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Yeah, his neck had nailed it. The camera crew were back. They’d wandered off to interview people at Rangers Football Club in Glasgow, to fill in some backstory for the documentary. He’d been hoping they’d forget to wander back.
“Let the goat free, baby,” Claire said to Grunt.
The big buy opened his arms and dropped the goat.
“Not like that,” Claire shouted. She wrapped her arms around the animal and cooed in its ear. “Poor baby. It’s okay.”
Flynn shared a look of bewilderment with Grunt. It was their first male bonding moment. Flynn felt like they should mark the occasion with beer or something.
“Done here,” Grunt said.
Guess beer was out, then. Claire blathered instructions about goat care as Grunt grabbed her hand and dragged her back to his SUV. A minute later Flynn was left standing in a field with a camera crew and a strange goat.
The goat bleated at him. She then headed for the lounger and proceeded to eat the padding off the seat. Flynn pretended he didn’t see anything and went back into his van.
As soon as he stepped inside, the duck let out a loud protest quack.
Flynn put his hands on his hips and hung his head.
This was his life. And people wondered why he acted out.
There was another knock at his door, this one a lot more timid than the last. With a heavy sigh, Flynn went to open it. The shy assistant to the producer stood staring at her shoes. Flynn felt for the woman. She was always taking crap from the weasel, probably because she was the only member of the crew with a conscience.
“What’s up, honey?” He remembered the Ball Babe dig about him not bothering to learn their names and felt bad. “What’s your name again?”
She was startled by the question, as though she didn’t rate him knowing her name. It made him feel even more like a self-obsessed asshole than he’d felt before.
“Julia,” she whispered.
“Well, Julia, what can I do for you?” Flynn plastered a charming smile on his face, even though the woman was still staring at her feet.
“It’s time for your interview.”
“Interview?” He was trying his best to avoid the documentary crew—why would he want to take part in an interview?
“Your agent spoke to my producer. They arranged for a formal session where you would answer questions about your career.” Wide eyes looked up at him. They were pretty eyes, but they weren’t stunning. Not like Abby’s were. “Originally the questions were going to be seeded into a more relaxed situation. As though you were conversing with friends as part of your everyday life. But Mr Flannigan is getting a little impatient. So your agent thought a formal interview might be better. We’re setting up for it now.”
Flynn clenched his jaw. It was round about now the old Flynn would lose his temper, shout at the girl, shout at the producer, then call up his agent and shout at him too. But he was the new Flynn. He was being mature. Rage bubbled inside him, but he swallowed it down.
“I’ll get changed and meet you outside.” The words almost stuck in his throat.
Julia blinked hard. “You’re going to do it? Without a fight?”
It was a direct hit. Flynn smiled at her. “Contrary to popular belief, honey, I’m not always a dick.”
She giggled, then flushed red when she realised she’d let a laugh slip.
“Go on. I’ll be out soon. Can’t do a formal interview in a T-shirt. Got to get into a suit.”
“I don’t think you need to—”
He held up a hand to stop her. “I know press calls, honey. I’m wearing a suit.” A suit was armour in these situations. There was no way he was letting the weasel pry into his head without armour.
She nodded, mumbled something, then left. Keeping a tight rein on his fury, Flynn went to retrieve his phone so he could chew out his agent. He got two steps before he remembered h
e’d killed the phone after the last talk with his agent. He stared at the ceiling and tried to slow his breathing.
Being good was so bloody hard.
