Page 49 of Kissing Flynn

And there’s no doubt about it––I’m in love with Maxine Nolan.

Twenty-Nine

Max

What in the hell am I doing?

Sabotaging myself, of course.

Over the course of the afternoon, I realized something––I care more about Flynn than I do this job. It’s crazy, and I battled with the decision for hours. I still hadn’t decided what to do when I left my room earlier, and then Flynn took my hand. He offered me comfort and support when I needed it most. He’s a good man and a great writer, and he deserves this job.

I know I deserve it, too. I’m not belittling my own talent and drive. But something deep inside me won’t let me risk taking this job from Flynn. And even though I felt his questioning gaze at dinner and my heart hurt ignoring him like that, I couldn’t tell him what I’m doing. And I can’t tell him once it’s done.

He’ll see it as pity, or worse, that I don’t believe in him. That I think he can’t win the job over me. That’s not the case at all. I know he has a good chance at winning. A great one, actually, but just in case…

“I’d like to pull myself out of the running for the job,” I blurt as soon as Barnard and I are closeted in his office.

He freezes, his eyes flaring wide as he stares at me with stark incredulity. When he visibly gathers his wits, he cocks his head and pins me with a curious gaze.

“May I ask why?”

I briefly consider lying and making up some imaginary family emergency, but Barnard isn’t an idiot. Besides, I respect him too much to give him anything but the truth.

“I want Flynn to have the job. He deserves it. You can dismiss me now, or I can stay and pretend to still be in the running, whichever you prefer. But if you don’t mind, I’d like to keep this conversation between us.”

He stares at me in silence for so long, my muscles start to twitch. My knees are trembling. My heart is racing.

Just when I open my mouth to say…I don’t know what, Barnard holds up a palm and says, “I think I’ll have you stay until I’m ready to announce my choice.”

“Okay. Thank you,” I reply, my voice wispy and cracked.

He dismisses me with a wave, and I walk to the door on wobbly legs. Pulling it open, I step out and turn to close it, catching Barnard’s thoughtful gaze on me. We hold the eye contact as I slowly close the door behind me, giving him a chance to speak if he has something more to say. He doesn’t, though. He just stares until the door clicks shut.

Taking a big step back, I inhale deeply through my nose and blow it out through slightly parted lips. That was harder than I thought it was going to be. As much as we’ve seen the softer, more laid-back side of Barnard, he’s still a shrewd businessman who can be quite terrifying when he wants to be.

I spin around, ready to dart upstairs, then freeze again when I realize what comes next. I have to face Flynn. He’s going to want to know what that private meeting was all about, and I can’t tell him. I also don’t want to lie to him, either. We’ve dealt with enough falsehoods to last us a lifetime.

But what else can I do? If I tell him the truth, he’ll insist I go straight to Barnard and take back my request to forfeit. Not that doing so would really matter, anyway. Now that Barnard knows my heart isn’t really in it, any chance I had of beating Flynn is gone.

The fact still remains––I don’t want Flynn to know what I’ve done. I don’t want him to pass on this opportunity because he thinks he hasn’t earned it. He definitely has. All I’ve done is give him a little leg up.

So, my only choice is to avoid the truth. Stretch it and pull it until Flynn’s satisfied with my answer and lets it go.

And pray he doesn’t see the lies in my eyes.

I head upstairs, and the second my door snaps shut behind me, there’s a knock on the one that separates my room from his. Taking a deep breath, I walk over and pull it open.

“Hey,” he says, his blue gaze already searching for the truth in mine.

“Hey,” I reply, then take a few steps back so he can come in.

“You okay?” he asks, but I hear the real question in his words.

What was that all about?

“Yeah, I’m good,” I say, steeling my spine for this next bit. “I was just freaking out and felt like I had to explain some of my choices in the page I wrote.”

There. He won’t ask what my topic was because we agreed not to tell each other and play by Barnard’s rules, so he can’t very well ask for details now, right?

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