Best Friends, Secret Lovers Read online

  Sabrina leveled him with a wide-eyed hazel stare. Her eyes were beautiful. Piercing green-gold, and behind her glasses they appeared twice as large. She’d been with him through the divorce from Veronica, through his father’s illness and subsequent death. The last couple of months for Flynn had started to resemble the life of Job from the Bible. He hadn’t contracted a case of boils as the Monarch offices collapsed in on themselves, yet. He wasn’t going to tempt fate by stating he was out of the woods.

  Emmons Parker knew what his sons had been through, so when he’d had his lawyer schedule the meetings to read the will, he’d made sure they happened on separate days.

  Flynn on a Sunday. Julian on a Monday.

  Unfortunately, Flynn knew Veronica had gone to the reading with Julian, even though he’d rather not know a thing about either of them. Goddamn Facebook.

  Julian inherited their father’s beloved antique car collection and the regal Colonial with the cherry tree in the front yard where they’d grown up. Flynn inherited the cabin in Colorado as well as the business and his father’s penthouse apartment downtown. Julian was “starting a family,” or so the lawyer had read from the will, so that was why Emmons had bequeathed their mother’s beloved home with the evenly spaced shutters to his oldest, and least trustworthy, son.

  The son who was starting a family with Flynn’s former wife.

  Today Flynn had accepted hugs and handshakes from family and friends but had successfully avoided Julian and Veronica. His ex-wife kept a close eye on Flynn, but he refused to approach her. Her guilt was too little and way too late.

  “I don’t know what to do.” Sabrina spoke around what sounded like a lump clogging her throat. She was hurting for him. The way she’d hurt for him when Veronica left him. Her pink lips pressed together and her chin shook. “Sorry.”

  Abandoning the tie, she swiped the hollows of her eyes under her glasses, careful of the eye makeup that had been applied boldly yet carefully as per her style.

  He didn’t hesitate to pull her close, shushing her as she sniffed. The warmth of that embrace—of holding on to someone who cared for him so deeply and knew him so well—was enough to make a lump form in his own throat. She held on to him like she might shatter, and so he concentrated on rubbing her back and telling her the truth. “You’re doing exactly what you need to do, Sabrina. Just your being here is enough.”

  She let go of him and snagged a tissue from a nearby box. She lifted her glasses and dabbed her eyes, leaning in and checking her reflection. “I’m not helping.”

  “You’re helping.” She was gloriously sensitive. Attuned. Empathetic. Some days he hated that for her—it made her more at risk of being hurt. He watched her reflection, wondering if she saw herself as he did. A tall, strong, beautiful woman, her sleek brown hair framing smooth skin and glasses that made her appear approachable and smart at the same time. She wore a black dress and stockings, her heeled shoes tall enough that when she’d held him a moment ago she didn’t have to stretch onto her toes to wrap her arms around his neck.

  “Okay. I’m okay. I’m sorry.” She nodded, the tissue wadded in one hand. Evidently this okay/sorry combo marked the end of her cry and the beginning of her being his support system. “If there’s anything you need—”

  “Let’s skip it,” he blurted. The moment the words were out of his mouth, he knew it was the right thing to do.

  “Skip...the rest of the funeral?” Her face pinched with indecision.

  “Why not?” He’d seen everyone. He’d listened as the priest spoke of Emmons as if he was a saint. Frankly, Flynn had heard enough false praise for his old man to last a lifetime.

  Her mouth opened, probably to argue, but he didn’t let her continue.

  “I can do it. I just don’t want to.” He shook his head as he tried to think of another cohesive sentence to add to the protest, but none came. So he added, “At all,” and hoped that it punctuated his point.

  She jerked her head into a nod. “Okay. Let’s skip it.”

  Relief was like a third person in the room.

  “Chaz’s?” she offered. “I’m dying for fish and chips.” Her eyes rounded as her hand covered her mouth. “Oh. That was...really inappropriate phrasing for a funeral.”

  He had to smile. Recently he’d noticed how absent from his life she’d been. It’d be good to go out with her to somewhere that wasn’t work. “Let’s get outta here.”

