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“Just get on with it,” I mutter, pulling the truck off to the side of the road so I can focus completely on this conversation.
Well, not completely because Remi is still taking up a good ninety-nine percent right now.
“I’m just giving you the opportunity to explain to me why I just got off the phone with Mr. Blair.”
“If you’re calling me, then I’m sure you already know.”
“What did you do to that girl?”
A lot less than I wanted to.
“Or should I ask what she did to you?” Maybe there’s humor there, but I’m not putting money on it. “To make him apologize.”
“Apologize?”
“He was very apologetic for her behavior.”
“Hers?” Fucking typical.
“He said he was disappointed in her, utterly embarrassed.” He uses the exact voice I imagine Mr. Blair did on the phone, hoity-toity and full of righteousness.
“So I’m not fired?” Relief washes over me.
“Oh no, you’re definitely fired.” And there goes the rug right out from under my feet. “I mean not from BBS, but you no longer work for the Blairs.”
The clarification makes no change in my emotions. Fired. Again. Because of a woman.
I feel like my world is crumbling down around me all over again, and I can’t decide if it’s the additional black mark on my work ethic or if it’s because I’m going to have to leave her when I go home.
I clear my throat but find myself unable to speak until I do it several more times. “Do you want me on a plane by this afternoon?”
“No. That’s the thing. I reminded Mr. Blair that the birthday party was tonight.”
“Let me guess, he forgot her birthday?”
“Even asked whose party, the dick. I told him there was no way to get a team in place to take over in such a short amount of time. He agreed to allow BBS to work the party, but I want all of you guys on a plane first thing in the morning. We have cases stacking up around here.”
I want to remind him that I could’ve handled this with only two other guys from the office, and that he’s the one that sent five of his men, but I keep my mouth shut.
“Do you want to come home?”
I know what he’s asking. I know what Mr. Blair presumed happened with Remi and me. I know Deacon must be thinking the same thing. I don’t know why I open my mouth and lie.
“I’ve been ready to come home since I got here.”
“Keep her safe tonight, Flynn.”
“Yes, sir.” He grunts at the designation and hangs up.Chapter 22Remington
Not even waking up alone could ruin my good mood. Flynn held me all night. His arms were around me, his breaths soft and even against the top of my head for hours and hours.
There was no tension in his muscles, no signs of stress as if he were being forced to do something he didn’t want to do just because I was feeling a little off center.
I didn’t have the conversation I wanted, but his actions spoke louder than any confession ever could.
My grin slips from my face when I leave his room, intent on finding him and pressing my mouth to his. How is it possible he had his fingers inside of me and we haven’t even kissed since that night outside of the bar he dragged me from? I was planning to remedy that, but fate had other plans.
“Are you proud of yourself?”
I startle, caught between wanting to run and throwing down the sheet I wrapped myself in to find Flynn and remind my parents I’m a damn adult. A temper tantrum would be the opposite of the point I want to get across, so I decide against it.
“Good morning to you too, Mother.”
Instead of hauling ass out of the kitchen, I head to the coffee pot to pour me a cup. Maybe since I’m twenty-one now they’ll actually treat me like a grown-up, but you know what they say about putting your wishes in one hand.
“How long are you going to keep acting like a harlot?”
I scoff, my back to them, surprised both of them are still in the room considering their normal MO is to walk away when I enter a room. Mother never passes on the opportunity to chastise my behavior though.
I open my mouth to explain nothing happened in his room, but she doesn’t give me the chance.
“If you’re going to act like a whore, Remington, at least do it with someone worthy of being seen in public with.”
My hand freezes over the handle to the coffee pot. Is that her problem? That Flynn isn’t someone she would consider as being able to advance her name and popularity.
“Kyle Steele would be better than sleeping with the help, Remington. Are you even listening to me?”
I spin around, glaring at my mother.
