Reluctantly, I asked, "So, where are we going?"
"Lunch."
Lunch – that sounded safe enough, right?
Wrong.
Chapter 22
Anna
As we pulled into the restaurant's parking lot, I stifled a groan. "Seriously? We're having lunch here?"
From the driver's seat, Flynn said, "Is there a problem?"
I looked toward the ugly pink building. "Yes, actually."
"What, you don't like waffles?"
Funny, I used to love waffles. But now, after nearly a year of serving them – and yes, smelling them – they weren't exactly a treat anymore.
But that wasn't the main reason I didn't want to eat here. "I just feel funny, that's all."
"Yeah? Why's that?"
As if he didn’t know. "Because I was scheduled to work tonight. And now I’m not."
"So?"
"So what if they're mad at me?"
"They'll get over it."
That was easy for him to say. People probably forgave him anything. But me? Not so much.
Flynn might not realize it, but I'd worked incredibly hard to ditch the rich girl persona, and yes, to have people accept me for what I'd become – just another local girl trying make ends meet.
The thought of waltzing into the restaurant now, joined by some rich guy no less, made me feel just a little bit queasy for reasons unrelated to the stench of waffles.
Yes, I could smell them from the parking lot, but that wasn't the point.
When I made no reply, Flynn added, "And it's not your shift, so what's the problem?"
On this, he had a point. I worked nights, which meant that I'd be unlikely to encounter any of my regular co-workers.
Still, I hesitated. For all I knew, someone from the day crew was being forced to work a double shift because of my sudden hiatus.
I looked to Flynn and said, "But don’t you think it's a little rude?" I tried to explain. "Like, if you call in sick to the mall, you don't go shopping there on the same day."
"Except you didn't call in sick," he said. "You're on leave. There's a difference."
"But you're missing the point."
"And," he continued, "the nearest mall is fifty miles south."
"Forget the mall. I'm just saying, what if someone's working extra hours to make up for the fact that I’m not?"
He gave a tight shrug. "Double the hours, double the money."
"Yeah, but—"
"And we'll leave a nice tip. So don't worry, they'll get over it."
I stiffened. There it was again, the idea that tossing out a few dollars would make everything right. I didn't like it. And I was beginning to wonder if Flynn realized this and was doing it on purpose.
I asked, "Are you trying to make me uncomfortable?"
He leaned back in the driver's seat. "So what if I am?"
How nice to have it confirmed.
I sighed. "Look, if that's what you want, fine. But there's no reason to make anyone else feel bad in the process."
"The only one who feels bad," he said, "is you. So get over it.
I bristled. "Get over it?"
"You've got a new job, remember?"
As if I could forget. "But—"
"And right now," he continued, "your job is to get your ass out of the car and into the restaurant."
God, what a jerk.
But already, he was pushing open the driver's side door.
As he left the vehicle, I sat stubbornly in the passenger's seat with my arms crossed and my gaze straight ahead. This wasn't a simple lunch. I just knew it.
I didn't budge, even when he circled around the front of the car and strode to the passenger's side door. He opened it up and gave me a sarcastic smile. "Old fashioned," he said. "Good call."
I glowered up at him. "What?"
"Letting me get the door," he said. "Shows good breeding."
What a joke. "Breeding? Like dogs? I bet you mean a female dog, don't you?"
"Why's that?"
"You know…" I lowered my voice. "… as in the word that rhymes with 'witch.'"
His mouth tightened. "If I wanted to call you names, I'd have done that already."
Probably, this was true. From what I'd seen, Flynn wasn't the name-calling type. Even all those years ago, I'd expected him to call me every name in the book. But he hadn't.
Instead, he'd pummeled me with something a whole lot worse – simmering rage and the unspoken promise of revenge.
Was this it?
I didn't know, and I was tired of overthinking it. Besides, who was I kidding? He was right. I did work for him, which meant there wasn't much I could do except let him guide me into the restaurant and hope for the best.
Maybe it wouldn't be too bad, right?
Wrong.
Chapter 23
Anna
The moment we walked in, a sudden hush descended on the restaurant.
Everyone – and I mean everyone – turned to stare. Customers, waitresses, busboys, you name it – whatever they'd been doing earlier, they weren't doing it anymore.
From just inside the front entrance, I stared stupidly back, wondering how celebrities normally acted in situations like this. Did they smile? Wave? Pretend it wasn't happening?
Yes, I realized that I was no celebrity and no one was staring at me. Still, that didn't make it any less awkward when a lone female voice shattered the silence by whispering loud enough for everyone to hear, "Oh, my God. It's him."
Yes. It was.
I gave Flynn a sideways glance. Apparently, he fell into the "pretend it's not happening" camp. Either that, or he was truly oblivious to all the attention. But he couldn’t be. That simply wasn't possible. Was it?
In front of us, the place was absolutely packed. No surprise there. Saturdays were a big day at Pinkie's, even in the early afternoon. No surprise there either. I mean, who doesn't love a big weekend breakfast, regardless of the time?
Then again, I wasn't loving it, not now, anyway.
In cheerier news, by the time we were seated, one thing was beyond obvious – none of my co-workers cared one bit that I'd been given a leave of absence.
