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Five
Flynn thought long and hard about what Sabrina said while he lay staring at the glass ceiling in his living room. The stars were bright, the sky a navy blue canvas. A canvas like Sabrina wanted to paint and hang over his fireplace.
From his position on the sofa, he turned his head and looked at the black-and-white painting that was as bland as Sabrina had hinted. His life—his entire life—could use some color. A color other than monotone neutrals or angry reds. A color like Sabrina. Splashy yellow or citrusy orange, he thought with a smile.
Tonight might have been the first time in months he’d stopped to evaluate any part of his existence. If he hadn’t been gathering information for his lawyer for the divorce, he’d been making funeral arrangements for his father, or relocating to this apartment after first removing every single trace of Emmons Parker. Fat lot of good it did him to erase his father from the apartment when Flynn himself was morphing into a younger version of his old man.
He couldn’t let it happen. Wouldn’t let it happen. Sabrina was right. He used to make time to do the things he loved, rather than serve at the pleasure of a sixty-plus-hour week.
The last year had been a blur of takeout, reports and meetings. He pulled a hand over his stomach, and while he hadn’t developed a gut in the slightest, his abs weren’t as chiseled as they could’ve been. At last glance in the mirror, his eyes weren’t as bright either. The dark circles were a result of restless sleep, and the shadow of scruff on his jaw was unkempt enough that he looked more homeless than stylish.
Sabrina’s being here had been reminder enough of what he’d been missing—her presence. And now she was offering to take a hiatus with him to help him out.
After years of her doing things for him, the least he could do was listen to her. His plan to work around his execs’ bailing wasn’t foolproof. Somewhere in the back of his stubborn mind he’d known that all along. Sabrina was unflinchingly honest when she’d told him she missed him and who he used to be. Which meant he was on the fast track to turning into a bitter, iron-hard man like his father.
That glaring truth made deciding easier.
First thing Monday morning, Flynn would call a meeting with his three best friends. A strategy meeting. He could walk away if he knew the place wasn’t eroding in his absence. And if he armed Gage and Reid with what they needed to keep Mac from overriding every implementation he’d put in place, then Flynn could actually relax.
The shiver of relief was foreign, but welcome. He’d tried running the company his father’s way. It was time to try a different strategy—Sabrina’s strategy. Flynn had lost sight of what was important.
It was time to get it back.
Monday morning at Monarch looked the same as it had last week. Flynn was pouring himself a cup of coffee when Gage walked in.
“Morning. Get yourself fired yet?”
“Not yet.” Flynn leaned against the counter.
Reid sauntered in next. “Morning, gentlemen.”
“Singleton.” Flynn dipped his chin. Gage saluted.
“Do you ever have one of those really good dreams,” Reid said as he rinsed his travel mug and set it in the drainer to drip dry, “where you’re with a woman and you’re so in tune with her that even the sunlight doesn’t snap you out of it?” He moved to the espresso machine and started the process of creating his next cup while Flynn blinked at him in disbelief.
His best friend had read his mind.
“Just this morning,” Flynn answered. “Except I woke up before I saw who it was.”
“Perfect.” Reid nodded in approval. “Bloody perfect. When you can’t see who it is, all the better.”
Flynn had spent the weekend sleeping on the sofa despite a brand-new $8,000 bed in the master bedroom. The vestiges of a vividly erotic dream loosened its hold the moment the sun crept over the horizon. He’d made a futile attempt to hang on with both hands, long enough to figure out who belonged to that husky voice murmuring not-so-sweet nothings into his ear.
“How far’d you get?” Reid asked. At Flynn’s questioning glance, he added, “Were you actually laid in your dream or are you still blue-balled from it?”
“Not far enough,” he mumbled. It cut off before the good part.
“Mate.” Reid shook his head. “We need to get you a girl.”
“He’s right.” Gage moved Reid’s espresso aside to make his own. “You can’t handle this much stress and not have sex. Stephenie has a friend, by the way.”
“I thought you’d stopped seeing Stephenie.” Reid leaned a hip on the counter, settling in next to Flynn.
“I did.” Gage poured milk into the steel carafe for steaming. “She’d let me set up Flynn with her sister. Steph and I didn’t end badly. We just ended.”
“You ended it,” Flynn guessed.
“I don’t need serious to have a good time. And you, my friend—” Gage dipped his chin at Flynn “—are way too serious lately.”
