Best Friends, Secret Lovers Page 4

  “Reid’s here. Gage is here. They wouldn’t let Mac ruin your company.” And neither would she... But she wouldn’t be here once she convinced Flynn to take a hiatus. Belinda had plainly told Sabrina to “get him out of here” and Sabrina wouldn’t leave him to his own devices. Without work distracting him, she knew he’d be unpacking some hefty emotional baggage.

  She refused to let him go through that alone.

  Four

  “So? Advice?” Sabrina raised her eyebrows at her younger brother, who lifted his frosted beer mug and shrugged one shoulder.

  Luke had thick, dark hair like hers but was blessed with their mother’s electric-green eyes. The jerk. The best Sabrina could hope for in that department was “greenish.”

  “Leave him alone?” He smirked. Two years her junior, Luke’s twenty-eight was balanced by an even-keeled sense of humor and a huge brain. He was gifted and had embarrassed her a million times in the past by challenging some poor, hapless soul to a math contest he’d always win.

  “Kidding.” Luke gave her hand a playful tap. “He’s been through hell, I’ll give him that.”

  “He has. And that pact is ridiculous.”

  “Eh, I can’t fault him for that.”

  Of course he couldn’t. Luke was male and therefore incapable of being reasonable. “You’re saying that because of Dawn.”

  Luke’s eyes darted to one side and his jaw went taut at the mention of his ex’s name. “You’re one to talk, Sab. Name the last guy you’ve been over the moon for besides your precious Flynn.”

  “I’m not in love with Flynn, moron. You’ve been trotting out that argument for over a decade now. We’re friends and it works, and stop changing the subject.”

  In spite of the fact she kept noticing Flynn’s looks, his smell and his overall presence at work. That was just... That was just... Well, okay, she didn’t know what it was. But it would pass. It had to.

  Remarkably, Luke let the argument go. With a sigh, he settled his beer mug—now empty—on the table between them and signaled the bartender that he’d like another. He waited until it was delivered to say what he had to say.

  “Dawn’s getting married.”

  “What? You guys broke up like three minutes ago!”

  He shrugged.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m just saying Flynn’s idea isn’t a bad one. After Dawn, I barely want to date. I don’t think at this rate we’ll ever give Mom the grandchildren she’s been crowing about.”

  Their mother, Sarah, was infamous for bringing up significant others and babies and how many of her close friends were becoming grandparents. Luke wasn’t the only one banging the “Sabrina loves Flynn” drum. Sab had argued with her mother on several occasions—some of them in front of Flynn. Then he was married and her mother’s pushing, thankfully, came to a halt.

  “Now that his divorce is final, Mom’s going to start up again.” Sabrina rolled her eyes. Just what she needed. Someone stoking the flames of Flynn Awareness that had flickered to life.

  “Better armor up. Or get pregnant.” The comment earned her brother a slug in the biceps that hurt her hand more than it hurt his rock-hard arms. She shook out her fingers.

  “Yikes. Are you lifting again?”

  “Yes.” He rolled up a T-shirt sleeve and showed off his guns. She couldn’t resist a squeeze.

  “Unbelievable.”

  “Come to the gym with me. First session’s free.” For all his brainpower, Luke had opted to become a fitness trainer, blowing the idea of “dumb jock” out of the water. It was pretty simple math. Women found him irresistible and booked countless sessions with him. He made a great living giving them his full attention.

  “No thanks. I’ll stick to my yoga and meditation.” Her cell phone buzzed and she dug it from the bottom of her purse.

  A text from Flynn read: Busy?

  She keyed in a reply of: No. What’s up?

  Need you.

  She stared at those two words, a dozen thoughts pinging through her head as her heart pattered out an SOS. She reminded herself not to be weird and typed in a reply.

  Where are you?

  Then her phone vanished from her hand.

  “Hey!” she squawked as Luke held it out of reach.

  “I knew it.” He smirked. “This is a booty call, Sab.”

  “It is not.” She swiped at the phone but he kept it away from her. Until she grabbed his ear and yanked.

  “Ow! Are you serious?” Her brother rubbed his ear, affronted. “We’re not ten years old any longer.”

  “Could’ve fooled me.” She glared at him before reading Flynn’s one-word reply. Home.

  Not his old home, but the new one. Julian had been awarded the family estate and Flynn had been given Emmons Parker’s Seattle penthouse. Forty-five hundred square feet of steel beams and glass, charcoal-gray floors and dark cabinetry built by the finest designers.

  She pecked in her response—that she’d be there in ten minutes—bottomed out her sparkling water and stood, blowing her brother a kiss. “Later, Einstein.”

  “Booty call,” he replied.

  “Shut up.”

  “Be safe!” he called behind her, his laughter chasing her out the door.

  * * *

  At Flynn’s building, she pulled into the private parking area where she used the code he’d given her and tucked her compact into the spare space next to his car. Inside, she took the elevator to the penthouse, again using a passcode to zoom to the uppermost floor. The building felt far too serious for him.

  Or for who Flynn used to be, anyway. He was pretty serious nowadays.

