Page 26 of Kissing Flynn

There’s a reason I’m here, and it’s supposed to have nothing to do with the gorgeous redhead next to me. I can’t let Milo’s revelations twist me up. I need to keep my head in the game.

When we enter the parlor, there are only four other people present––Barnard, the ghostwriter Danica Black, and the two biographers, Peter Edgewater and Lars Klein.

“Good, good,” Barnard says as Max and I enter the room. “Now that everyone is here, we can begin.”

Max and I look at each other before glancing around at the other confused faces in the room. Barnard clears his throat from his spot by the fireplace, and we all focus on him instead of each other.

“I know I said only one of you would be dismissed today, but things have changed. I cut Mr. Griffin after the interviews, and that should have been it for today, but it was brought to my attention that Penelope Sheridan was spotted eavesdropping outside my office during one of the other interviews. She was, of course, asked to leave. Only the five of you remain. For now.”

God, we’re dropping like flies around here. I need to focus. To keep my head in the game.

I look over at Max, and she returns my gaze with a shaky smile. Focus solely on the work at hand?

Yeah. Not likely.

Seventeen

Max

After Barnard finishes his announcement in the parlor, a few of the kitchen staff roll in a drink cart so we can enjoy a few pre-dinner cocktails. I mentally order myself to keep it to a single drink because I need to keep myself sharp and ready for anything.

People are dropping like corpses around here, and I refuse to be the next casualty.

When we are called to the dining room, the half-empty table leaves a ball of tension in my belly. Of course, I’m happy to have made it through the day without being cut, but the rapidly shrinking group is playing hell on my equilibrium.

And it doesn’t help my focus that I can’t stop thinking about Milo’s confession and that almost-kiss with Flynn earlier. If we hadn’t been interrupted, how far would we have gone?

Would we be in bed right now, naked and sated after finally finishing what we started all those years ago?

The mere thought has me looking over at Flynn, who opted to sit next to me instead of across the table where he usually sits. I can feel the heat radiating from him, warming my side as we wait for dinner to be served.

As I watch him, regret wells in my gut. Maybe I should’ve ignored the knock on the door, at least long enough to kiss Flynn before we were yanked out of the intimate bubble we’d found ourselves in after Milo’s call. I know this whole thing with him is an ill-timed distraction, but the second I found out Milo has been lying to us for years, I felt a huge weight lift from my soul.

The anger I’ve boiled in since it happened vanished, completely, and I was teleported right back to that night when my dreams came true just before it all shattered. My mouth on his, tasting him. And he was just as delicious as I’d imagined. His soft lips, the feel of his hands on my hips. The current sparking in my nipples as they brushed across his chest. The throb in my core as I felt his cock thicken beneath me.

I thought I’d imagined it all after Milo told me what Flynn said. That maybe he only kissed me back so as not to hurt my feelings, and he immediately regretted it.

But he didn’t regret it.

He wanted me as much as I wanted him, and if it hadn’t been for Milo’s anger and lies…

Barnard stands from his chair, ripping me out of my musings. The table goes quiet as he holds up a hand to demand our attention. When he’s satisfied we’re all paying attention, he motions for the staff to start serving us and drops his hand.

“Tomorrow,” he starts, but is cut off by a round of gasps as the lights flicker off, casting the room into total darkness thanks to the light-blocking shades over all the windows.

Nervous murmuring breaks out around the table, then just as suddenly as they went out, the lights pop back on. A feminine scream explodes through the room, startling me so badly, I nearly end up in Flynn’s lap. Barnard is looking at the floor next to him, a hand pressed to his chest in dramatic fashion. I follow suit as the people on my side of the table stand, and gasp when I see a body on the floor, covered in what looks like blood.

It takes me a second to realize the guy is actually breathing, but before I can say anything, the server who screamed points at him and shouts, “He’s dead! Someone killed him!”

I look over at Flynn, and he arches a skeptical brow in my direction. This is all very dramatic, but the woman is clearly acting, and badly, at that. As I turn my attention back to the “murder” scene, Barnard starts to speak.

“There is a murderer among us,” he says, his tone grave. “Reach beneath your chair and pull out the envelope. Read the slip inside, but show no one. It will tell you if you’re the killer or not. Put the slip back into the envelope and pass them to me. If you are the murderer, you must convince everyone else you’re innocent. If you aren’t our killer, you must figure out who is by tomorrow’s breakfast.”

I open my envelope and read the slip inside without removing it. The word “innocent” is printed in fancy script, so I heave a silent sigh of relief and pass my envelope to Barnard. Once he collects everyone else’s, he nods and stuffs them into his jacket pocket.

“You may work together or alone, but beware, someone among you is lying. Be careful whom you trust.”

With that, he leaves the room.

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