  “Are you kidding me?” His brother, Julian, appeared in the doorway, his lip curled in disgust. “You’re walking out on our father’s funeral?”

  Like he had any room to call Flynn’s ethics into question.

  Veronica’s blonde head peeked around Julian’s shoulder. Her gaze flitted to Flynn and then Sabrina, and Flynn’s limbs went corpse-cold.

  “Honey,” she whispered to Julian. “Let’s not do this here.”

  Honey. God, what a mess.

  Sabrina took a step closer to Flynn in support. His best friend at his side. He didn’t need her to defend him, but he appreciated the gesture more than she knew.

  Julian shrugged off Veronica’s hand from his suit jacket and glared at his brother. It was one of Dad’s suits—too wide in the shoulders. A little short in the torso.

  Julian didn’t own a suit. He painted for a living and his creativity was why Veronica said he’d won her heart. Evidently, she found Flynn incapable of being “spontaneous,” or “thoughtful,” or “monogamous.”

  No, wait. That last one was her.

  “You’re not going to stand over your own father’s grave?” Julian spat. Veronica murmured another “honey,” but he ignored it.

  “You’ve made it clear that it’s none of my business what you do or don’t do.” Flynn tore his gaze from Julian to spear Veronica with a glare. “Both of you. Same goes for me.”

  Her blue eyes rounded. He used to think she was gorgeous—with her full, blond hair and designer clothes. The way her nails were always done and her makeup perfectly painted on. Now he’d seen what was under the mask.

  Selfishness. Betrayal. Lies.

  So many lies.

  “Don’t judge me, Flynn,” she snapped.

  “You used to be more attractive.” The sound of his own voice startled him. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

  “Son of a bitch!” Julian lunged, came at him with a sloppy swing that Flynn easily dodged. He’d learned how to fistfight from Gage and Reid, and Julian only dragged a paint-filled brush down a canvas.

  Flynn ducked to avoid a left, weaved when Julian attempted a right, cracked his fist into his older brother’s nose. Julian staggered, lost his balance and fell onto his ass on the ground. Sabrina gasped, and Veronica shrieked. Julian puffed out a curse word as blood streamed from his nose.

  “Honey. Honey. Talk to me.” Veronica was on her knees over Julian’s groaning form and Flynn didn’t know what sickened him more. That his ex-wife cared about his brother’s well-being more than the man she’d vowed to love forever, or that Flynn had lost his temper with Julian and hit him.

  Both made his stomach toss.

  “Are you okay?” Sabrina came into focus, her eyebrows tenderly bowed as she watched him with concern. He hated her seeing him like this—broken, weak—like he’d felt for the last several months.

  “I’m perfect.” He took her hand and led her from the small room and they encountered Reid and Gage advancing at a fast walk down the hallway.

  “We heard a scream.” Reid’s sharply angled jaw was set, his fists balled at his sides. Gage looked similar, minus the fists. His mouth wore a scowl, his gaze sweeping the area around them for looming danger.

  “You okay?” Gage asked Sabrina.

  “I didn’t scream. That was Veronica.”

  “We’re fine,” Flynn said before amending, “Julian’s nose is broken.”

  “Broken?” A f
raction of a second passed before Reid’s face split into an impressed smile. He clapped Flynn on the shoulder.

  “Do not encourage him,” Sabrina warned.

  “So what now?” Gage asked at the same time more of Julian’s groaning and Veronica’s soothing echoed from the adjacent room.

  “We’re skipping the rest of the funeral,” Flynn announced. “Who wants to go to Chaz’s for fish and chips?”

  “I do,” Reid said, his British accent thickening. The man loved his fish and chips.

  Gage, ever the cautious, practical friend, watched Flynn carefully. “You’re sure this is what you want to do?”

  Flynn thought of his father, angry, yelling. His gutting words about how if he wanted to become as great a man as his father, Flynn would have to first grow a pair. He thought of Emmons’s bitter solitude after Mom had succumbed to cancer fifteen years ago. Emmons had suffered that same fate, only unlike Mom, he’d never woken up to what was really important. He’d taken his bitterness with him to the grave. Maybe that’s why Flynn couldn’t bear seeing his old man lowered into it.

