Book Four Preview #2
“You got Rory’s approval?” Flynn aims a mock-impressed look at Sawyer.
“Nice work, dude. Many have tried to meet those standards. Many have failed. Speaking of exceptions, where is Mr. Rory?” He glances around, pretending to look for Carson, whose name he absolutely knows.
They’re the same age; they were classmates at Dalton.
“Carson couldn’t make it,” I say stiffly, refusing to display more of a reaction.
“Well”—Flynn reaches for his glass—“I guess those standards aren’t so high after all.”
Wren interjects, like she’s aware I’m dangerously close to dumping the contents of that tumbler over his head, “Open your gift, Rory!”
I grind my molars, paste a smile on my face, and reach inside the bag, pulling out a soft object, wrapped in glittery tissue paper.
I know without asking that Wren wrapped this herself.
It’s completely covered, so I resent the thirty seconds I spent speculating what sort of gift Flynn Parks would consider cute.
I slip my thumb under the tissue paper, pulling up the tape holding the sheets together. A sleek tote bag is revealed, Sue Me neatly stamped in gold letters on one side of the black leather.
I laugh. “I love it, Wren. Thank you.”
She smiles, nodding. “Look inside. There’s more.”
I open the tote, pulling out a portfolio made from the same material. Florence Kensington, Esq. is written on the cover in matching font. My fingers trace the embossed letters lightly, then flip the portfolio open. There’s a yellow legal pad waiting inside.
“It’s perfect,” I tell my sister. “I’ll use it every day.”
“Is suing people how you plan to use your law degree?” Flynn wonders.
“It’s a saying, Flynn,” Wren tells him.
Flynn doesn’t reply. He’s waiting for my response, it appears. Does he really not know where I’m working, or is he messing with me? I assumed Kit would have told him. Then again, I have no clue what his postgrad plans are. If he has any.
“What are you going to do with your law degree?” I ask archly.
“Argue,” he responds without missing a beat.
“How noble.”
A wry smile plays with his mouth. It’s a shame he doesn’t keep it shut more often because he’s awfully nice to look at when he’s silent. Actually, I decide abruptly, it’s for the best he talks so much.
“We can’t all be saints, Florence. Who would you judge if there were no sinners?”
I scoff. “You’re religious now? I assumed you spent your Sunday mornings with models.”
Flynn nods somberly. “Being in bed with me is a religious experience.”
Sawyer chuckles, attempting to cover it with a cough. I basically forgot there were other people at this table. Other people at this party.
I blink rapidly, like a blindfold was just lifted. I do not like bickering with Flynn Parks … but a tiny part of me has accepted it’s a thrill. He might tease me aloud about being a boring rule follower while most people just think that privately, but he also treats me like an equal opponent.
Not that I’ve given him much of a choice. If I acted like he was God’s gift to women, the way I’ve seen countless others do, maybe he’d leave me alone. I’m too proud to find out.
“Parks!” A pair of hands lands on Flynn’s shoulders. “Been looking for you.”
Kit winks at me. He knows I’ve never gotten along with his best friend. I assume distracting Flynn is his graduation gift to me.
“Dylan just went down for his nap, so I’ve got at least an hour. Maybe two. I want to hear all about …” My cousin’s voice trails suddenly. “Everything.”
It occurs to me that Flynn didn’t answer my earlier question.
I still have no clue what his future plans are.
Maybe he doesn’t have any. I know, via Kit, that law school was an ultimatum from Flynn’s father.
That Mr. Parks unabashedly bought his son’s way in.
As someone who’s spent her entire academic career having classmates assume her last name was what guaranteed her spot, I know it’s infuriating.
I’m sure it felt far more unfair to students who saved and scrimped and went into debt to afford tuition.
“Perfect.” Flynn grabs his empty glass. “I was just congratulating your cousin.” He glances at me. “Congrats, Rory.”
“You too,” I reply reluctantly.
I glimpsed him at the commencement ceremony, so it seems like Flynn did, in fact, pass all the same courses I did.
There might be shortcuts for getting admitted, but there aren’t any for attending class or sitting for exams. He’s not as ignorant or heedless as he mostly acts, and I’ve never understood why he insists on acting like fun is the only worthwhile pursuit in life.
Not my problem, I remind myself for what must be the hundredth time.
If I suggested to Flynn Parks I thought he was capable of more, he’d most likely laugh in my face.
Our arms brush a third time when Flynn stands and follows Kit toward the club’s main building.
I release an exaggerated sigh of relief once he’s a few dozen feet away, and Wren and Sawyer both laugh.
I am relieved Flynn left.
I also sort of wish he’d stayed longer.
My entire life, I’ve been told how smart I am. Yet, since I first met Flynn Parks eighteen years ago, I’ve never figured out how one person can inspire two such radically different reactions.
Why my left arm is tingling is a mystery too.
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