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“Yes,” Flynn responded, thankfully undeterred with sharing a spoon. “Errol called in security reinforcements. So, I created a video clip of me in a dress and a platinum-blond wig, alerting the security team who have, since, left the premises in search of the escapee.”
“You wore my dress?” she asked with skepticism.
“Actually, it was a similar gown from my mother’s collection. I managed to camouflage my comparatively rotund appearance with one of her long fluffy fur coats. The coat, alongside the graininess of the nighttime video, was enough to be convincing.”
“And this brilliant coup was to…”
“I’m to take you directly to Lucas.”
Despite her heart taking flight and having to resist clapping her hands with unreserved joy, she said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Too risky. For Lucas.
“I’m afraid I have strict orders.”
“Please,” she scoffed. “He’s not the boss of you, Flynn.”
“Negative. I am now under his employ as his second. His wingman. Boy Friday.”
“He hired you?” Again, with skepticism.
“Affirmative.”
“Geez, you’re not twelve years old, Flynn. You actually bought that crap?”
“He sent me a W-4 form. I filled it out. It’s official.”
“Are you saying you’re his new assistant?”
“Yes, a woman by the name of Lilith has been released from his employ, and I am now his formal assistant and will be moving to the bucolic town of Wayward. As his personal wingman. Boy Friday.”
“Whoa,” she said, with wide eyes. “He finally fired Lilith.”
“Apparently, she wasn’t working out,” Flynn said matter-of-factly.
“What about Tati? Weren’t you supposed to be her wingman, Boy Friday?”
“She’s welcome to counter.”
Flynn was going rogue. Looking out for himself.
She liked that.
However, she didn’t have the luxury of acting in kind.
“Tell Lucas to stay away and I’ll be in touch as soon as I work through this snag.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible, the Pinkie Posse, as you call them, requires your presence, as well. Might I add that they can be quite intimidating.”
Oh? Well, that was a different story.
She didn’t dare deny them. It wasn’t done. Despite being fifteen hours and over a thousand miles from Wayward, Georgia, you just didn’t say no to Pinkie and her motley crew.
That said, the ladies were way over their prematurely gray, as they liked to put it, heads.
“Fine,” she said, looking down at the silky nightgown, sans bra and bare feet. “But I need to change.”
Out of nowhere, the PB was set to the side and the aforementioned fluffy coat, three sizes too big, and a pair of kitten heels were pulled from a nearby rattan chair and handed to Birdie.
