Come As You Are

by Lauren Blakely

  We order tea and coffee and grab seats at a small table.

  “What are you smiling about?” he asks.

  “I was thinking about your big brain.”

  “I was hoping you were thinking about my big dick.”

  “Trust me, I’m thinking a lot about that too, but right now I’m thinking about something else.”

  His voice is kind when he says, “Is it your mom? She stopped by this morning.”

  A bolt of tension slams into me. This is my nightmare—my gold-digging mom fishing for Flynn. “What? She stopped by to see you?”

  Please say no, please say no.

  He reaches across the table for my hand. “She asked for money.”

  I gasp, covering my mouth with my free hand. A fresh, hot wave of embarrassment crashes over me, threatening to pull me under. Mortification has a new definition—me. Flynn detests being used. I can’t bear that he might have thought I played a part in her appearance. “I’m so sorry. She showed up this morning out of the blue. I had no idea she was going to do this. I didn’t tell her to find you.”

  “I know.” He squeezes my hand. “It’s okay, Angel. I told her no. In fact, even when she tried to pretend you’d sent her over, I knew she was lying. I didn’t fall for it.”

  Pinching the bridge of my nose, I shake my head. “This is a new low for her.”

  “Want to know what I told her?”

  “What did you say?” I ask cautiously, as I take a sip of my tea.

  “I told her that you’re amazing in spite of her, not because of her.”

  My eyes leak. Twin tears stream down my cheeks, and I don’t even bother to stop them. I set down my tea, reach across the table, cup his cheeks, and kiss him hard.

  Passionately.

  Till my tears stop.

  When I let go, his lips look bruised and swollen, and his expression is dazed. “I love you.”

  “I love you.”

  Courtney was so right. Flynn is a once-in-a-blue-moon man. That’s one of the many reasons why I tell him my new plan. There’s something incredibly freeing about having a partner to share ideas with.

  “I think it’s brilliant. You have nothing to lose, and everything to gain.”

  That’s a brand-new position for me to be in, but I like it. I like this feeling a whole hell of a lot as I head downtown.

  35

  Sabrina

  * * *

  I’m early for my meeting with Kermit. I read till he arrives.

  He’s on time, showing up at three on the dot, and I close my e-book.

  The spitting image of Seth Rogen down to the glasses, the unruly beard, and the curly hair, he sits across from me at a coffee shop. “It’s about fucking time,” he barks.

  Be cool. Be professional.

  “Hello, Kermit. You wanted to meet with me, and I’m here. But the first thing you need to know is I’m involved with Flynn Parker. It’s that simple, and my story isn’t going to run in Up Next.”

  “Obviously, since they went under yesterday.”

  I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. “Yes, they did. That means if you were going to try to hold the piece over my head because of something you know about Flynn and me, that’s not possible.”

  He laughs derisively. “You think I have time for that shit?”

  His response surprises me, but I stay the course. “I don’t know what you have time for,” I say, keeping it cool.

  “I couldn’t care less who you screw.”

  I blink. “Okay. Good. That’s how it should be,” I say, as evenly as I can.

  He cracks up, scrubbing his hand over his beard. “Is that why you thought I wanted to see you? You can be blowing Mark Zuckerberg and Bill Gates at the same damn time for all I care. I don’t give a damn about your personal life.”

  He really is a dick, but I weirdly admire it. He makes no bones about it. But even though he’s gruff, I like his standards—I’m thrilled that my personal life holds zero interest to him.

  “Good,” I say with a professional smile. “I wanted to get that out of the way because I have a pitch for you.”

  He raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms. “Go on.”

  “I believe you were interested in covering Flynn Parker.”

  “That’s fair to say.”

  “I happen to have a fabulous story on him that’s well-researched, well-written, and, as you would say, absolutely fucking awesome.”

  His brown eyes spark with laughter as I swear. I’m talking his language now. “Is it fucking awesome, Sabrina? Because I think I should be the judge of that.”

  “Of course you should judge it. I have it with me if you’d like to read it and consider it for your media empire.”

  He makes grabby hands, and I take the printed copy from my purse, handing it to him.

  Ten minutes later, he raises both hands in the air. “Sold.”

  “You didn’t even finish it.”

  “I don’t need to finish it today to know I want to buy it. That’s why I’ve been emailing you. Not everyone has the guts to come up to me at a party and say they want to work for me. In fact, most journalists don’t. That’s why I gave you a hard time that night. One, because I enjoy giving people a hard time, and two, because I wanted to see if you had thick skin. Seems you do, and after the party, I looked up your work. You’re good,” he says, and he admits it begrudgingly. I suspect it’s hard for him to give compliments.

  “Thank you.”

  He heaves a sigh. “Look, I know I’m an asshole. But I’m good at what I do, and I know talent when I see it, hear it, and read it. You’re ballsy. I’ve been reading your stuff. That’s why I reached out to you.”

  “And you’re fine, then, with running my piece on Flynn, as long as we disclose I’m involved with him?” I ask once more, doing my job to fact-check his offer on my pitch.

  He waves a hand in the air. “Yeah. Fine. Disclosure. Good. But I want more than a piece on Flynn Parker. I want you working for me.”