And why? Because they were too busy fawning over Flynn. When we'd arrived, there'd been no free tables – well, none that weren't covered up in dirty dishes, that is. But like magic, a window booth was suddenly clean and available, complete with fresh silverware and surprisingly unstained menus.
As Flynn and I slid into opposite sides of the booth, I tried to act like all of this was normal, even while a teenage couple in a neighboring booth took several selfies with Flynn in the background.
If Flynn noticed, he gave no sign.
Around us, the hum of voices finally resumed to a normal level. For that, I was grateful. Still, as I pretended to scan the menu, I found myself slumping lower in the booth, wishing that I could magically disappear.
It wasn't that I was shy. I just didn't know how to act, and Flynn wasn't helping.
Even though we were supposedly old friends, he hadn't said more than two words to me since entering the restaurant. As for myself, I wasn't terrific at small talk even on the best of days, especially with someone who obviously loathed me.
I'd just hunkered down further behind the menu when Flynn said, "Hey Anna."
I lowered the menu just a fraction. "What?"
"You sink any lower, and people are gonna get ideas."
"What do you mean?"
He glanced down toward his pelvis. "I'm just saying…" He didn't bother finishing the sentence.
Then again, he didn't need to.
Already, I'd shot up in the booth, sitting up so straight, I'd put a military cadet to shame.
And now, Flynn was laughing. It wasn't a big laugh, but it still grated.
I leaned forward and hissed, "Have you ever considered that most people don't have their minds in the gutter?"
"No."
"Oh, so you think they do?"
"Walk in
my shoes for a week," he said. "You'd be surprised at what you'd see."
I sat back and studied him from across the booth. Did that really happen? Did girls actually go down on him at waffle joints?
The answer came hard and fast. Of course they did. Or at least, they would if Flynn wanted them to.
I gave him a stiff smile. "Don't worry. Your pelvis is safe."
"My pelvis," he said. "Never heard it called that before."
"Oh shut up. You know what I mean."
And now, he was studying me with that penetrating gaze of his. As he did, I resisted the urge to look away.
His eyes were dark brown with flecks of green. The combination didn't sound like anything extraordinary, and yet somehow his eyes were too compelling for words.
And whether he realized it or not, I'd seen those eyes often enough on the movie screen to know how shamefully easy it would be to get lost in them.
Funny, I was feeling a little lost now. But it wasn't my fault. For once, he wasn't eyeing me with pure loathing, and I found myself wondering what it would be like to sit together as a normal couple, or even as friends.
I heard myself say, "Just curious…why'd you come here anyway?"
"Aside from the waffles?"
"I don’t mean the restaurant," I said. "I mean Sugar Falls." I paused to think. "I mean, I'm sure you could've built a house anywhere. So why here?"
He shrugged. "Why not?"
I tried to laugh. "For an 'old friend,' you sure are secretive."
"Maybe an 'old friend' would already know."
"Exactly," I said. "Like, what if someone asks? Shouldn't I have some kind of answer?"
"All right," he said. "Tell 'em it's none of their business."
This was no help at all. "But what if people get suspicious?"
"Don't worry, they won't."
"But how can you be sure?"
Just then, we were interrupted by our waitress, a gray-haired woman named Joyce, looking to take our order.
I'd met her in passing only a few times, but I liked her, just like I liked most of my coworkers.
And I had to give her credit. After getting over the initial shock of waiting on a bigtime movie star, she was actually pretty professional about it.
It made me think. A few nights ago, I'd waited on Flynn, too. Had I been professional?
Not really.
But then again, Flynn was a lot nicer to Joyce than he'd ever been to me. He even gave her a smile, and not one of those head-lopping smiles either.
Stupidly, I started to wonder how much he'd tip her. Six dollars? Or more?
After she left, Flynn looked to me and said, "What, no waffle?"
I'd ordered scrambled eggs and toast. I shook my head. "I think I've had enough waffles for a while."
His only reply was a silent stare.
When it continued for several long moments, I gave a nervous laugh. "Just so you know, it's your turn to say something."
Looking less than enthused, he said, "When I’m ready to talk, you'll know."
Well, that was nice. And I seriously didn't get it. What was the point of coming here if he wasn't going to act friendly?
Going for a joke, I said, "So you're no kind of actor, huh?"
"No. I'm not."
I wanted to scream in frustration. "That was a joke."
"Not if you've got to explain it."
"All right, fine," I said. "But don't you want to know what I meant?"
"Does it matter?"
"What does that mean?" I asked.
"I mean you're gonna tell me regardless." He made a forwarding motion with his hand. "So go ahead, get it over with."
I stared across the table. "Jeez, would it kill you to be nice once in a while?"
"To you?" He gave it some thought. "Maybe."
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "Oh, please. It wouldn't even maim you, and you know it." I smiled. "And that was a joke, too, in case you didn't get it."
"Don't worry," he said with no trace of humor. "I got it."
Once again, I leaned forward and lowered my voice. "I'm just saying, if we're supposed to be friends, or more than friends, you wouldn't just sit there, glowering at me."
"If I were glowering, you'd know it."