  Sabrina wrapped her hand around Flynn’s and squeezed his fingers. “Whatever you need. We’re here.”

  Reid and Gage nodded, concurring.

  “I’m sure.”

  That was all it took.

  They skirted the crowd patiently waiting for him to take his place as pallbearer. Moved past nameless relatives who had crawled out of the woodwork, and past one of Veronica’s friends who asked him if he knew where she or Julian were.

  “They’re inside,” he told her.

  Never slowing his walk or letting go of Sabrina’s hand, he opened the passenger side door for her while Gage and Reid climbed into the back. Then Flynn reversed out of the church’s parking lot and drove straight to Chaz’s.

  Two

  Six months later

  At Monarch Consulting, Flynn brewed himself an espresso from the high-end machine, yet another perk—pun intended—of being in charge.

  The break room had been his father’s private retreat when he was alive and well, and he’d rarely shared the room. Not the case for Flynn. He’d opened up the executive break room to his closest friends, who shared the top floor his father had formerly hogged for himself.

  Flynn didn’t care who thought he was playing favorites. When he’d returned home from vacation and become president, he’d outfitted the upper floor with three new offices and placed his friends at his sides. They were a good visual reminder that Flynn wasn’t running Monarch in a vacuum—or worse, a void.

  It was his company now. He could do what he wanted. God knew Emmons had been doing it his way for years.

  Monarch Consulting was a management consulting firm, which was a fancy way of saying they helped other businesses improve their performance and grow. Monarch was dedicated to helping companies find new and better ways of doing things—an irony since Emmons had done things the same way for decades.

  Gage Fleming’s official title at Monarch was senior sales executive. He was in charge of the entire sales department, which was a perfect fit for his charm and likability. Reid was the IT guy, though they fancied up his nameplate to read Digital Marketing Analyst. Sabrina, with her fun-loving attitude and knack for being a social lubricant, was promoted to brand manager, where she oversaw social media factions as well as design work and rebranding.

  Flynn stirred a packet of organic cane sugar into his espresso and thought about his best friends’ support of his climb to the very top. They were the glue that kept him together.

  “What’s up, brother?” announced one of those best friends now. Flynn turned to find Gage strolling into the room. Gage wasn’t his biological brother, but was worthy of the title nonetheless.

  Oh, that I could choose.

  Gage’s hair had grown some since Flynn’s father’s funeral. Now that it was longer, the ends were curling and added a boyish charm to the mountain of charm Gage already possessed. Flynn didn’t know anyone Gage didn’t get along with, and vice versa. It made him an asset at work, and he provided a softer edge for Flynn whenever he needed it—which, lately, was often.

  “Surprised you’re still upright after the long weekend.” Gage slapped Flynn’s back.

  The long weekend was to celebrate the finalization of Flynn and Veronica’s divorce. It couldn’t have come soon enough, but Flynn hadn’t felt like celebrating. His divorce marked an epic failure that piled onto the other failures he’d been intimately acquainted with lately. In no way would Gage and Reid have let the momentous occasion pass by without acknowledgment.

  Acknowledgment in this case meant going out and getting well and truly “pissed,” as Reid had put it. And honestly, Flynn had had fun letting go and living in the moment, at least for a weekend.

  “I always land on my feet,” Flynn grumbled, still tired and, yeah, probably a little hungover from last night. He should’ve stopped drinking before midnight.

  “Good morning, Fleming.” Reid sauntered in next. “Morning, Parker.” Reid had refused to leave his accent in London. He kept it fine-tuned for one essential reason: women loved it.

  Where Flynn was mostly an insensitive, shortsighted, hard-to-love suit, Gage was friendly and well liked, and Reid...well, his other friend was a split between the two of them. Reid had charm in spades but also had a rough edge from a past he’d always been tight-lipped about.

  Flynn figured he’d tell them when he was ready. At this rate probably when one of them was on his deathbed.

  “Well, well, well, what have we here? Three of Seattle’s saddest rich boys.”

