In Like Flynn

by Dorien Kelly

  “And made each pizza yourself for the first three years… We’ve all heard the speech enough to give it ourselves,” Richard said. “And this time, Dad, you’re doing the listening. The old days are dead. You can’t keep running this business like a corner shop. I don’t know if it’s age, or if you’re just not interested anymore, but the details are getting away from you. You’re slipping.”

  Daniel pushed back his chair. “Perhaps I should be leaving the room.”

  Annie also moved marginally, figuring she’d make good on an escape when he did.

  “Stay,” Hal ordered at the same time as Richard was saying “go.”

  Daniel looked to Hal and nodded his consent. “I’ll stay then.”

  Damn. Annie settled in.

  “I’m slipping, am I?”

  Richard’s answer was a flat yes.

  “In what way?”

  “This pub idea, signing him on to do who the hell knows what,” he said with a jab of an index finger in Daniel’s direction. “Promoting Ms. Rutherford over other more qualified candidates time and again when she’s done nothing that any first-year MBA grad couldn’t have done, and—”

  Hal’s hand hit the table with enough force that even his three others sons, who’d been as still as stone, jumped.

  “Enough! This is my business and if I decide to give the whole thing away or close down tomorrow, you get no vote.”

  Richard stood. “Don’t be so sure.” The conference room door slammed behind him.

  Annie focused on her hands, folded on the table in front of her. Yup, those knuckles shone stress-white. And she couldn’t count fast enough to measure her pulse.

  “Do you three have anything to add?” Hal asked his other sons.

  They made bland noises in the negative.

  “If you’re not going to stand with me on this, you might as well follow your brother.”

  They proclaimed fealty, but Annie noted the way their gazes kept drifting to the door that Richard had exited.

  So this was how empires crumbled…

  Annie’s job hunt had just moved from a “should do” to a “do it at the speed of light.”

  12

  BLOODY SHEEP-REEKING hell. Daniel’s family fought, but beneath the words remained love. And the Donovans? If there was love—or even remote affection—it had been so deeply buried in resentment that an archaeologist would be hard-pressed to unearth it.

  The elevator chimed its arrival, pulling Daniel from his black thoughts. He and Annie stepped inside. She pushed the button for the seventh floor, then moved to the back. Her face was a study in tension, jaw set and eyes looking nearly bruised.

  On impulse, Daniel reached out and tapped the ground floor button. Her brows rose marginally, but she said nothing. The elevator slowed, then stopped at seven. Annie took a step forward. Daniel hooked his hand around her wrist, permitting her to go no farther.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Abducting you,” he said while reaching to hit the close doors button with his free hand. “And it’s for your own good, too.”

  “Flynn…”

  “Trust me,” he said as the doors slipped shut and the elevator descended again. When they exited at the ground floor, it was all Daniel could do not to give the mural of Hal and his sons a rude salute before walking past it.

  He’d wager that not one of the Donovan clan had ever smiled as beneficently as they did in that godlike portrait. And he especially damned Richard for having spoken ill of Annie in front of her. The man had been not only unbusinesslike, but cruel.

  “Let’s find some sunshine,” he said to Annie as he ushered her toward the door.

  She proved unwilling. “You can’t always walk away from trouble.”

  “No, sometimes you can run, though those shoes of yours might make it a risk.” He’d noted with approval the change to her wardrobe since their days in Chicago. Her shoes were, to be honest, damn sexy, with narrow high heels and open in front so that her crimson-painted toenails enticed him.

  “Hey, I like my shoes,” Annie said.

  “Actually, so do I.”

  She almost smiled. “Thanks, but they’re not the point, anyway. I meant what I said on a metaphorical level.”

  “Grand. So long as I promise to bring you back, can we really walk now?”

  He watched as she looked through the plate glass to the bright world beyond. “Twenty minutes, no more.”

  Daniel took what crumbs she’d handed him. They headed south on Main Street, walking elbow to elbow. He’d have liked to have taken her hand, but knew Annie would never allow it. That he’d persuaded a kiss from her while in the privacy of her office had been a full-blown miracle.

