Rugged(89)

And there’s Flint, looking scruffily elegant in a perfect fitting suit. He hasn’t gone penguin tuxedo like everyone else; whoever his stylist is did an immaculate job. His whole outfit is cool gray, with a casual looking necktie. He looks like he stepped off the cover of a fashion magazine for the alpha working man, actually. When our eyes meet, he quickly looks away. Good. I don’t want to see him, either.

Just get through this party, Laurel. It’s almost done.

I walk over to them, threading my way through the crowd. Nicholas Cage knocks into me once, then apologizes by slipping me a fifty. Glamorous Hollywood parties do have their perks.

“Good, I want to make this quick,” Davis says when I arrive. He won’t even look at me. Clearly, he’s disappointed. That makes two of us. “Kinley, you’ll be running point as producer for season two of Rustic Renovations.” The exec actually looks like it pains him to say this. Which is good, because I almost vomit everywhere when Tyler says,

“Need someone who could actually handle the job?” There’s a smarmy, sharklike gleam in his eye. “I’m your man.”

“I don’t think it’s that Young couldn’t handle the job,” Davis says. He glares at me one second, disappointment and dislike of Tyler radiating off of him. Flint, meanwhile, has gone completely silent.

“I don’t understand. What are you talking about?” Flint looks at Davis, at Tyler. Basically at anyone but me.

“Young’s taking a powder,” Tyler says, fixing me with a grin. Now that he has the big, coveted position, all the fear he had of me outside the editing room is gone. “What was the problem? Couldn’t hack living rough in the wilderness?”

“The Berkshires isn’t the wilderness,” Flint snaps at Tyler, though his gaze finally fixes on me. “I don’t get the change.”

“I’m not producing next season,” I say, ignoring Tyler’s douchiness with a shrug. I fix Flint with my own gaze, not backing down. “Best decision for everyone involved.”

“I don’t know about that,” Davis says gruffly. He’s still glaring at Tyler, who is still determined to make an ass of himself.

“Young just can’t commit herself fully,” he sneers, snatching a drink off a passing server’s tray. “That’s the problem with women in the workplace. Their ovaries, like, produce chemicals that don’t allow them to have a man’s laser focus.” He beams. “I saw an article on Reddit about it.”

“Tyler, you’re getting this job because everyone wants to see you fail,” I say, as sweetly as possible. I give him my best f*ck-you smile. “You have the reverse Midas touch with people; everything you handle turns to shit. So the team will step in and save the day, and Mr. Davis will finally have a reason to can your sleazy ass.”

Tyler laughs. “That’s bullshit. Right, Mr. D?”

“I don’t know. I’m not as well-versed in the bullshit department as you are, Kinley,” Davis says, fixing Tyler with an annoyed stare and walking away. Tyler’s smile falters, and he goes after the executive. Flint, meanwhile, hasn’t stopped looking at me.

“When were you going to tell me?” he asks.

“Is now not a good enough time?”

“We need to talk. Now,” he says, setting his drink down. Before I can respond, someone walks over to us. Hard to forget a woman that tall, beautiful, and radiant. Charlotte puts a hand on Flint’s shoulder.

“You must be Laurel.” She smiles; her teeth are distractingly perfect. “I’m so glad to meet you formally. I know we bumped into each other at the house months back.” She laughs and holds out her hand to shake.

She’s wearing the beautiful gown I saw in the text Jessa sent. And glinting on her left hand, I spy a diamond engagement ring.

I look into Flint’s eyes. You bastard. You utter, complete bastard.

“Nice to meet you,” I mutter, shaking.

“Flint’s told me so much about you.” She squeezes his arm. He looks impatient, restless.

“Can we talk outside?” he asks, voice tight. “Charlotte, can you give us a minute?”

“Of course. Is everything all right?” she asks, blue eyes wide. No, everything isn’t all right. Your fiancé flew you out the day after hooking up with me, and I didn’t even begin to understand what an utter sleaze he was until now. Man, some things I really wish I could say out loud.

“It’s fine,” Flint says.

“Fine,” I echo. “Let’s go.” I lead Flint out, through the ballroom and down a long hallway, into a private room overlooking the garden out back. We push onto the balcony, so the only listeners are some palm trees and a blue heron standing on one foot by the pond, pecking at its wings.

“We’ve got to talk about this Charlotte thing,” Flint growls when we’re finally alone. His eyes are blazing, his jaw clenched. “Listen to me.”

A hysterical laugh lodges itself in my throat. “No. I don’t want to listen. I don’t want to talk. She’s got a f*cking ring on her finger, and I don’t need to have that subtle mystery explained to me. It’s spelled out pretty clearly.” I push off the balcony and head for the door. Flint grabs my wrist. I know if I shake him away, he’ll let me go. But I still don’t have enough self control where he’s involved to walk away when there’s a chance to touch him again, feel the stubble along his jaw, press myself against his body…