Flipping His Script: A Loathing to Love Romance

by Sabrina Stark

  As far as the women, I wasn't afraid of them, not really. They didn't seem violent so much as determined to have their say.

  They never got the chance.

  Before either of them could get out a single word, the main restroom door flew open and the camera guy barreled in and made a beeline for the nearest stall.

  I watched in stunned confusion as he dove into it and slammed the door behind him. When I heard the lock slide into place, I shared a confused look with the two women.

  What the heck?

  Our confusion lasted only a moment before someone else barreled in after him. And who was that someone else?

  Flynn Archer.

  Of course.

  Chapter 51

  Anna

  I stared at my so-called boyfriend. "Flynn? What are you doing here?"

  I wasn't even sure what I meant.

  Here at the steakhouse?

  Here in the women's restroom?

  I shook my head. Here in my twisted nightmare?

  Hey, it wasn't that far-fetched. By now, I was starting to seriously wonder if I was dreaming – and not in a good way.

  With barely a glance in my direction, Flynn replied, "Later."

  From inside the stall, the cameraman yelled, "Call security!"

  The women and I exchanged another look. It was the redhead who spoke first. "Screw you!" she called back. "We're with Flynn Archer."

  Her friend chimed in, "Got that right!"

  As for myself, I had no idea what to say. The logical part of me was tempted to point out that steakhouses didn't have security, at least not that I knew of. And if the guy wanted someone to call the police, he was barking up the wrong tree.

  After all, he'd walked in on his own accord – or sprinted in, if I wanted to get all technical. And seriously, shouldn't someone be calling security on him?

  Flynn eyed the stall with quiet malice. "You've got ten seconds."

  The guy called back, "Or what?"

  "Or I'm dragging your ass outta there."

  Next to me, the redhead breathed, "Oh, my God. Just like he did to Lord Avery in Swordstone."

  Funny, it hadn't occurred to me, but yes, Flynn's character had done that – except Lord Avery had been hiding in a horse stall and he'd been disguised as a groom. But that wasn't the thing that made me frown. It was the recollection that when the scene had ended, Lord Avery had been missing his head.

  Reluctantly, I asked Flynn, "What are you gonna do?"

  The redhead gave a loud huff. "He's gonna drag him out, just like he said."

  "Yeah," the spiky one said. "Weren't you listening?"

  "Of course I’m listening," I said. "I just meant…" I looked to Flynn and asked, "What happens after?"

  With his gaze still on the stall door, Flynn replied, "That depends on Ronnie."

  Ronnie?

  The guy in the stall?

  That had to be who Flynn meant.

  So the two guys knew each other? They must. After all, it's not like "Ronnie" had been wearing a name tag.

  But this wasn't the thing that had me reeling. It was the realization that if Flynn knew Ronnie, he must also know the brunette who'd been sitting at Ronnie's table.

  Back at the waffle house, she and Flynn had even exchanged a look.

  Had that been a setup, too?

  From inside the stall, the guy was saying, "You can't drag me out."

  Flynn crossed his arms. "Yeah? Why not?"

  "You just can't."

  Next to me, the redhead snickered. "Even Lord Avery had a better comeback than that."

  I whirled to face her and said, "Will you please forget Lord Avery?"

  By now, it wasn't just the five of us in the restroom. Over the last few moments, at least a dozen people had crammed themselves in, looking to see what was going on.

  In my best official voice, I called out, "All right everyone, you can leave now. The show's over."

  The redhead scoffed, "It is not."

  Turns out, she was right. The words had barely left her lips when Flynn kicked in the stall door, sending its lock mechanism skittering across the tile. With both hands, he reached into the stall and – yup, sure enough – dragged out Ronnie, camera and all.

  Ronnie wasn't filming anymore, but that hardly mattered. Around me, at least ten people – women and men – were holding out their cell phones, recording the whole sordid scene.

  My heart was hammering, and my palms were sweaty. I yelled, "Will you please stop?"

  I didn't even know who I was yelling at.

  Flynn?

  The people with their phones?

