Chapter 15
Fifteen
Max
I’ve got ants in my pants.
That’s what Mom would say if she could see me now. I started out pacing the length of my room, and the circuit has slowly shortened, leaving me pacing the same three steps back and forth in front of the door that connects my room to Flynn’s. And I’ve spent the last several minutes talking myself out of opening that door…literally and metaphorically speaking.
Today really felt like old times, hanging out with Flynn and actually having a little fun. And that moment when our hands touched in the popcorn bowl? So cheesy and cliché, yet my heart just about jumped out of my chest as electric currents shot through my hand and up my arm .
And now? Now, I’m confused and a little bit turned on, a combination that could be lethal to my psyche.
So, what if Flynn told Milo kissing me was the worst mistake he’d ever made and that it would never–– ever–– happen again? That was years ago. Neither of us are the same people we were back then. Though we were both technically adults at the time, we were basically dumb kids when it came to the emotional and mental stuff. If we started something now, it would be completely different.
“Stop it, Max,” I hiss through my teeth and force myself away from the door.
I’m rationalizing and rewriting history because spending time with Flynn has made me nostalgic. I can’t forget the after and only remember the before. Life doesn’t work that way, and Flynn did, in fact, hurt me with his brutal rejection.
Besides, this is neither the time nor the place to be distracted by him or any other man. I’m here for a reason, and I need to focus on that. Flynn and I may be teamed up to make it to the end, but once we’re the last two standing, all bets are off.
“Focus,” I breathe as I walk into my bathroom and pull the pins from my hair to release the bun I’d arranged it into after my shower.
The red tresses are still damp, so I use a round brush and my blow dryer to style it into fat waves. Afterward, I brush my teeth and reapply my deodorant before heading back out into the room to dig through the pockets of my suitcase. Pulling out a bottle of cherry red nail polish, a bottle of clear coat, and a tub of acetone polish remover wipes, I plop down on the floor and remove my old mauve polish before carefully painting on a fresh coat of the red.
The whole time, I imagine questions Barnard might ask me and carefully craft thoughtful responses to each of them. I practice my smile in the mirror for a while after my nails dry, then I stand in front of the closet where I’ve hung my clothes, debating my options.
I brought a power suit––a cropped navy jacket with a matching pencil skirt paired with a red silk shell––but somehow, it doesn’t feel right. Maybe because I’m on a tropical island. That suit is perfect for the boardroom, not the lanai. Not that we’ll be holding the meeting out on the veranda, but still. The suit would be overkill.
Rifling through the clothes, I smile as I pull out a romper much like the green one I’m wearing. This one is black silk with a damask design across the bust and sports a wide belt with a silver buckle. Paired with black heels, and it’s perfect for a midday meeting.
I dress quickly, then head back into the bathroom. I apply a light dusting of powder to my face, swipe on some mascara and a matte red lipstick that matches my nails, and I’m ready to go. I check the clock and frown.
It’s only three-thirty, and my appointment with Barnard is at four. Flynn should be wrapping up his own meeting, and the temptation of getting a few details out of him before I head to mine is too great. I swing open the door on my side of our connecting portal, ready to knock on his, then freeze when I see his door is cracked open .
“Flynn?” I call out, then push it open before leaning forward to get a good look at the whole room.
I’m surprised to find the space neat and tidy, with not even a stray sock to be seen littering the floor. Flynn was not the best housekeeper when we were in college. His and Milo’s room looked like a tornado hit it every time I set foot in there, so this is a kind of a shock. The bathroom door is open and the lights are off, so he’s still downstairs. Pulling back, I close my connecting door and grab my small handbag from the bed.
If I can get down there fast enough, maybe I can catch Flynn on his way out of the meeting and pick his brain. I pass Penelope on the stairs, but she pretends she doesn’t even see me as she stomps past. I glance over my shoulder at her retreating form with a frown. What’s up with her? Something definitely crawled up her butt and died.
“Gross, Max,” I whisper to myself as I reach the bottom of the staircase.
I check out the dining room and have a peek out at the veranda, but Flynn is nowhere to be seen. I pop my head into every open door I pass on my way to my appointment, and though I do come across a few of the other candidates, I can’t seem to find the one I’m looking for.
As I approach Barnard’s office, I notice the door is standing wide open. I check the time on my phone and curse silently. I’m ten minutes early. I stop in the middle of the hall, fighting the urge to bite my lip––which would ruin my lipstick––as I try to decide what to do.
