AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Was it an emergency? Did the amazing sex give him a sudden burst of inspiration? No idea. But then I put the pieces of the puzzle together. There was another text, one from my sister saying she came by and that I wasn’t home, but that she spoke with Flynn.
Given there wasn’t any mention of me being in his apartment, I assume he didn’t offer up that little fact. Probably for the best. I’m sure Mike would somehow spin it to make it look like I was trying to hurt Presley.
God, I hate that guy.
I know, I know. I should be supportive. My sister loves him, so I should too...or at least tolerate him. But the closer we get to this wedding the less I understand why they’re together. If I say anything, my sister will put it down to my history of avoiding relationships. Avoiding being vulnerable with another person.
If only she knew I cried in Flynn’s arms this morning.
Not my proudest moment. But it felt...nice. It’s been a long time since I let it all out and had someone there to comfort me. My ex certainly wouldn’t have tolerated me crying. He told me once that there was nothing more unattractive than a woman who let her emotions run free.
Red flag? Uh, yeah. One of a dozen I ignored because I wanted so badly for our chemistry to mean something beyond sex. More fool me.
And does it mean something beyond sex with Flynn?
I honestly don’t know...and I don’t know what I want it to mean. Which is why I’ve been steadfastly ignoring him for the past few days. Only now I need to partner up with him—as maid of honour and best man—to deliver a speech for the rehearsal dinner. We’re doing a slide show with funny pictures of Presley and Mike, along with some anecdotes from their childhoods.
Annaleigh told me to “keep it light and funny.”
Can do. Keeping it light is my MO—no ties, no commitments, nothing serious.
But now I’m riding the elevator up to Flynn’s office with a box of photos from my mother’s house and I’m...nervous. Iwantto see him again. I know that because I changed my outfit five times before settling on a black skirt, chunky platform boots and a tight white top over a padded bra that makes my boobs look extra perky. I want to torture him. But I did my makeup so it looks like I’m not wearing any at all—as if I “just woke up like this.” I don’t want him to think I tried too hard.
Ah, girl logic.
Clutching the box under one arm, I hold my breath while the elevator shoots up to the top floor. Butterflies swirl in my stomach. The anticipation is like a fizzy drink that’s been shaken up and is ready to burst.
A softpingannounces my arrival and I exit along with two men dressed in business casual. It seems people don’t really suit up in this office. Actually, for an office, the place has a nice vibe. It’s relaxed, with lots of pale, warm wood and green hanging plants. I don’t know much about it, other than it’s a medical research firm so I assume they also have labs somewhere. Or perhaps they partner with one of the hospitals? This must be their head office.
A receptionist sits behind a simple wood and silver metal desk. It’s very spare and minimalist, a lot like Flynn’s apartment.
“Hi.” The young guy looks up with a friendly smile. He’s wearing a purple-and-white-check shirt, which sits open at the collar. “Can I help you?”
“I’m Drew Richardson. I’ve got a meeting with Flynn.”
“Mr. Lewis?” The guy quirks an eyebrow behind his thick-rimmed glasses as he scans his computer screen.
“Please don’t make me call him that.” I wrinkle my nose. “He’s already got a big enough head.”
The guy looks a little shocked by my response. “Right, of course. Sign your name here and then you can head straight through to Francis—her desk has the big yellow flowers in a gold pot. You can’t miss it.”
“Thanks.” I scrawl my name on the electronic signing pad and then follow his directions.
Deeper into the office, I see a small bank of desks where people sit with headsets. There are a few glass-walled offices along one side and a small, open kitchenette in one corner. It’s not like any of the cube-farm offices I’ve seen in movies.
The woman who can only be Francis spots me before I make it to her desk. Her lips are pursed and I’m not sure if it’s because she’s judging my outfit or if she hates me because of the whole Jack and Jill party thing. Probably both.
“Melanie? Or is it Drew?” Her voice is cold enough to flash-freeze the sun.
“Miss Richardson is fine.”
Chances of me getting stabbed with a letter opener? High.
“You can go straight through,” she says with an air of reluctance.
Flynn’s name is embossed on a silver plate on his office door. I enter and find him standing at the window and looking delectable as ever.
Let me tell you, Mr. Suit is infineform today. His red hair looks brighter with all the sunlight streaming into his office. And, unlike everyone else here, he’s dressed to kill in a charcoal three-piece suit that’s slim-fitting and obnoxiously hot. Not to mention he smells like soap and coffee and all good things. It takes every ounce of my willpower not to launch myself into his arms.