  The camera guy, who was babbling like an idiot?

  But it didn't matter. Everyone was ignoring me anyway.

  Well, this was just great.

  I watched in stunned silence as Flynn slammed Ronnie up against the nearby wall. He leaned in close, and in a voice filled with menace, said, "If you ever follow her into a restroom again, that camera of yours? It's getting shoved up your ass."

  I blinked. Her?

  Did he mean me?

  Oh, crap. He probably did.

  In quick succession, a wave of conflicting emotions washed over me – surprise, confusion, and finally embarrassment when I realized that this had to be just an act.

  Ronnie was still babbling, "I wasn't following her. I just took a wrong turn, that's all."

  Flynn replied, "Yeah? If you do it again, I've got a suggestion."

  Ronnie gave a hard swallow. "What?"

  Flynn smiled that deadly smile of his. "Get a smaller camera."

  Around us, the whole bathroom erupted in laughter and applause.

  Oh, for God's sake.

  I was so flustered, it took me a moment to get the joke, assuming Flynn was joking. I mean, he wouldn’t really shove a camera up someone's ass, would he?

  The redhead called out, "You tell him, Flynn Archer!"

  I turned to her and said, "Will you please stop encouraging him?"

  "Up yours," she said, looking back to Flynn.

  Right on cue, he released Ronnie with a hard shove and turned to face me. "We're leaving."

  How nice of him to ask politely.

  I gave him a stiff smile. "You and Ronnie, or…?"

  Missing my sarcasm, the redhead gave another huff. "Oh, for crying out loud, he means you." Under her breath, she added, "Not that you deserve it. Flanna, my ass."

  Well, that was lovely.

  Chapter 52

  Anna

  Twenty minutes later, we were in his car, driving away from my mom's apartment. We'd just dropped her off and were heading back to Flynn's place.

  From the passenger's seat, I gave him a quick sideways glance. He hadn't said more than a dozen words since we'd left the restaurant. This was quite a feat, too, considering that my mom had talked to him almost nonstop.

  Then again, she didn't always require answers.

  Unfortunately for Flynn, I did.

  I turned in my seat to face him. "That scene in the restroom – what was that about?"

  He kept his eyes on the road. "If you don't know, I'm not gonna explain."

  I stiffened. "Look, you're the one who suggested that I go someplace, so if you're mad at me, maybe you should look in the mirror."

  His jaw was set and his fingers were tight around the steering wheel. "Who said I’m mad at you?"

  "You're acting mad at me." Under my breath, I added, "Well, me and that camera guy."

  At last, Flynn glanced in my direction. "Hey, did I threaten to shove a camera up your ass?"

  "No. But you've got a stick up yours now."

  He made a sound that I couldn’t quite decipher. It might've been a snort, or it might've been a scoff. Regardless, it was far from jolly.

  I said, "And why did you insist on driving us back?"

  "Because I don't trust him."

  "Who?"

  "Ronnie."

  "You mean the camera guy?"

  "That's the one."

>   I thought of the car that I'd driven to the restaurant. "But who's gonna drive the other car back to your house?"

  "It'll be handled," he said. "Not a big deal."

  Now, this I believed. He had lawn people, cleaning people, grocery people – and of course, me, his fake girlfriend.

  I gave another scoff. "So, am I 'grounded' or something?"

  "No."

  In case he missed the sarcasm, I tried again. "Oh, so if I want to go out to lunch tomorrow, you're peachy keen with that?"

  "Sure." His voice hardened. "As long as I'm with you."

  That wasn't what I wanted to hear. "What, like I need a chaperone? So tell me, do I get a day off?"

  He was still holding the steering wheel in a death grip. "What?"

  "A day off," I repeated. "I'm living at your place seven days a week."

  "So?"

  "So the way you're acting now, it's like I'm in detention or something."

  Over the last couple of weeks, it hadn't truly felt that way. But his current attitude made everything seem strange and disjointed, like it had in the beginning.

  I didn't like it.

  In the driver's seat, his jaw clenched, but he made no reply.

