Chapter 2
Two
Flynn
Maxine Nolan. You’ve got to be kidding me right now.
How is it possible she’s here, on this plane, sitting in the seat right next to me? My best friend’s twin sister and the object of all my nightmares?
Our friendship and the way it blew up rolls through my mind on repeat as I crowd the inner wall of the plane’s cabin, attempting to put as much distance between us as possible. I have to. I need the space to breathe.
That moment when our elbows touched earlier nearly did me in, sending ripples of tension through my body. Memories threatened to drown me––the closeness we shared, the laughter. The way Max, Milo, and I always had each other’s backs. Always there for each other as we waded through the victories and failures of college life. Late nights. Early mornings. Weekend trips.
The way Max’s lips felt against mine on that fateful night.
No. Stop it, dumbass.
I try to focus on this trip and the competition ahead, but of course, that leads me back to Max, as well. She’s here, obviously a contender for the job, which means scoring the gig won’t be the slam dunk I assumed it would be after checking out the rest of the competition.
The other six writers on the plane are talented, of course, or they wouldn’t be here. We’d introduced ourselves to each other as we waited to board the plane, and I’d recognized most of their names. A couple of novelists, a self-help book ghostwriter, and a blogger. The other two have actually published biographies I’ve read, and while they should be the frontrunners with that experience, I don’t think Mr. Roxberry will choose either of them. The marketing for the books they’ve written depended on sensationalism and promises of juicy secrets revealed. Marketing that enticed readers to purchase the books, then left them disappointed and unfulfilled.
In other words, they weren’t worth the hype, and the reviews on those books proved it. It makes me wonder why those two are even here. Mr. Roxberry has to know their names would ruin the credibility of the biography.
But Max Nolan? She’s the real deal.
I’ve known that since the first journalism class we shared our freshman year. She’s talented as hell, and her work since college has proven that. She may work for Personality Magazine , but her columns are thorough, insightful, and entertaining.
My position as a columnist at the L.A. Journal and my experience in writing may give me a slight edge…on paper. When compared to a magazine, an established and long-lasting newspaper seems more prestigious, right? But Personality definitely holds more trust and respect than the cheap, glossy wastes of time you can find in the grocery store checkout line. It’s the most popular print magazine and website for celebrity news, and every issue contains at least one insightful, emotional column about real people. Usually written by none other than the woman seated next to me.
Yeah. I read it. Every fucking week. For educational purposes, of course. It has nothing to do with me being a glutton for punishment. Or wanting to keep tabs on Max.
But, hell. None of that matters. I can’t afford to lose. I need this job.
And I know Max wants it just as bad. She’s tenacious and hard-working, not to mention competitive as hell. Beating her out for this job isn’t going to be easy. She’ll fight tooth and nail to come out on top. It’ll be a no-holds-barred fight to the death.
Why does that thought make me want to smile?
No. Don’t fall into that trap, man.
Max used her wiles––and my feelings for her––to get the better of her brother just for the fun of it all those years ago, so I know exactly what she’s capable of. I wouldn’t put it past her to use any lingering attraction I may possess to screw me over during this trip. There was a time I would’ve fallen for it and given her whatever she desired. You want it? Here you go. Silver platter and all.
But not this time. I know better. I can’t fall prey to her machinations. Not again.
The plane bounces roughly, hitting some turbulence, and I open my eyes to glance over at Max. Her hands are clenched so tightly around the arm rests, her knuckles are white. And her usual creamy complexion is a bit green, making the light dusting of freckles on her face stand out in stark contrast.
She’s terrified of flying. I’ve always known that, but seeing her so obviously freaked out strikes a protective chord inside me I haven’t felt in a long, long time. I have a sudden, insane urge to hold her hand, and I have to clench my own into fists to resist it.
Max would kick me in the teeth before she’d accept an ounce of comfort from me.
I wish I’d known how she really felt about me before the night everything blew up. If I had, I wouldn’t have fallen for her act so completely. My future… with her …wouldn’t have flashed behind my eyelids as our mouths met. I wouldn’t have nearly blown up my friendship with Milo.
And I wouldn’t have lost her because I would have known I never actually had her to lose in the first place. I would have known it was all some game she was playing for her own entertainment.
I close my eyes and lean my head back as the plane dips again. I need to stop worrying about Max.
She doesn’t want, nor does she deserve my concern.