Chapter 25
Twenty-Five
Max
My eyes blink open slowly, and I push my arms out as a yawn stretches my lungs. I’m on my back, and a quick glance left shows me Flynn is still asleep in my bed, stretched out on his stomach with his face turned toward me.
Slowly and careful not to bounce the bed too much, I turn onto my side and brace my cheek on my bent elbow. Flynn looks so peaceful like this, his face slack with sleep and his long, dark eyelashes fanned against the tops of his cheeks.
I hold my breath as his brow wrinkles, then his lips curve upward slightly before he says, “I can feel you watching me sleep, Creeper.”
“What?” I groan like I’m in the process of waking up, myself. “What are you talking about? ”
“Mm, hmm,” he hums just before his eyes pop open.
Lifting his head and shoulders, he leans in as if to kiss me, but I rear back as I slap a hand over my mouth. “Nope. Haven’t brushed my teeth, yet.”
He lunges with a playful growl, somehow rolling me onto my back, landing on top of me, and pinning my arms down above my head in a single move. He pecks at my sealed lips over and over, but I refuse to open my mouth. Lifting his head and shooting me a look of consternation, he reaches down and grips my knee. He lifts up, and his lower body settles more fully between my thighs. He rolls his hips, and his hard length drags over my clit to notch at my entrance.
My mouth pops open with a gasp at the shock of it, and he strikes, sealing his lips to mine and driving his tongue inside with a groan of pleasure. I forget my morning breath, completely as I kiss him back, and I buck my hips, driving the tip of his cock inside me.
We both freeze when a knock sounds at the door, and Flynn lifts his head as a valet calls out, “Excuse me, Miss Nolan. Mr. Roxberry would like everyone to meet him for breakfast in thirty minutes.”
“Thank you,” I call back. “I’ll let Mr. Nightingale know.”
Flynn’s eyes snap to mine, and I giggle as the valet calls back, “Very well.”
Flynn drops his forehead to my shoulder with a groan, then pulls his hips back to free the head of his cock before rolling off me to land on his back beside me. I turn my head to look at him, but he keeps his gaze on the ceiling as he sighs again .
“I guess we should shower and get dressed.”
“Yes, we should,” I say with a teasing lilt, and he turns his head to look at me.
“I meant alone ,” he replies like he hates the idea. “If I don’t leave right now, we’ll be late.”
I try to imagine the two of us walking into the dining room to find the others waiting, knowing what we’ve been up to since we were both running behind. The thought makes me flush hot.
“You’re right,” I say, sitting up. “As much as I want you deep inside me right now, we’d better get ready.”
“God, Maxine,” he groans, throwing an arm over his eyes. “You can’t say stuff like that when I’m trying to be the responsible one.”
I laugh at his theatrics, then lean over and press a kiss to his bare stomach before hopping out of bed. With another loud groan, Flynn does the same, then walks naked toward his room before looking over his shoulder to shoot me a heated glance.
“To be continued,” he says, then turns back and saunters through the doorway.
“Hell, yeah, it is,” I murmur to myself with a smile, then move to the closet to grab some clean clothes before shutting myself in the bathroom.
When I finish showering and getting ready, I poke my head into Flynn’s room, but he’s already gone. I swallow the twinge of disappointment creeping up my throat and head downstairs, alone. When I get to the dining room, I pause in the doorway, spotting Flynn at the table by himself, a secret smile gracing his lips.
I smile back and move toward my usual seat. I stop again, however, when I notice the bright pink flower resting in the middle of my plate. I move forward, sliding into my chair before picking it up and holding it beneath my nose. Breathing deep, I exhale with a smile and meet Flynn’s gaze.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“You’re welcome,” he mouths back, and the moment is broken when Lars strolls in with a loud, obnoxious yawn.
“These early-morning summons are bullshit,” he mumbles as he sides into the chair next to me.
I feel myself automatically scoot to my left, putting another inch or so between us. I look across the table to see Flynn’s jaw twitching, proof that he’s grinding his molars together as he stares death rays at Lars.
Peter strides in without comment, rounding the table and slumping into the chair next to Flynn. I watch him rub the sleep from his eyes, then tense when I feel Lars lean toward me.