  For some reason, I couldn't let it go. "Gee, thanks for the insight. That's sooooo helpful."

  Abruptly, he turned the car into a vacant lot, hit the brakes, and turned to face me. "What, you want a day off?"

  "Maybe." I glanced away. "I don't know. I just mean…" I didn't bother finishing the sentence, mostly because I had no idea what I was saying.

  Or thinking.

  Or feeling.

  I let my words trail off with a useless shrug.

  Flynn said, "That's no kind of answer."

  Now, it was my turn to scoff. "You're one to talk."

  "So tell me," he said. "If you had a day off, what would you do?"

  This really wasn't any of his business. And yet, it did make me wonder. How would I spend the time?

  For the last five years, I'd been so focused on survival that I hadn't built much of a life aside from working crappy jobs and trying unsuccessfully to finish my college degree.

  I almost never had any money, so I didn't shop or go out. I seldom had any free time so I didn't have a lot of fun. And as far as friends, most of them had faded after my family's fall from grace.

  Still, I couldn’t really blame them considering that I'd kept everyone at a distance even before Gordon had been sent away.

  And yet, all of this begged a strange question. What would I do if I had more time and freedom?

  I'd get a new life, that's what.

  In the car, Flynn was still waiting for my answer.

  Finally, I mumbled, "I don't know."

  "Yeah. Welcome to the club." And with that, he pulled out of the lot and started driving once again toward his house.

  I studied him in profile for a long moment before saying, "Welcome to the club? What does that mean?"

  "Hell if I know."

  I was seriously tempted to push the issue, but knowing Flynn, he'd just push right back, demanding better answers from me, too.

  Was I ready for that?

  Not hardly.

  Back at his place, Flynn spent the rest of the day and then the rest of the night acting like a total jackass, stomping around the house and glowering at anything that moved.

  Especially me.

  By the time I went to bed, I'd had just about enough. I silently vowed that when morning came, I'd give him something to glower about, all right.

  And it wouldn’t be pretty.

  Chapter 53

  Flynn

  When I woke the next morning, Anna was already up. I knew this because the house reeked of something new and disturbing.

  I sat up in bed. What the hell?

  I found her in the kitchen. She was sitting at the table, looking cute as ever in a little white T-shirt and pink shorts. She was eating waffles and looking surprisingly happy about it, too.

  Judging from the smell, I saw nothing to be happy about.

  I stared in heavy-eyed silence as she popped the last bit of waffle into her mouth and greeted me with a cheerful good morning.

  I saw nothing to be cheerful about either.

  Yesterday had been a total cluster, including that scene at the restaurant. By chance, I'd been driving downtown when my secret source had texted to warn me that a camera guy was going in hard after Anna.

  I'd reached the place just in time to catch Ronnie and his camera lurking outside the women's restroom.

  Maybe that kind of thing happened on the coast, but I didn't like it happening here. And I especially didn't like it happening to Anna, which only pissed me off further.

  I wasn't supposed care.

  But I did.

  Which, of course, made me act like a total shit yesterday.

  Now from the kitchen table, she was saying, "I made extra waffles if you want some."

  I didn't deserve waffles. I deserved a kick in the ass.

  Still, I glanced at the table.

  No waffles.

  Judging from the smell, this wasn't a bad thing.

  Sounding too damned cheerful, she explained, "Yours are in the oven, keeping warm."

  I gave the oven a wary glance before returning my attention to Anna. Why was she being so nice? I didn't deserve it, not after yesterday.

  Now it was just past dawn, and I was off my game. I'd slept shitty and had spent any hours I did sleep dreaming of Anna. In half of the dreams, she was being hunted down by screaming reporters. In the other half, she was being hunted down by me – naked.

  What the fuck?

  When I said nothing in reply, her chin lifted in an obvious challenge. "I ate all of mine."

  I eyed her plate. Yeah, she had. All that remained now were remnants of syrup and melted butter.

  I replied, "Good for you."

  With a smile, she said, "Well, breakfast is the most important meal of the day."

  I didn’t smile back. Why the fuck was she so happy?