  They were nearing a coffee place when Annie said, “Hang on. I’ve earned a treat.”

  Inside, she ordered a frozen mocha drink topped with a fat pillow of whipped cream and chocolate shavings. Daniel patted his back pocket, now days and days empty of cigarettes. He had most definitely earned a smoke, but knew that Annie would have his hide should he suggest they stop for a pack. In America, some vices were better received than others.

  “They’re not always so bad, you know,” Annie said once they’d continued their walk.

  She referred, without doubt, to the Donovans.

  “And I’d expect that sometimes they’re even worse,” he replied.

  She laughed. “True, but really only in the last month or so, otherwise I would have left a long time ago. Still, I’m sure, right about now, you’re relieved that you’re only here until August.”

  Daniel smiled in answer. Truth was, this afternoon he planned to check availability of return flights for just after Hal’s hospital visit. He could no more keep peace in the Donovan family than he could survive in Annie’s dubious paradise of Manhattan. The best he could do was live up to his promises, then put an ocean between himself and the Donovan clan. The greatest price to be paid was losing the additional time with Annie, but their fate had always been inevitable.

  “So what will you do about this pub chain of Hal’s?” he asked, thinking of how her life would move on without him.

  Annie sighed. “My game plan, lame as it is, is to keep out of the battle and pretend that it’s all going to work out. I’ll get State Street up and running, and lie through my teeth to anyone who asks how it’s going.” She slowed her busy-woman pace and looked up at him. “You know, if someone had told me a week ago that I’d be saying this, I’d have told them they were insane, but I’m glad you’re here. Thank you.”

  He doubted she’d be quite as grateful had she any idea the direction his thoughts were running. “It’s been my pleasure.”

  PLEASURE… WALKING WITH Flynn brought Annie pleasure. A caffeine-laden iced mocha wasn’t too shabby, either. Her job, however, was turning into a veritable pleasure-suck.

  Granted, she knew she’d never exactly been Richard’s Employee of the Month, but he’d never skewered her in the middle of a meeting before, either. She’d accomplished a lot for the Donovans, dammit. She was the only reason they’d surfed the demographics wave and had pizza carry-outs up and running on the new edges of urban sprawl. She’d dealt with Hal better than any of them, and she’d been loyal, turning down offers to go with competing companies. Maybe none of this qualified her for sainthood, but it definitely justified her existence. So who did Richard think should have been promoted above her?

  Annie knew he wasn’t referring to Sasha. To the extent he considered his daughter at all, he seemed to view her as a decoration. He had no perceivable favorites among his employees in the finance department. Okay, so that was mystery number one.

  Mystery number two—the question of why she should care about mystery number one if she was so set on leaving—was more easily solved. Annie’s pride was smarting, as was her confidence.

  Frustrated with her pace, Annie darted around two women who were slowing to look in the window of a gallery. Yeah, nice deal. What did someone do for a living that they cou
ld window-shop on a Monday morning? She wanted that job.

  “Off and to the races?” Daniel called to her.

  She waited for him to catch up. “Sorry. Maybe we should just go back.” Emotionally, it was like running though knee-high mud, dragging the warring Donovans with her.

  While they waited at the corner for the light to change, Daniel tipped her face upward. “Still ten minutes short of happy, I’d say.”

  A gross underestimate, if ever she’d heard one. Still, she knew what would nudge her down the road to happy.

  “Are you free for dinner tonight?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Sorry, I’d sort of promised to meet up with the ladies I met at market when I came to town.”

  It was tough to be jealous of women in their seventies, but Annie was up for the challenge. “Oh, okay. No big deal.”

  “How about some time later this evening? I could ring you when I’m back home.”

  “Don’t worry about it. It was just a thought.” She had the feeling that by the time Daniel called, she’d be in the bathtub, anyway. Bad workdays often led to long soaks with stacks of reading material and a fat chocolate bar at her fingertips.