  Must get hearing checked. “Excuse me?”

  “News flash. I wasn’t emailing you for any other reason. I’m not holding on to old-school notions of journalism. People meet these days in a million ways, including reporters who bang CEOs at parties. I hope you get good stories on Flynn, but the world is much bigger than Flynn Parker.” He stabs the paper with his finger. “I want to run this piece on the site, I want you to turn it into a long-form podcast interview, and I want a ‘top ten takeaways’ piece in video form.”

  My lips twitch into a grin. “You do?”

  “Yes. And then I want you to do that every other week on someone else.”

  “You want me to do that regularly?”

  “Yes. Insurance. Bennies. The whole nine yards. I want you to interview business leaders. I want them raw and unfiltered. I want to run them in their entirety. And then I want you to produce video reports on them too. I want you to work for me because these dinosaur newspapers and magazines are done. They’re toast.”

  “And what about you? Are you un-toast?”

  “I have money. I have advertisers and, most important, I have an audience.”

  An audience. I nearly salivate.

  “And you,” he adds, pointing to me. “You’re a determined Padawan. Will you work for me? I have another meeting in a half hour, and it would be awesome if you’d say yes right about now.” He taps his watch.

  “What’s the pay?”

  He answers, giving a highly reasonable rate.

  I don’t know that I like him.

  But I don’t really think it matters. I like that he’s so straightforward. I know where I stand with Kermit the Douche. I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but I hold out my hand.

  He shakes.

  “I accept.”

  36

  Sabrina

  * * *

  Flynn opens the door for me. I steel myself, prepared to be dazzled.

  When I step into his apartment, my eyes turn into planets. “It�
��s a palace.”

  He laughs, shaking his head. “It’s not. Stop it.”

  Gawking at his home, I correct him. “It is. This is the entire floor. Your home is the entire top floor of the building.”

  It’s stunning. The living room is the size of a museum gallery, a wide-open space with beautiful wood floors, a navy-blue sectional couch with tons of pillows, and framed photos of cities around the world hanging on the walls.

  Floor-to-ceiling windows gaze upon Gramercy Park. I spin around to see his sprawling kitchen. It would be the envy of any chef, with stainless-steel pots hanging from hooks above the counters and a white sink so big I could practically bathe in it. “This is insane.”

  “It’s just home.”

  For the first time, I’m keenly aware of the differences between us—I live in my cousin’s shoebox on the first floor. He lives in his own castle overlooking the city. Everything I have—memo: nothing—is paltry compared to his digs. But I’m not jealous. I’m simply impressed and amazed at its beauty.

  He grabs my wrist and pulls me close. “It doesn’t make you uncomfortable, does it?”

  “What? Uncomfortable? No. It’s beautiful and stunning, and I’ve never seen anything like it. Why would it make me uncomfortable?”

  He shrugs. “I just picked up on a vibe from you. I want you to like being here.”

  I run my fingers up the buttons on his shirt. “Flynn, you’re here. That’s why I’m here. You can show me the rest of the place or you can just kiss me, and I’ll be happy either way.”

  He hauls me in close and kisses the breath out of me. I am happy. I’m happy either way with him. Especially because he’s made me dinner, a veggie pasta dish that looks delicious.

  I set the white wine I brought on the table, and he brings over the plates. We sit, and he asks how everything went with Kermit as he opens the bottle.

  I give him the overview, ending with, “And he’s running the piece.”

  “So it wasn’t all for naught?”

  “It was definitely not for naught. It was all for naughty if you think about it, since it led me to you,” I say with a wink.

  Laughing, he points the opened bottle at me. “Nice wordplay.”

  “But we’re not celebrating one mere story.” I pause for effect. “We’re celebrating a job.”

  “Seriously? I thought you didn’t like him.”

  “I don’t. But I like the work he has for me, and I like that he’s forthright and upfront. I can handle the rest.”

  He pours two glasses and offers a toast. “To a fresh start. And to a genius move on his part—securing the best.”

  I blush and whisper my thank you.

  When we’re done, he leaves the dishes on the table and takes me to the couch. He lays me down and climbs over me, kissing me as he grinds against me.

  In seconds, I’m hot and bothered. He flips me to my side, moving so he’s behind me as he pushes up my skirt. My panties come off, his jeans are down, and we’re side to side. He slides into me, his hand slinking between my legs, the other on my breasts as he moves in me, gripping me hard. Electricity crackles under my skin, and I sizzle, burning hotter and brighter with every thrust.

  His hold is so tight I can barely move. I feel safe with him, and I feel wanted too. Flynn makes me feel beautiful and sexy and brilliant, and like I don’t have to carry the weight of my world on my shoulders. Like he’s willing to bear some of it for me, even as he takes me to the edge, bringing me incomparable pleasure again and again and again.

  When we’re done, he draws me into his arms, pointing through the windows at the sumptuous emerald-green park. “Eventually, I’ll get you into the park. You keep distracting me with sex.”

  “I’ll distract you again if you’d like.”

