Rugged(27)

Steeling myself, I sit on my bed and watch the sizzle reel footage again. Flint stares at the camera, his sleeves rolled up, as he shows how to apply a layer of varnish. How is he even sexy doing that? Finally, I force myself to click the video off and get ready for bed. Brushing my teeth, I remind myself how important this is.

This is my job. More than that, this is my big break. I’ve already put my career in jeopardy because of a guy before, and I’m sure as hell not going to do it again. Right? Right. Good, excellent planning. Professionalism all the way.

But as I slip into bed, I can’t help wishing I had Flint’s arms around me, his mouth on mine again, our bodies moving together. It’s not the playful, lusty fantasies I’ve had before; that moment on the porch, the two of us staring at each other, is staying with me. It’s somehow changed things, deepened the connection that started that first night outside the bar. He trusts me. And I trust him. With him I feel good, strong, capable.

Right ahead of me, I can see the show I’ve always wanted. The career I’ve always dreamed of. And then I imagine that Flint steps in front of it, blocking the view.

That’s more dangerous than anything else.

Despite what I’m feeling right now, I have to put all the Flint stuff behind me. There are a million reasons why things would never work out between us, why a relationship would be a bad idea. And who’s saying he even wants one? This thing between us, it’s temporary. Two people bonding over adversity and war, like soldiers do. Once our lives go back to normal, this’ll all blow over. You can’t fall in love with someone in four days.

Can you?





10


“Now remember,” I say as we step out of my car, “your job is to mostly stay silent. They’ll want to get a feel for you in the room. Just be polite. If they ask you questions, try to bring everything back to renovation and building. You know? Leave the Hollywood bullshit to me.” I’m starting to talk fast. The click of my heels echoes across the company garage. I check my watch for the tenth time in the last five minutes. We’re not late, are we? I mean, we weren’t late five minutes ago, but what about now?

“You can have the Hollywood bullshit,” Flint says, slamming his door and patting the car. “This is a good little machine, by the way.” He sounds impressed

“Thanks,” I say, taking some pride in my ’70 Camaro. “I don’t know how to fix cars, but I do know how to drive them.”

“That’s the damn truth,” he says, as we walk side by side out of the garage and toward the building. “I thought I was a confident driver. I don’t think we got below seventy the whole way from the airport.”

“It’s LA,” I say with a shrug. “And we did go below seventy. Twice. I think.” Flint laughs, and I sneak another look at him. He’s perfect, dressed in a blue checked flannel shirt with a leather jacket. He didn’t shave, just like I asked. He looks like a smartened-up version of a sexy mountain man. It’s working perfectly. Several women turn their heads to look as we pass. One of them almost trips and falls.

“This is good,” I say, trying to slow my breath down. My heart is jackhammering in my chest. “All those women think you’re hot. The target demographic approves. Maybe we could bring some of them with us, to testify. Is it too late to go to Kinko’s and make a graph of some kind? People like pie charts.” I’m full on babbling. Flint touches my shoulder.

“Are you all right?” he asks, his voice kind. He’s been nothing but polite and professional since we left Massachusetts, and I’m working hard to do the same.

“I just don’t want you to be nervous,” I say, about ready to put my head between my knees and hyperventilate. Flint chuckles.

“I don’t think you need to worry about me,” he says. “Keep yourself upright, partner.”

“Oh hardy har,” I mutter, but he’s got a point. I loosen my shoulders. “Better?”

“Much.” He reaches down and squeezes my hand once. For luck, of course. For luck.

We enter through the revolving glass doors and check in with the receptionist, then head up to the executive floor. Flint looks around the sleek metallic elevator, watching his reflection in the chrome shine of the doors. He’s hiding it pretty well, but his own nervous energy is starting to appear. It’s a lot quieter than mine, but it’s there.

“You don’t have to worry. I’m going to do all the talking,” I say.

“I know. I just.” He pauses, and nods at his reflection. “I just need to stay collected.”

“We both do.” I smile at our reflections. “Together, we can do anything. We can rule the world!”

“Lot of paperwork in ruling the world,” Flint says.

“Ew, no one mentioned paperwork.” We both laugh a little, tension dissipating. For about five seconds. Then the doors whoosh open, and lo and behold, who should be standing there but the ambassador to hell itself?

“Young Laurel, looking as sexy as ever.” Tyler gives me a shit-eating grin as Flint and I step out of the elevator. It takes all the will I can muster not to give him a solid throat strike, just for old time’s sake.

“Mmm, you know I’m so sorry I forgot to reply to your desperate little text message. I was too busy doing actual work,” I say sweetly.