  Annie pushed through the front door to headquarters and shivered at the chill in the air. Daniel and she both exited the elevator at the seventh floor, he to the office she’d made sure was waiting for him this week, and she to her own.

  Once there, Annie ignored anything resembling work and focused on her résumé. Yes, she knew this was a weasel-like use of Donovan time, but it was payback hour. Or at least payback forty-five minutes. Content with her rough draft, she zipped it off via e-mail to Elizabeth for review, figuratively thumbing her nose at the corporate computer godfather who was no doubt recording her transgression and forwarding it for inclusion in her personnel file.

  That done, she called Sasha for the four hundred thirty-seventh damn time, but this time actually got an answer.

  “No, I’m not speaking to you,” Sasha said when she picked up the phone.

  Where would civilization be without caller ID.?

  “Well, technically you are speaking to me,” Annie pointed out.

  “But only to tell you that I’m not, which has to fall into a loophole.”

  “So do you hate me?”

  Annie waited out the silence until Sasha said, “I haven’t quite decided yet.”

  “How about if I take you out for Mexican food tonight and do a groveling belly crawl through the restaurant? Think that will tip the scales in my favor?”

  “It couldn’t hurt,” her friend conceded. “So you’ll be buying margaritas, too?”

  “Of course.”

  “Ah, the full suck-up, then.”

  Annie smiled. “Only the best for you, babe.”

  “Armando’s at eight,” Sasha said. “And bring lots of money.”

  As she hung up, Annie felt some of the weight of the morning lifting. Work stank, but maybe she was on the road to getting her best friend back.

  DANIEL SURVEYED the small office he’d been allotted down the hallway from Ms. Annie. He really didn’t have much to do today, other than the chefs’ interviews after lunch. He supposed he could write, but this space was like a deprivation chamber—no art, bland desk, blander view of the neighboring building. He required a bit more in the way of life around him to get his brain rolling.

  He checked his watch. It would be nearing four in the afternoon back home, a relatively quiet time at the pub. He lifted the phone and dialed.

  “Flynn’s,” his brother Seán said. His voice was so clear and familiar that it seemed impossible they were thousands of miles apart.

  “It’s Daniel, Seán. Is Da there?”

  “Nah, he’s off driving Mam mad today.”

  “He’s not working?” Da was guaranteed to be behind the bar every afternoon when his friends came in for a pint and talk of whether Galway would best Limerick in hurling that season.

  “He’s threatening to retire, which has Mam muttering about talking a job in the office at Abbeyglen Hotel just so she won’t have him underfoot all day.”

  “Da’s feeling well, isn’t he?”

  “Good as ever,” Seán said. “Except he won’t even talk about James. And before you ask, yes, Jamie’s still in Salthill. He says he won’t be coming back until Da apologizes.”

  Daniel had no idea what had spurred the latest spat, and it really didn’t matter. “He’ll apologize when we have a year without rain.”

  Seán snorted. “Likely not even then.”

  From the other end of the line came a muffled sound, almost as though his brother were juggling the phone.

  “What are you doing?” Daniel asked.

  “Playing darts, of course.”

  He should have known. Years ago, while still at university, Daniel had taken a summer job in a London pub. Other than a hangover that lasted until the next term’s end, the other thing he’d brought home with him was a dartboard and an addiction to the game. His original board still hung in the family pub, along with two more to keep Flynn’s guests content.

  When business was slow, all the Flynn brothers had taken to playing what was fairly much extreme darts, shooting from behind the bar counter to the board at the far wall. The game drove their da mad, and had scared religion into more than one hapless customer who’d stepped into the pub at the wrong instant.

  “And so who’s working the bar besides you?” he asked, trying to gauge just how guilty he should feel for not being there.

  “Aislinn’s been helping out, but the only drink she knows is beer, and she’s a terror at counting change.” Seán paused in what Daniel knew was a moment of dart-throwing concentration, then said, “You wouldn’t be knowing her favorite kind of flowers, would you?”

  “Wild roses,” he said. “None of the boxed ones, but from the roadside.”