“Please come in, Maxine. ”
My eyes flare wide. How did he…?
“Hello, Barnard,” I say with a smile as I walk into the room with as much confidence as I can muster. “I’m sorry. I just realized I’m early.”
“Nonsense,” he says, standing and reaching over his desk to shake my hand before waving me into the chair opposite him. “Please, please. Have a seat.”
“Thank you,” I say serenely even though I’m internally freaking out because I’m not ready, and I didn’t get a chance to interrogate Flynn like I wanted to.
“So, tell me about yourself, Max,” he says, retaking his own seat and leaning back with his hands clasped on his stomach.
“Of course, sir. I graduated with top honors and a masters in creative writing at SCUMP––”
“Scump?” he cuts in, and I chuckle.
“Sorry. Southern California University Monterey Park. The students call it SCUMP.”
“Charming,” he says with a twinkle in his eye, “but never mind all that. I’ve read your resume. I don’t need you to regurgitate it for me. I want to know about you, as a person.”
“Oh,” I say taken a bit aback. “Okay.”
Me as a person? Who the hell am I, anyway?
Stop. Don’t panic, Max. You’ve got this.
Do I, though? Oh, God.
“Do you have any siblings?” Barnard asks when the silence turns even more awkward.
I blow out a long breath and smile, happily snatching up the lifeline. “I have a brother, Milo. We’re twins. ”
“Twins?” Barnard asks, nodding slowly. “I bet growing up with a twin was fascinating.”
My head wobbles back and forth as I chuckle. “Most of the time, it’s great. But Milo has this older-brother protective instinct that gets on my nerves more often than not.”
“I bet,” he says with a chuckle of his own. “And your parents?”
“Living in Los Angeles and still sickeningly in love,” I deadpan, making him laugh again. “Milo and I get together with them a lot. We’re all very close.”
“And when you’re not with them or working, what fills your time? Any hobbies?”
This is the weirdest job interview I’ve ever experienced. Barnard is asking only personal questions, and I sure as hell didn’t practice answers to these this afternoon. But I suppose, if I get the job, I’ll be getting very personal with him, so turnabout is fair play. Right?
Only…my life isn’t all that interesting outside of work and family.
“I…uh…like to go to the beach. Something about the sound of the ocean brings me peace. I also enjoy going to the movies. You have an amazing theater room, by the way.”
“Thank you. I’m glad you’ve taken advantage of it. Flynn told me you two watched a comedy film this morning.”
He did?
“Yes. We’re, ah, old friends.”
“He was your brother’s roommate in college, is that right? ”
“Yes,” I say.
This line of questioning is making my skin itch. I can only assume Flynn’s interview got personal like mine is so far. How much, exactly, did he tell Barnard about our past?
“And do the two of you get along?” he asks, making me swallow thickly.
“Yes, we get along just fine.”
Not a lie, precisely. We did get along today. And we got along just fine before that night five years ago.
“Good to hear,” Barnard says with a nod. “Do you have any questions for me?”
I cock my head and narrow my gaze, my nerves forgotten. “Was that a trick question?”
He barks out a laugh. “Yes, I suppose it would seem that way after the events of yesterday. How about this? You can ask me one question without fear of reprisal.”
“Okay,” I say with a nod, then take a second to think. Arching a single brow, I lean forward and rest my clasped hands on his desk. “Best Batman. Go.”
“Michael Keaton, hands down,” he answers without pausing for even a second, and I grin.
“Good answer.”
“Great question,” he replies, then clears his throat. “Thank you for your time, Maxine. Enjoy the rest of your afternoon.”
My mouth opens automatically, some question about the pointlessness of this meeting on the tip of my tongue, but I quickly snap it shut. Giving Barnard a polite nod, I stand and leave the room with my head held high .
The second I get out into the hallway, I slump a bit. What even was that? Barnard now knows I have a twin brother, that my parents are still together, and that I like long walks on the beach, funny movies, and Michael Keaton. How does that help him decide if I’m the right person to write his memoir?
Shaking my head, I head back upstairs to change and see if Flynn is back in his room. I’m dying to find out if his interview was just as looney tunes as mine was. And if Barnard asked him serious career-related questions, what does that mean for me? That the man isn’t taking me seriously?
God, maybe I don’t want to know.
