Page 11 of Something Like Sunflowers

“Devyn,” Molly snips, “come to the hallway with me for a quick second, all right?”

Here it is.

Now is the moment she will tell me it was nice to meet me, but they’re going in another direction, and I’ll have to walk out of here and into Dad’s office with my tail tucked between my legs and tell him the truth.

I take a deep breath and look at Hunter one last time before I get up and follow Molly out of the room and away from my dream job and any possibility of a new life.

My heels are still clunking as I exit Molly’s suite, but this time I can’t hear them over the fear of disappointment and shame.

That, and one repeating word on a loop in my head, over and over and over.

Babygirl.

Chapter 7

Devyn

Devyn,” Molly starts on me as soon as the door closes, “I am not your enemy. Stop treating me like your rival in there. You do know I’m married, right?”

My arms unfold themselves from across my body as I put meaning to her words. She isn’t hitting on Hunter, then?

“I’m trying to help you by playing devil’s advocate in there. Your ex—”

“He’s not my ex!”

Molly raises a brow. Even to a total stranger, it’s an obvious lie.

“Okay, he’s my ex. We literally dated my whole youth.”

Molly smirks and leans against the doorjamb, as if to settle in for a bedtime story. “I mean, we didn’t date as kids, but we did…in a way. I don’t know. It’s never clear to me whether the years before fifth grade really count when you calculate that sort of thing, ya know?”

“Mm-hmm.” Molly grins.

“Why is Hunter even an issue, anyway? You realize this is a fashion empire, right? He cleans his fingernails with his hunting knife.”

“Well, for one, you’re still into him.”

“I’m not into him.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

“Well,” she says, pressing her body away from the wall, “let’s just say, for the sake of this conversation, that you are still into him. And you want to land this job and shove it in his cocky little belly dancing face.”

Belly dancing? I narrow my brows, but her version of this ends with me getting hired. That’s the goal, after all.

“I really like you. In fact, you were my recruit. We each got one, and I chose you. James, on the other hand, is a very loyal follower of your man’s—”

“Not my man.”

“Sorry.” She smirks. “James is a huge fan of Not-Your-Man’s TikToks.”

“What do you mean, his TikToks?”

I’m not on social media much, but when I am, it’s on Instagram where most of my followers live. TikTok is a mystery to me.

“Oh, my gosh, you don’t even know, do you?”

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