  “Figures she’d make me work,” his brother muttered.

  Daniel smiled. He couldn’t begrudge either Seán or Aislinn their happiness. “I take it you’ve found some attributes to make up for her lack of bar skills.”

  “One or two, though her hatchet tongue’s not among them.” Another pause from his brother and another dart thrown. “Double bull!” Seán crowed.

  “More like bullshit, I’d be guessing,” Daniel replied.

  “Don’t be taking it so hard. You can’t remain champion forever.”

  Not without his board, he couldn’t.

  “Do me a favor,” Daniel said. “Package up my board and ship it to me by courier.”

  “And what will you do for me?”

  “Pretend I believe you just made that shot.”

  “Fair enough,” his brother replied.

  After he hung up, Daniel felt pleased enough to pull out his laptop and begin to write. A dartboard wasn’t much to anchor happiness to, but it seemed that it was enough for now.

  ANNIE STAYED AT WORK until almost eight, seeing no point in heading home before meeting Sasha. It wasn’t as though she had to get all prettied up to do her belly crawl of shame.

  The spots that Donovan’s leased in the city parking structure for its more senior employees were nearly empty when Annie hurried through. She noted that both Hal’s and Richard’s cars were still there. She hoped, for their sake as well as her sanity, that the two were conducting truce negotiations.

  Annie pushed the door unlock button on her key chain as she approached her car. Parked to her left was Evil Queen Rachel’s silver Audi TT Coupe. Annie had dreamt of owning one herself, until Rachel had gotten there first.

  As Annie approached, she noted that Rachel was in the little car, and that she wasn’t alone. If it had been any day but this, one which was in dire need of amusement, Annie would have done the polite thing and looked away. Instead she slowed, trying to see if she recognized the car’s male occupant—no easy feat when Rachel was sucking his face. Clearly, there was no need to worry about disturbing this couple’s clinch.

  Annie opened
her door and slid into the car. Before closing her door, she took advantage of her improved viewing perspective. Make that improved, disgusting and very educational.

  If she were Dorothy with magical ruby slippers, she’d be clicking her heels for all she was worth and giving it a heartfelt, “There’s no place like Manhattan. There’s no place like Manhattan.” But she was Annie with nonmagical though admittedly pretty cool shoes, and so she was stuck next to a whole lot of ugly.

  She had sat through countless meetings wondering how Richard Donovan could be so into wardrobe and yet keep his ridiculous comb-over hairstyle. Now she knew the answer—it was so Rachel could make that flap of black hair stand upright as she ran her fingers through it. Annie was also now pretty clear on who Richard felt should be promoted over her, and what it took to get there…thanks, but no thanks.

  She figured she could exit politely or do it with a bang. Option number two won. Annie slammed her car door hard enough to make the sound ricochet like a gunshot off the concrete of the structure. When Richard and Rachel untwined and looked her way, she waggled her fingers in a cheery goodbye, then took off.

  On the way to Armando’s, Annie engaged in a should-I-tell-Sasha-or-should-I-not debate. It wasn’t as though this would mean the end of a marriage—Sasha’s mom had wisely divorced Richard years ago, just as her grandmom had divorced Hal. Still, what good would it do Sasha if she knew? None that Annie could perceive.

  As she was pulling into the tiny lot behind the restaurant, Annie finally settled on keeping the garage grope to herself. Of course the question remained whether she was coordinated enough to tiptoe around two topics—her résumé polishing and Richard’s poor taste—in the same meal. She had to admit that the odds weren’t good.

  After a brief hunt, Annie found Sasha in a booth near the back of the always crowded restaurant.

  “Should I begin groveling?” she asked as she approached the table.

  Despite her claimed sick day, Sasha looked as gorgeous as usual. “Nah,” she said. “Just don’t eat all the salsa and chips and we’ll be square.”

  “I think I’d rather grovel.” Despite her statement, Annie slid into her side of the booth and thanked Sasha as her friend poured her a margarita from a pitcher already on the table.