  Before he can answer, his phone beeps. “Another distraction,” he mutters and reaches for it on the coffee table. He clicks open a note, and his expression transforms as he reads it. A wild, delighted grin takes over his face.

  “There’s something I have to show you.”

  “You want to show me an email?”

  “Yes. It’s an important one. It’s from your brother’s school.”

  “What?” A strange dread courses through me. “Why would they write to you?”

  He smiles impishly. He’s good at that. “Because his schooling is paid for.”

  A shock jolts into me. The hair on my arms stands on end. “You did not just say that.”

  He nods, proudly. Ridiculously proudly.

  “Did you pay for the rest of his master’s?”

  “I did.” His green eyes twinkle.

  “You can’t pay for my brother’s school.”

  “I can, though, and I have.”

  “Why?” I ask, wonder and surprise etched in my voice.

  “Because it makes your life easier. Because that’s what I want to do.”

  “But Flynn . . .” I begin, only I’m not sure what I’m protesting. His generosity? “You can’t.”

  He sets a hand on my thigh. “I had a feeling you’d be stubborn, so in case you’re worried, this isn’t just for your brother.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I wanted to make sure it didn’t feel like a handout to you. And I didn’t want to simply pay off his bill. So I set it up in a way you can’t refuse.”

  I stare at him, waiting for him to say more.

  “I set up a scholarship fund for . . .” he pauses, looks at the ceiling, pretends to count, then turns to me, “for all the current students at his divinity school. Everything is covered for all of them from now until graduation, including your brother.”

  My jaw comes unhinged. “Are you serious?”

  “Completely.” He dots a kiss onto my nose. “Let me ease your burdens, Sabrina. Including the ones here”—he stops to tap my breastbone—“where you think you can’t accept this. This is for everyone, including your brother.”

  “You’re too much.”

  “You’re talking about my dick again now, right?” He winks.

  I laugh and run my hands through his hair. “All of you. You’re too much, too wonderful, too sexy, and too good in bed. And that means I’m not letting you go.”

  “Excellent. How about letting me go down on you?”

  I shake my head. “It’s my turn.”

  I get on my knees for him. He spreads his arms across the back of the couch, all of Gramercy Park and Manhattan and the world unfurled before him, all at his fingertips. He has so much, he gives so freely, and right now, he gets to take his reward.

  Like a dirty Prince Charming. Like a man who deserves everything good his woman gives him.

  * * *

  Flynn

  * * *

  This is better than pineapple math. Better than free pizza. This is . . . my brain short-circuits as she draws me in deep.

  I groan and curl my hands around her head, threading my fingers through her hair. I want to close my eyes, let my head fall back, and just revel in the feeling.

  But I want to watch her more.

  Sabrina’s lush lips are wrapped around me, her hands moving over my length, along my thighs, her hair spilling on my skin.

  This is . . .

  Everything.

  Blowjobs are as close to perfection as math and nature have given us. They are pure pleasure for a man and no work whatsoever. Honestly, there’s never anything to complain about when it comes to oral sex.

  But this is more.

  Even though my brain is in a haze and my thoughts are all static and fuzz as she sucks me hard, her tongue flicking along me, this is an entirely new experience.

  In some ways, it feels like the first time ever.

  Like that brain-sizzling moment when a woman puts her mouth on you and awareness and utter bliss collide into you simultaneously, and you think yes, fucking yes, blowjobs do reveal the secrets of the universe.

  But maybe this is the secret to the universe.

  It’s pleasure and lust, but
it’s also sex and love, and it’s Sabrina treating me like I’m candy, like I’m hers, and like she wants me to feel so fucking good.

  And I do.

  God, I do.

  My breath stutters as her warm mouth surrounds me. Pleasure crackles down my spine, climbs up my legs. It rolls around in my veins, and I gasp and I groan as I thrust up into her mouth, urging her to open more, take more.

  “Angel,” I rasp, and I feel her throat relax, and holy fuck, I can’t stop thinking how extraordinary this feels. How extraordinary it is for all these things to reside in one person. This woman has my body, my mind, and my heart. Right now, she has my dick in her mouth, and hell, that’s where I want to be.

  I reach the finish line in mere minutes, coming in her throat as I say her name in a strangled cry.

  She lets me fall from her lips and crawls up into my lap, kissing my cheek. She whispers in my ear, “I like the way you taste.”

  I shudder and plant a wet, deep kiss on her lips. “Say that again, and I’ll come again.”

  “Good.” She wears a naughty look. “I like when you come. I like making you feel good.”

  “You do more than make me feel good.”

  “What do I make you feel?” she asks coyly.

  “You make me feel everything.”

  She snuggles against me. Blowjobs, dinner, sex, success, happiness—I’m not sure what I did to deserve her, but I don’t intend to spend a single second taking her for granted. Ever.

  * * *

  Sabrina

  * * *

  The lights of the buildings twinkle across the Manhattan skyline, playing the part of the starlight that’s so rarely seen in this city.

  I rest my head against Flynn’s shoulder and sigh contentedly. “I’m glad you were a stealth start-up at that party.”

  “I’m glad you were the only one who figured out my costume.”

  “I’m glad you twisted my arm and convinced me to escape to the library with you.”