  Sabrina strolled in with her signature walk, somehow expressing both childlike wonder and sophisticated capability. Her slim-fitting skirt, blouse and high-heeled shoes proved she was 100 percent woman. Sabrina had a fun-loving attitude but liked everything in its place. She was the only one who’d balked at the promotion that Flynn had had to talk her into. She put others ahead of herself often, which was so converse to who Veronica was it wasn’t even funny.

  Sabrina saw the world as a sunshiny bouquet of happiness even though Flynn had cold hard proof that it was a cesspool.

  “Whoa.” Sab’s whiskey-smooth voice dipped as she took in Flynn. “You look like last night handed you your own backside.” Her eyebrows met the frame of her glasses as she studied Gage and Reid. “You guys don’t look that great either. Were you... Oh my gosh. It’s final, isn’t it? It’s done?”

  “He’s single with a capital S,” Reid confirmed.

  Her smile was short-lived as she approached Flynn. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  That question right there was why he hadn’t told her about the finalization of the divorce. He wanted to drink away his feelings on the topic, not discuss them.

  Flynn sent a glance over her head to Reid and Gage.

  Little help, guys?

  “You wouldn’t have wanted to accompany us even if we invited you,” Gage said.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Her frown returned, but she aimed it at affable Gage, which was fun to watch. He finished stirring his own coffee and sent her a grim head shake.

  “Darling.” Reid looped an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t make us say it.”

  “Ugh. Did you all pick up girls?” She asked everyone but her eyes tracked to Flynn and stayed there. “And why wasn’t I invited? I’m an excellent wingwoman.”

  Flynn felt a zip of discomfort at the idea of Sabrina fixing him up with a woman—or being there while he trotted out his A game to impress one. He’d suffered a few crash-and-burns last night and was glad she wasn’t there to witness them.

  Sabrina pursed her lips in consideration. “Did the evening have anything to do with you three reaffirming your dumb pact?”

  “It’s not dumb,” Flynn was th
e first to say. Family and marriage and happily ever after were ideas that he used to hold sacred. He’d seen the flip side of that coin. Broken promises and regret.

  Divorce had changed him.

  “You’re single with us, love. Did you want in on the pact?” Reid smiled as he refilled his paper Starbucks cup.

  “No, I do not. And I’m single by choice. You’re single—” she poked Reid in the chest “—because you’re a lemming.”

  “I’m to believe you’re single by choice,” Reid stated flatly. She wisely ignored the barb.

  “A pact to not fall in love is juvenile and shortsighted.”

  “We can fall in love,” Gage argued. “We agreed not to marry.”

  “Pathetic.” She rolled her eyes and Flynn lost his patience.

  “Sabrina.” He dipped his voice to its most authoritative tone. “It’s not a joke.”

  She craned her chin to take in all six feet of him and gave him a withering glare that would’ve shrunk a lesser man’s balls.

  “I know it’s not a joke. But it’s still pathetic.”

  She turned for the coffeemaker and Reid chuckled. “You have no effect on her, mate.”

  “Yeah, well, vice versa,” Flynn said, but felt the untruth hiding behind his statement. Sabrina had enough of an effect on him that he treated her differently than he did Reid and Gage. As present as she was in his life, it’d always been impossible to slot her in as one of the “guys.” And in a weird way he’d protected her when he’d excluded her from last night’s shenanigans as well as the skiing weekend. Flynn was jaded to the nth degree. Sabrina wasn’t. He needed her to stay positive and sunshiny. He needed her to be okay. For her own sake, sure, but also for his.

  “Heartbreak isn’t a myth,” Reid called out to her as she walked for the door. “You’ll see that someday.”

  “Morons.” She strolled out but did so with a twitch in her walk and a smile on her face. Immune to all of them, evidently.

  Three

  Sabrina had lectured Flynn as much as she dared. She’d pushed him to the point of real anger—not the showy all-bark/no-bite thing he’d just done in “the Suit Café” as she liked to call their private break room, but real, shaking, red-faced anger. Which was why she recognized the sound of that booming timbre when she passed by a closed conference room door later the same afternoon.