  His seriousness had tripled when he and Veronica were married. Sabrina didn’t want to be unfair, but credit was due where it was due. He’d been a committed husband and now that Sabrina didn’t have to play nice any longer, she’d admit that Veronica had kept Flynn running in circles. His ex-wife had wanted to be pleased at every turn. With jewelry, more money and bigger, better everything. The house they’d lived in on Main and Eastwood was a friggin’ mansion and still Veronica had whined about it.

  With that unsavory thought simmering in her veins, she stepped from the elevator and into his foyer, announcing herself as she walked in. Expectedly, her voice bounced off the high beams and rang from the glass windows. She opened her mouth to sing a song from The Sound of Music when she spotted Flynn walking down the slatted stairs.

  “Don’t you dare,” he warned.

  “Spoilsport.” She blew out a breath without belting out a single note and then relinquished her purse and coat to the dining room table. A white block with white chairs and in the center, oh, look, a white bowl with some weird porcelain white orbs in it. She palmed one and tested its weight. “Your decorator has no personality.”

  “I didn’t hire the decorator for her personality.” Flynn glanced up from the iPad in his hand. “I hired the decorator to remove my father’s personality.”

  She glanced around at the square black sofa and gray coffee tables. The gray rug. The white mantel over which hung a framed painting of a black smudge on a white background.

  “Success,” she agreed with a placid smile. “What’d you need me for? I was under the impression you were sad or drunk or having some sort of belated episode because of the divorce.”

  “What I am about to have is enough Chinese food to feed an army.”

  “What about Gage and Reid?”

  “What about them?”

  “Um.” What she couldn’t say was that she felt the out-of-place need for a buffer or two. “Wouldn’t they suffice in helping you rid yourself of excess takeout?”

  Setting aside the iPad, he looked down at her, his handsome smile dazzling. “I’d rather hang with you. I’ve felt lately like you’ve been on the outside for too long.”

  “The outsi
de?”

  “In the background.” His mouth pulled down at the edges. “The four of us used to hang out more. Outside of work. And then...we didn’t.”

  Sabrina’s heart swelled. She’d missed him over the last three years he’d been married, but accepted that marriage required attention. Still, it was nice to know that she mattered and that he’d missed her.

  “Aw.” She beamed at the compliment and patted his cheek, not thinking a thing of it. Until she became acutely aware of the warmth from his skin and the rough scrape of his facial hair as she swept her fingers away. She cleared her throat and reminded herself that Flynn was her friend and nothing more. “There, was that so hard?”

  His smile returned. “Begging is unattractive.”

  * * *

  An hour later, they sat at the dining room table, food containers, an iPad, laptop and a manila folder stuffed with reports between them. They’d eaten a little of everything before cracking open a few beers, and that’s when Flynn brought out the work accoutrements.

  Tonight reminded her of late-night study sessions when they were in college. She’d been reflecting on those days more often than before lately and on how simple life had been back then.

  “It’ll work,” he concluded.

  Chin resting on her hand, elbow on the table, she yawned. “I think you’re cruel and should offer me a refill for making me work late on a Friday.”

  “I fed you.” He frowned. “Do you want another drink?”

  “Do you have Perrier?”

  “Perrier is not a drink.” But he turned for the fridge and came back with a bottle of sparkling water for her. He even went to the trouble of spinning off the top and then proffering a highball glass. “I’d appreciate your thoughts.”

  His hands landed on her shoulders, kneading the tired muscles. She was torn between moaning in pleasure and freezing in place. Luke really had gotten into her head with that “booty call” comment.

  Flynn’s hands left her shoulders and she shakily filled her glass and took her time sipping the sparkling water before she told him what she thought—about his idea. “It won’t work.”

  Even his frown was frowning.

  “If there were ten of you working eighty hours a week, maybe you could make up for losing half your staff. As it stands, even if Gage and Reid and I double our workloads along with you, I don’t see how Monarch would survive everyone walking out.”

  “So I should let them force me into walking out?”

  “It’s a vacation,” she reminded him on a soft laugh. “You’ve heard of them, right? You take a few days or weeks to relax and do something that’s not work.”

  “My father built this business from scratch. I don’t see why I can’t put my head down and plow forward and end up in a better position.”

  “The staff is resisting change. Maybe when you’re not there—but your changes are still implemented—they’ll come to see you’re right. If they need to flex their muscles and try to put you in your place, it’s not like they’ll succeed. It’s for show. You’re still in charge.”

  “My father would have died before letting anyone tell him how to run his business. Including me.”

  “He did die, Flynn.” She reached across the table to palm his forearm. She understood why Flynn was angry with Emmons. Flynn had tried to impart his ideas at Monarch but had always been shut down by his father. Now was Flynn’s chance to shine and he was being shut down by his father’s ilk. It was insulting.

  Flynn had lost the jacket, loosened the tie, but left on the starched shirt. There was a time he’d have his sleeves rolled up and would’ve laughed and lounged through both the meal and the beer. They’d had plenty of after-hours staff meetings, just Sabrina, Flynn and the guys, and Flynn was usually a hum of excitement. Now, that hum was gone. There wasn’t any excitement, just rote habits. He was as cold as his current environment.

