Page 22 of Kissing Flynn

The whole time, I imagine questions Barnard might ask me and carefully craft thoughtful responses to each of them. I practice my smile in the mirror for a while after my nails dry, then I stand in front of the closet where I’ve hung my clothes, debating my options.

I brought a power suit––a cropped navy jacket with a matching pencil skirt paired with a red silk shell––but somehow, it doesn’t feel right. Maybe because I’m on a tropical island. That suit is perfect for the boardroom, not the lanai. Not that we’ll be holding the meeting out on the veranda, but still. The suit would be overkill.

Rifling through the clothes, I smile as I pull out a romper much like the green one I’m wearing. This one is black silk with a damask design across the bust and sports a wide belt with a silver buckle. Paired with black heels, and it’s perfect for a midday meeting.

I dress quickly, then head back into the bathroom. I apply a light dusting of powder to my face, swipe on some mascara and a matte red lipstick that matches my nails, and I’m ready to go. I check the clock and frown.

It’s only three-thirty, and my appointment with Barnard is at four. Flynn should be wrapping up his own meeting, and the temptation of getting a few details out of him before I head to mine is too great. I swing open the door on my side of our connecting portal, ready to knock on his, then freeze when I see his door is cracked open.

“Flynn?” I call out, then push it open before leaning forward to get a good look at the whole room.

I’m surprised to find the space neat and tidy, with not even a stray sock to be seen littering the floor. Flynn was not the best housekeeper when we were in college. His and Milo’s room looked like a tornado hit it every time I set foot in there, so this is a kind of a shock. The bathroom door is open and the lights are off, so he’s still downstairs. Pulling back, I close my connecting door and grab my small handbag from the bed.

If I can get down there fast enough, maybe I can catch Flynn on his way out of the meeting and pick his brain. I pass Penelope on the stairs, but she pretends she doesn’t even see me as she stomps past. I glance over my shoulder at her retreating form with a frown. What’s up with her? Something definitely crawled up her butt and died.

“Gross, Max,” I whisper to myself as I reach the bottom of the staircase.

I check out the dining room and have a peek out at the veranda, but Flynn is nowhere to be seen. I pop my head into every open door I pass on my way to my appointment, and though I do come across a few of the other candidates, I can’t seem to find the one I’m looking for.

As I approach Barnard’s office, I notice the door is standing wide open. I check the time on my phone and curse silently. I’m ten minutes early. I stop in the middle of the hall, fighting the urge to bite my lip––which would ruin my lipstick––as I try to decide what to do.

“Please come in, Maxine.”

My eyes flare wide. How did he…?

“Hello, Barnard,” I say with a smile as I walk into the room with as much confidence as I can muster. “I’m sorry. I just realized I’m early.”

“Nonsense,” he says, standing and reaching over his desk to shake my hand before waving me into the chair opposite him. “Please, please. Have a seat.”

“Thank you,” I say serenely even though I’m internally freaking out because I’m not ready, and I didn’t get a chance to interrogate Flynn like I wanted to.

“So, tell me about yourself, Max,” he says, retaking his own seat and leaning back with his hands clasped on his stomach.

“Of course, sir. I graduated with top honors and a masters in creative writing at SCUMP––”

“Scump?” he cuts in, and I chuckle.

“Sorry. Southern California University Monterey Park. The students call it SCUMP.”

“Charming,” he says with a twinkle in his eye, “but never mind all that. I’ve read your resume. I don’t need you to regurgitate it for me. I want to know about you, as a person.”

“Oh,” I say taken a bit aback. “Okay.”

Me as a person? Who the hell am I, anyway?

Stop. Don’t panic, Max. You’ve got this.

Do I, though? Oh, God.

“Do you have any siblings?” Barnard asks when the silence turns even more awkward.

I blow out a long breath and smile, happily snatching up the lifeline. “I have a brother, Milo. We’re twins.”

“Twins?” Barnard asks, nodding slowly. “I bet growing up with a twin was fascinating.”

My head wobbles back and forth as I chuckle. “Most of the time, it’s great. But Milo has this older-brother protective instinct that gets on my nerves more often than not.”

“I bet,” he says with a chuckle of his own. “And your parents?”

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