  I wasn't happy.

  I was pissed. And tired. And seriously messed up in the head, because whether I wanted to admit it or not, I was actually glad to see her smiling.

  How could I be pissed and glad at the same time?

  I muttered, "I need coffee."

  Anna's brow wrinkled. "But you don't drink coffee."

  "I do now." Or, at least, I was gonna try. And hey, it's not like I had to make it myself. There was full pot sitting on the counter.

  Normally by now, I'd be grabbing my hiking boots and heading outside. But sometime around 3 a.m., I'd decided to skip today's hike and spend the day somewhere else. Where, I didn't know.

  I just knew that I'd be smart to get away from Anna – except now I didn't want to. So instead, I shuffled toward the cupboard and grabbed a mug. As I did, I passed the oven and gave it another wary glance.

  From the table, Anna said. "Oh, I also found some bacon."

  I muttered, "I don't smell any bacon." Whatever I smelled, it was fishy and not in a good way.

  "Well, yeah," she said. "Because it was pre-cooked."

  "What?"

  "That's why you don't smell it," she said. "I didn't have to cook it." She perked up. "But I do have some warming in the oven, with your waffles."

  My waffles?

  Not if I could help it.

  I poured myself some coffee and stared into its murky depths, debating if I should add cream or sugar. Probably, real men drank it black.

  I lifted the cup and took a tentative sip. It tasted like burnt coals. How in the hell did people drink this?

  On the upside, it had to taste better than whatever was festering in the oven.

  Anna rose from the table and said, "Here, I'll get them out for you."

  I gave a sullen scoff. She could get them all she wanted, I wasn't putting my mouth anywhere near those things. Or at least, that was the plan until she said, "…Unless you're not half the man I am." />
  I lowered my mug. "What?"

  "I'm just saying, mine are all gone. But hey, if you're not up to the challenge..."

  Fuck. I lifted my mug and took a bigger gulp of the coffee. Yup, still hated it.

  And already, Anna was reaching into the oven with hot pads to grab the plate. In a breezy tone, she said, "Oh well, I guess I'll toss these in the trash, since you're a big chicken."

  It was the taunt of a grade-schooler. As if I'd fall for something so obvious.

  Who did she think she was dealing with, anyway?

  I said, "You're not fooling anyone, you know."

  She put on her innocent face. "What?"

  "You're taunting me."

  She gave me a smile that was way too sweet. "Am I?'

  Again, I didn't smile back, although – fuck – part of me wanted to. How the hell did she do that? "Yeah," I replied. "You are."

  "If you say so." She made a move to turn away.

  "Wait."

  She turned back. "For what?"

  I eyed the waffles. "What's the dark stuff?"

  "Tuna."

  My eyebrows furrowed. Well, that explained the smell. "Anything else?"

  Again, she perked up. "I found a tin of anchovies."

  I swallowed. "Anchovies?"

  She gave a cheerful nod. "You really do have a terrific shopping service. I swear, they think of everything."

  Funny, I was swearing, too, just not out loud. I gritted out, "Anything else?"

  She lifted the plate closer. "Bacon."

  If she meant the two flimsy strips on the side, yeah, I saw it. "I meant in the waffles."

  "Oh." She made a show of frowning. "No. Sorry."

  I felt my eyes narrow. "And you ate yours? Seriously?"

  She nodded. "Yeah. I had two full ones. Gotta get that protein, right?"

  Two full waffles? And now, there were two full waffles on the plate she was currently holding. This was no coincidence. Of this, I was sure.

  Shit, I could eat two of anything without blinking. It was an easy victory if I ever saw one. "Oh, fuck it," I said and reached toward the plate.

  She pulled it away. "But wait. Don't you want any syrup?" She smiled. "I had mine with syrup."

  Yeah. She had. I'd seen it with my own eyes. But I was only willing to go so far to prove my point. I reached out, farther this time, and snagged the top waffle. I lifted it to my mouth and tore into it with my teeth.

  Trying to chew as little as possible, I swallowed most of the chunks whole and finished with a big gulp of coffee.