Rugged(33)

When it’s over I lean my head against his shoulder. “That was…” I have no words. “Thank you.”

He takes a deep breath. “Was this a mistake?” he asks.

“Never. But if it was, it was one of my best mistakes,” I say, giggling. He rolls me onto my back and attacks me with kisses, and before I know it, I’m out like a light.





12


“Thanks for the towel,” Flint says. It’s the next morning, and I’m relaxing in my kitchen with a cup of coffee. He let me grab the first shower, and comes out drying his hair. Granted, a group shower would have been mutually agreeable, but that would only lead to more sexy shenanigans. And he does have a flight to catch.

“My pleasure,” I say, handing him a steaming mug. “You like it black, right?” He takes a sip and nods.

“That’s damn good coffee.” He pauses, raises an eyebrow. “Got a little Twin Peaks there for a second.”

“Hopefully Laura Palmer isn’t dead when you get home,” I say, laughing. He sits across from me, looking about as relaxed as I feel. His tee shirt is still clinging to the damp contours of his body. Good morning.

“Don’t be ridiculous. That was the Pacific Northwest. I’ll be three thousand miles away.” I get a little quiet. He will be a long way away. And I still don’t know what last night meant in the grand scheme of things. We haven’t discussed it. Flint seems to notice my contemplative energy, because he quiets down as well. “I’m sure Mrs. Beauchamp’d be happy if you came back for another visit.” He smiles. “She wouldn’t be the only one.”

“Maybe,” I say, smiling back. That’s a sweet offer on his part, but I think we both know it has to stay an offer. There’s no point in complicating simple things. Nobody’s moving across the country, ditching their family and/or career over a one night stand. Even if it was the best one night stand of at least one of our lives. Cough, cough.

“You said there’s some Uber coming?” He shakes his head. “The Uber thing makes no sense to me.”

“Well, you’re a country boy,” I say. “I’d drive you to the airport, but I’m going to need to get my car back, and I’ll probably need to go into work at some point, see if there’s any damage control to be done.” That might be a lie—if my career is as dead as I think it is, the only thing I’ll be doing at work is packing up my cubicle into a cardboard box. My phone rings in the next room, and I wonder if it’s the Grim Reaper of Career Dreams calling me right now.

“All right,” he says. The front door buzzer sounds. “That must be the car.”

“Well. Have a safe trip. Bye.” I know it’s short and awkward, but I don’t think saying ‘thanks for the great sex’ or ‘sorry I dragged you across the country for nothing’ is very smooth either.

“Oh, you.” Flint grabs me around the waist, sweeps me literally off my feet, and kisses me. It’s brief but undeniably hot, and I’m tempted to go after him when he sets me back down. But then my phone rings again. Damn. I guess the Reaper’s not giving up.

“Take care,” he says, and walks out the door. Hate to see you go. Love to watch you leave.

Actually, no I don’t. But right now, I need to grab that damn phone.

I curse when I see that it’s work calling me. I thought since my career fell apart yesterday, they wouldn’t worry about seeing me back in the office first thing this morning. I pick up. “Hi there,” I say, waiting on the big, screaming ‘you’re fired.’

“Laurel. This is Sabrina Jones, Herman Davis’s assistant. He wants to know when you’re planning to come in to his office today.” I blink, and quickly check the caller ID to make sure I’m not being punked. But no, it’s definitely the office. Sabrina sounds confused. “Didn’t you get the email?”

“What email?” My head is pounding now, and so’s my heart. I sit down on the couch.

“I’m supposed to let him tell you,” Sabrina says, dropping her voice. “But they loved your pitch. They think Flint’s the genuine article. And I mean, not that my opinion matters here, but he’s freaking hot. I’d watch the hell out of that show, and I hate everything we do.” She can’t keep the glee out of her voice. I’m not sure I remember how to speak. Loved the pitch. Genuine article. All the not-firing words I could ask for.

“You mean we got the pitch?” A huge smile breaks over my face.

“Yes! Look, let me transfer you. It may take a second.” She puts me on hold. I let out a huge scream. Oh my God! We did it. Flint’s going to save his business, I’m going to save my career, and we’re going to be working together…

All the time.

In a professional capacity.

Oh God.

As if on cue, Flint enters. He sees me and smiles.

“Hey. Forgot my—” He notices my dumbstruck expression, and stops. “What’s going on?” He looks concerned.

I smile weakly. “Congratulations,” I tell him. “You’re going to be a star.”





13


Back in 1775, a certain rider named Paul Revere took a midnight gallop around the Massachusetts countryside, calling out, “The British are coming, the British are coming!” Nowadays, if he were passing around Northampton, he’d more likely shout, “Production is starting!” And he’d be equally terrified.