“You look hot this morning, Max,” he whispers, and revulsion slams through me as I turn my attention to him.
“Personal space, Lars .”
“Damn, I was trying to give you a compliment,” he grumbles, leaning back in his chair. “You don’t have to be a bitch about it.”
Before I can react, Flynn’s palms slam onto the table, rattling the empty place settings. He starts to push himself up out of his chair as his eyes eviscerate the scumbag next to me, but he freezes when Barnard walks into the room with a loud greeting .
Flynn’s dark stare remains on Lars as Barnard takes his seat, asking, “How is everyone doing this morning?”
“Fine,” Peter calls out when no one else answers, his voice cracking on the word.
Flynn finally looks away from Lars to face Barnard, giving him a stiff nod in greeting. If Barnard notices the thick tension in the room, he ignores it as he picks up the newspaper folded neatly next to his plate.
Bethany pushes a buffet cart into the room laden with scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, fruit, and oatmeal, and Barnard invites us to help ourselves while he skims his paper. I feel nervous as I stand, my little altercation with Lars forgotten as I wonder why Barnard gathered us so early for breakfast this morning.
Will he stay true to form and eliminate one of us? Who will it be?
God, I hope it’s Lars.
Flynn settles beside me at the buffet, and when I look up at him, he offers me a look of encouragement. One that screams he believes in me. In us .
And just like that my nerves fizzle and die. How does he do that? Calm me with just a single look? It’s like he knows me better than anyone else. Knows exactly what I need in any given situation and gives it to me without pause.
As the four of us retake our seats, Barnard refolds his paper and sets it back on the table. Leaning back in his chair, he eyes each of us for a long moment, then motions for us to begin eating. Bethany and another staff member walk into the room with carafes of coffee and juice, serving Barnard first, and he sips from his cup as we begin to eat.
The vibe is weird, and I can feel my nervous energy building back up. I wish Barnard would fill his own plate and eat rather than just sitting there watching us with that pensive expression.
As if he sensed my thoughts, Barnard’s eyes land on me. I try not to squirm as he watches me for several long beats. Then he seems to nod to himself before turning that hawk-eyed gaze on Flynn. He doesn’t react, just takes a sip of his own coffee like nothing bothers him.
Barnard seems to come to some decision, then clears his throat. Once all eyes are on him, he sets his coffee cup back on its saucer and stands.
“Mr. Edgewater, Mr. Klein, you are dismissed. There’s a plane waiting on the landing strip to take you back to the mainland airport so you can catch your flights home. You’ll find fully paid tickets in your room when you return there to pack.”
I look over at Flynn with wide eyes, and he stares right back at me with the same expression. Peter mumbles a few words, thanking Barnard for his hospitality before excusing himself and leaving. Lars, however, remains in his seat, staring at our host with an incredulous look on his face.
“Are you serious?” he spits, and my spine stiffens.
“Quite,” Barnard says, picking up his empty plate and heading for the buffet cart.
“You’re making a mistake, old man,” Lars says, his voice deep and filled with menace.
Barnard spins around, gives Lars a patronizing smile, then nods toward the doorway. I look back in time to see two burly men in staff uniforms barrel into the room. Lars leaps to his feet and holds up his palms.
“Touch me, and I’ll sue, mother fuckers.”
“Goodbye, Mr. Klein,” Barnard calls out, his voice firm and demanding.
With a sneer, Lars stomps from the room without assistance. The two men follow him out, obviously intent on watching him to make sure he packs up and leaves without incident. The room, itself, seems to breathe a sigh of relief once he’s gone, and Barnard returns to the table with a plate piled with food. He spreads his napkin over his lap and rubs his palms together with glee before digging in and acting like nothing out of the ordinary has happened.
I meet Flynn’s gaze, and he’s smiling back at me. The realization that we did it, that we’re the last two standing, hits me hard and fills me with excitement and accomplishment. The feeling quickly fades, however, when I think about the flip-side of that lucky coin.
Flynn is now my only competition for the job.
This was the plan all along, but now that we’re together? Romantically? This situation suddenly feels extremely complicated.
I look at Barnard, who’s wearing a smug smile as he eats. I get the feeling he knows how close Flynn and I have gotten and picked us for the final two just to see how it will all play out. Like it’s all a game to him.
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?