Page 45 of Kissing Flynn

But that can’t be right, can it? No. This is his life story we’re talking about here. Of course, it’s not a game to him.

We have three days left to impress him…unless he stays true to form and ousts one of us in the next twenty-four hours. One to three days to prove I’m the best writer for the job.

The thought makes my stomach churn. I want the job, of course, but can I undercut Flynn to get it? Can I crush his dream to make my own a reality?

Or even worse, would Flynn backstab me to claim the victory?

Twenty-Six

Flynn

We did it. Max and I worked together to slay this competition, and we’re officially the last two standing. But my excitement wanes when I look across the table at her. She’s staring down at her plate, the untouched food growing cold.

Why won’t she meet my eyes?

“Congratulations, you two,” Barnard says, the sudden break in silence making both Max and me flinch. “For today’s assignment, you’ll each be given an event in my life with a few details. I want you to flesh it out to a full page so I can assess your individual writing styles. You’ll receive envelopes in your rooms after breakfast, as well as a laptop without internet capabilities to write on. A valet will be around to collect the laptops before dinner, so you have until then to complete the task. Good luck to both of you.”

With that, he pushes out of his chair and leaves the room. Max still isn’t looking at me as she finishes eating, so I move over to her side of the table and slide into the chair Lars vacated earlier.

“What’s wrong.? This is what we wanted, right?”

“Of course,” she murmurs and offers me a wan smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

I take her hand as I stand and pull her up. “Come with me.”

I lead her upstairs to my room. When I close the door, I turn and cross my arms over my chest.

“Talk to me, Max.”

She sighs and shakes her head. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m being stupid. It’s just…we’re together now. I mean, casually. Like sleeping together? I don’t know. And I don’t know how to handle the competition, now. I won’t talk badly about you to Barnard, of course. I’m just not sure if you would give me the same courtesy.”

I’m shocked that she’d think even for a second I’d do something like that, but I’m not angry. Max did just spend the last five years thinking I didn’t want her and that kissing her was a mistake. Even though she knows the truth now, some of that hurt and mistrust obviously remains.

“As far as I’m concerned,” I say, my voice clear and true, “we are together. I asked you on a date when we get home, and I plan on that being the first of many. I want you in my life, Max, and I would never do anything to jeopardize that. I will never hurt you.”

I stalk forward and pull her into my arms. She snuggles against my chest, her own arms snaking around my middle to hug me tightly.

“I won’t hurt you, either,” she vows, and I kiss the top of her head.

“Just to make sure we’re clear,” I whisper into her hair, “I like you, a lot. I always have, and now that I have you back, I refuse to do anything to mess this up. No matter which of us gets this job, I’ll be ecstatic. I won’t try to undercut you in any way. I promise you that, Max.”

I hear a sniffle, so I tuck my fingers beneath her chin and lift her face toward mine, asking, “Are you crying?”

She narrows her watery eyes at the teasing lilt in my voice, saying, “Shut up.”

I laugh and peck a kiss to the tip of her nose. Then one to each cheek. Finally, my lips brush against hers before pulling back slightly and whispering, “I believe we have some business to conclude from this morning.”

I back her toward the bed, then freeze when I spot a laptop and a sealed envelope sitting in the middle of the mattress. Max looks over her shoulder to see what I’m staring at, then wriggles out of my arms. Picking up the items, she moves them to the nightstand before slipping out of her shirt and shorts.

“We’ll get to that,” she says as she reaches behind her to unclasp her bra. “But first, you have a promise to keep, sir.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I say, tugging my shirt off as I stalk toward her. “What the lady wants, the lady gets.”

Twenty-Seven

Max

The feeling of relaxed satisfaction I felt in Flynn’s bed fades under the weight of nervous tension when I return to my room to find a laptop and a sealed envelope waiting on my bed. Identical the one left on Flynn’s bed, my heartrate spikes as I pick up the envelope and break the seal. A single slip of paper rests inside, and I pull it out and unfold it, my eyes skimming a list of facts about Barnard’s very first business.

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