hair and the Flynn blue eyes, yet not be a Flynn at the same time. This much he knew—the life of a full-time publican wasn’t for him.

  The fiddle music stopped, and over the applause one brother or another bellowed, “Give the girl a kiss, you fool.”

  Aislinn flicked back a lock of her curly brown hair, called a tart “kiss yourself” to his brothers, then said to Daniel, “I’d ma
ke it worth your while if you’d take those two eejits with you.”

  “You’d do better at getting me to stay here.”

  “And that would be so bad?”

  He shook his head. “Leave it be, Aislinn.”

  To his brothers’ loud hoots, she rose on tiptoe and gave him a kiss that tasted of resignation. “We’ll all be missing you, Daniel.”

  “And I’ll be missing you.”

  But even as he spoke, his heart began to drum with rising excitement, a reaction that thrilled him none too much. He truly was one sad-arsed addict. Even a voyage he had no real desire to take was enough to prime him.

  As he walked Aislinn back to the bar and his fool brothers, he wondered what he would do when he grew too old to wander. Perhaps one day, in someplace he couldn’t yet imagine, he’d find whatever it was that drove him. Maybe even in this Ann Arbor he’d consigned himself to.

  And that wild thought gave Daniel Flynn his greatest laugh of the night.

  Ann Arbor, Michigan

  FOUR DAYS LATER, Annie removed her sister’s black Prada cocktail dress from sentinel duty at the refrigerator door, where it had stood as a reminder of why she’d opted to starve herself. The good news was that she’d lost three pounds. Four, if she exhaled and put more weight on her right foot than her left while standing on the scale. The bad news—after a couple of glasses of water, it would all be back. Such was her evil, betraying metabolism.

  Dress in hand, she padded her way through her condo, ignoring the box of extraneous stuff she had readied for the local donation drop box. No matter that the NYC move was far off and far from a sure thing, it never hurt to prepare.

  Once in her bedroom, she slipped on the dress and sucked in her breath while zipping. Thanks to super-elastic pantyhose that came perilously close to Elizabeth’s dreaded “foundation garment,” plus a gel bra that was a feat of engineering, the dress nearly fit. With the rearrangement of her internal organs, breathing was going to be a dicey thing, but breathing was overrated, anyway.