Back in my room, I quickly kick off my shoes and slip out of the black romper before pulling the green one I had on earlier back on. A soft knock on the door between my room and Flynn’s has me rushing over and yanking it open before motioning him inside.
“That was bizarre,” I say without preamble, and Flynn nods in agreement.
“You, too? He asked me about my favorite childhood cartoon––”
“Spongebob, obviously,” I cut in with a grin, and he returns the smile.
“Obviously.” He shakes his head. “Then we talked about college, and he seemed really interested in the fact that we were friends.”
“Same,” I say quietly, biting my lip. “What do you think it means?”
“No clue. Any thoughts?” Flynn says on a sigh, and before I can respond, my phone starts to ring .
Grabbing it from the bed, I see it’s a video call from my brother. I look up to meet Flynn’s eyes as I turn the device around so he can see the screen.
“Answer it. I’ll stay out of sight.”
I nod as I swing the phone back around to face me and tap the screen to take the call. “Hey, Milo.”
“Hey, Max,” he says, and my gaze narrows at the sight of him.
He looks kind of sweaty and visibly twitchy, like he’s sick or something. He quickly swipes a hand across his brow, and I cock my head.
“What’s the matter?”
“I have…uh…something I need to tell you.”
I have to force myself not to look past the phone at Flynn. If Milo has something personal to tell me, I shouldn’t let Flynn eavesdrop on the call. As if he senses my thoughts, I see Flynn wave in my peripheral vision just before he turns to head back into his own room.
He freezes, however, when Milo adds, “It’s about Flynn…and you.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask as Flynn does an about-face and walks closer.
“Just let me get this out, okay?” he pleads, and I give him a slow nod. “I lied to you. And to Flynn. I lied to both of you.”
“About what, Milo? You’re not making any sense,” I say even though I just agreed to let him speak his piece.
“That night,” he says on a sigh. “Back in college when I, you know, caught you two on the couch together. ”
I narrow my eyes again and wait. Where exactly is this going? And what did he lie about?
“I freaked out, okay? I was half-drunk, half-asleep, and out of my mind when I saw…what I saw. As soon as I got you out of there, I punched Flynn in the face.”
“You did what ?” I shout, unable to hold my tongue.
“I know , okay? I was an asshole. Please let me finish.”
Gritting my teeth, I nod, and I can’t help but glance up at Flynn, who’s standing in front of me with rigid posture and a confused expression. I look back at the screen as Milo starts talking again.
“Flynn panicked, and while he did tell me that it was the worst mistake of his life, I knew he was only placating me. It was obvious he was as into you as you were into him. So I panicked and lied, telling him you said you were drunk, you only kissed him to fuck with me, and it meant nothing.”
I feel the blood drain from my face as I look back at Flynn, who’s now wearing a tortured expression. Looking back at the phone, I fight the threat of tears welling in my eyes.
“Milo,” I whisper, the word soaked with endless disappointment.
“I’m so sorry, Max,” he says, his voice broken as his own emotion wells over. “I was freaking out thinking you two would couple up and leave me behind. It was selfish and immature, and by the time I came to my senses, we’d graduated, you’d already gone your separate ways, and everyone seemed okay. And I was afraid to tell you the truth and risk losing you both, anyway. ”
“So why tell me now?” I grit out between clenched teeth, my words dripping with anger.
“Because for whatever reason, you two have been thrown back together, and I just wanted you to hear it from me before you figured it out on your own.”
When I don’t respond, Milo’s head drops. He reaches up to sweep a finger beneath each of his eyes before lifting his head again.
“I really am sorry. You have every right to hate me, but I hope you’ll forgive me, someday.” He sniffs, then nods his head. “I’ll give you all the time you need. And now, I need to call Flynn.”
“No need,” Flynn says, and my own head jerks up to meet his eyes.
“He’s there?” Milo asks, his complexion going white. He shakes his head as if to clear it, then adds in a louder voice, “Flynn, I’m sorry, brother. I hope we can work this out.”
“Milo, I have to go,” I say, keeping my gaze locked on Flynn.
“Okay,” he says. “I love you, Sis.”
Tapping the screen, I end the call without responding. I drop my arm to my side, and the phone slips from my fingers, bouncing off the carpet with a soft thud. Flynn and I just stand there motionlessly, staring at each other with unblinking eyes as we internally digest everything we just learned.
Milo lied. To both of us.
Oh, my God.