  “You’re not him, and you don’t have to become him,” she said. “Not for Mac or Belinda or anyone else who believes that Monarch can only be run the way Emmons ran it.”

  Flynn’s mouth compressed into a silent line.

  “I hate seeing you like this. I know you’re sick to death of me lecturing you, but if you don’t loosen your hold, you’re going to have a breakdown. Or a heart attack. Or—”

  “Get cancer?” he finished for her. “I’m thirty years old, Sabrina. Hardly in the market for the thing that’s going to kill me.”

  She flinched. Imagining Flynn dead was a fast track to revisiting her dinner. She tried again with even more honesty.

  “I miss you. The old you. The you that knew where work stopped and fun started. Now you’re like...” She waved in his general direction. “...a robot.”

  His features didn’t soften in the slightest.

  “Remember when we used to stumble out of college parties or go to the pub for Saint Patrick’s Day? Remember playing poker until all hours of the night?”

  “I remember you losing and refusing to pay up.”

  “It was strip poker and I was the only girl there!”

  “Reid’s idea.” He let loose another smile and it resembled one that was carefree. “I don’t know why you balked. I’d seen you in your underwear before.”

  “Yes, but not...not them.” Her cheeks warmed. Yes, Flynn had seen her in her underwear. In her dorm room when he’d come to wake her up, or when she was changing to go out to a party. But that was different somehow.

  She palmed her cheek to hide her hectic coloring. “I miss those days. What happened to us?”

  “We grew up. We started working.” He reached for her hand, his thumb skimming over hers as he watched her closely. “I’m sorry if you’ve felt shut out lately.”

  A lump of emotion tightened her throat and she nodded, blinking to keep from crying. She had felt left out, and had made peace with seeing him at work and the occasional after-work dinner, but that wasn’t enough.

  “We used to be inseparable.”

  “I remember.” His secret smile was all for her and she reveled in it. No one was here to intrude or put him on the clock or demand he stop being himself.

  “When’s the last time you took the time to do something you love?”

  “A while,” he admitted.

  “Same. I’ve been wanting to paint again and I haven’t had the time.” Her eyes went to the mantel and that sorry excuse for art he had hanging over it. “I’d like to replace that lifeless painting with a Sabrina Douglas original.”

  “Clown on a bicycle? Elephant balancing on a waffle cone?”

  “That was my circus era and I’m over it. You certainly have enough space in this vault for me to spread out a canvas or two.” She moved to tug her hand away but he held fast. His blue eyes were locked on hers when he squeezed her fingers.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “That’s all I ask.”

  For now.

  Five

  Flynn thought long and hard about what Sabrina said while he lay staring at the glass ceiling in his living room. The stars were bright, the sky a navy blue canvas. A canvas like Sabrina wanted to paint and hang over his fireplace.

  From his position on the sofa, he turned his head and looked at the black-and-white painting that was as bland as Sabrina had hinted. His life—his entire life—could use some color. A color other than monotone neutrals or angry reds. A color like Sabrina. Splashy yellow or citrusy orange, he thought with a smile.

  Tonight might have been the first time in months he’d stopped to evaluate any part of his existence. If he hadn’t been gathering information for his lawyer for the divorce, he’d been making funeral arrangements for his father, or relocating to this apartment after first removing every single trace of Emmons Parker. Fat lot of good it did him to erase his father from the apartment when Flynn himself was morphing into a younger version o
f his old man.

  He couldn’t let it happen. Wouldn’t let it happen. Sabrina was right. He used to make time to do the things he loved, rather than serve at the pleasure of a sixty-plus-hour week.

  The last year had been a blur of takeout, reports and meetings. He pulled a hand over his stomach, and while he hadn’t developed a gut in the slightest, his abs weren’t as chiseled as they could’ve been. At last glance in the mirror, his eyes weren’t as bright either. The dark circles were a result of restless sleep, and the shadow of scruff on his jaw was unkempt enough that he looked more homeless than stylish.

  Sabrina’s being here had been reminder enough of what he’d been missing—her presence. And now she was offering to take a hiatus with him to help him out.

  After years of her doing things for him, the least he could do was listen to her. His plan to work around his execs’ bailing wasn’t foolproof. Somewhere in the back of his stubborn mind he’d known that all along. Sabrina was unflinchingly honest when she’d told him she missed him and who he used to be. Which meant he was on the fast track to turning into a bitter, iron-hard man like his father.

  That glaring truth made deciding easier.

  First thing Monday morning, Flynn would call a meeting with his three best friends. A strategy meeting. He could walk away if he knew the place wasn’t eroding in his absence. And if he armed Gage and Reid with what they needed to keep Mac from overriding every implementation he’d put in place, then Flynn could actually relax.

  The shiver of relief was foreign, but welcome. He’d tried running the company his father’s way. It was time to try a different strategy—Sabrina’s strategy. Flynn had lost sight of what was important.

  It was time to get it back.

  * * *

  Monday morning at Monarch looked the same as it had last week. Flynn was pouring himself a cup of coffee when Gage walked in.

  “Morning. Get yourself fired yet?”

  “Not yet.” Flynn leaned against the counter.