Okay, this was probably true. After all, he did have a famously impressive glower.
Still, I replied, "Okay, but you might actually smile once in a while. You might even carry on a regular conversation."
"We've been talking plenty."
I had to scoff. "Insulting me doesn't count."
His voice was flat. "Insulting you."
"Sure, you've been insulting me for days."
"Yeah." His mouth tightened. "Days. Not months. Some might say you got off light."
Heat flooded my face. I knew what he meant, and he did have a point. I tried to put myself in his shoes. What if he accused me of something that I didn't do? And what if that accusation had cost me a year of my life?
I'd probably do more than insult him, that's for sure.
But with Flynn, I'd already tried my best to explain, not that he'd listened.
That was how long ago?
Nine years?
Maybe it was time for another try.
After Joyce delivered drinks to each of us – coffee for me and juice for Flynn – I looked to Flynn and deliberately softened my tone. "Look, I know that things between us are complicated, and I don't blame you if you're still angry, but–"
"Forget it."
I felt my brow wrinkle in confusion. "Does that mean 'forget it' as in 'don't worry about it'?" Or 'forget it' as in I should give up trying to explain?"
"It means I’m not paying you to ask questions."
So much for mending fences.
"Fine," I said. "Let's just glower at each other then." And then, true to my word, I leaned back in the booth and tried to look at him the way he sometimes looked at me.
It made my face hurt.
Even worse, he looked annoyingly unperturbed.
And he still wasn't talking.
The visual standoff lasted for several long minutes until Flynn's gaze drifted toward a nearby booth, where an attractive brunette was just being seated.
I had no idea who she was, but she was very stylish, with shoulder-length hair, long legs, and a long, lingering look in Flynn's direction.
It was fairly obvious that she recognized him. But then again, who hadn't?
When she smiled, he actually smiled back. It wasn't a huge smile, but it was ten times bigger than anything I'd ever gotten.
I stiffened. So he could smile at a total stranger, but he couldn't even pretend to smile at me?
I tried to think. What would I do if this weren't just an act?
And then it hit me. I cleared my throat, loudly.
When Flynn looked in my direction, I gave him my sweetest smile. "Hey, remember me, your dearest friend?"
To my infinite surprise, his lips curved in the barest hint of a smile.
Subtle or not, the smile hit me like a bolt of sunshine, and my breath caught. For once, he wasn't giving me the cold, scary smile he used in the movies. Instead, this smile – as faint as it was – looked almost boyish.
Before I could stop myself, I'd already murmured, "Wow."
And just like that, his smile was gone. "What?"
"For a minute there, you looked almost human."
"Yeah, well don't get used to it."
There were so many things I might've said in response. But suddenly, my tongue was tied up in knots – not because Flynn had actually smiled at me, but because a new hush had just descended on the restaurant.
The hush sounded familiar – too familiar.
I was facing away from the front entrance, but now, I slowly turned to look.
When I did, my stomach lurched.
Oh, no.
With new desperation, I looked back to Flynn, expecting to see him eyeing the door with the same sickness I was feeling. But he wasn't. Ins
tead, his gaze remained firmly on me, even as Felicity Saint Cloud hollered out, "You bastard!"
Chapter 24
Anna
And just like that, so many pieces clicked into place – his insistence on eating at the same stupid restaurant where I'd been waitressing, his lack of civility while we waited for our food, and cripes, even the fact that he'd seated himself where he could see the door, but I couldn’t.
I should've known.
This was a total setup.
I leaned across the table and whispered, "She's right, you know. You are a bastard. You know that?"
With cool deliberation, he leaned forward and said in a barely audible voice, "Yeah, but I'm still your employer, so play along." His mouth tightened. "Or else."
"Or else what?"
"You're smart. You'll figure it out."
Oh, so now he thought I was smart?
What a jerk.
And in spite of what he might think, I was smart, or at least smart enough to know a threat when I heard it. Obviously, he was talking about the money. If I didn't play my part, he wouldn’t pay up.
But I'd known that already, hadn't I?
Unless he was threatening me with something else?
Unfortunately, I had no time to think, because just then, Felicity appeared beside our table and yelled, "Hey! Didn't you hear me?"
Flynn looked up. "Hell, everyone heard you."
About this, he was right. I glanced nervously around. At every single table, cell phones were out, recording the whole sordid scene. And of course, Felicity looked every inch the movie star, even in distressed jeans and a little black tank top.
Desperate to dial it down a notch, I gave her a nervous smile. "We're just having lunch. Maybe you'd like to join us?"
Her eyes narrowed. "No."
"Oh." My smile faltered. "Well, um, I'm sorry to hear that."
"You'll be even sorrier if you don't leave, like now."
I stared stupidly up at her. "Leave?"
"That's right." She pointed to my side of the booth. "You're in my seat."
Unsure what to do, I looked to Flynn. For someone who'd just stirred up a whole boatload of trouble, he looked oddly unconcerned.
Through gritted teeth, I said, "So you invited her here, too?"
Felicity said, "Hey! Towngirl! I'm standing right here."
Flipping His Script: A Loathing to Love Romance Page 9
