Page 151 of Flipping His Script
Chapter 54
Anna
It was a Tuesday afternoon, and I was giving Flynn a no-nonsense look. "Well, obviously youmustknow her."
I'd just returned from lunch with Becka, where I'd spotted that same brunette sitting at a nearby table. This time, I'd paid particular attention to the exact moment when she'd arrived. It had been within five minutes of myself.
Flynn replied, "Yeah, so?" He'd just walked in from yet another hike. Funny, he was up to like three hikes a day, sometimes four.
Weird.
Shoving aside the distraction, I said, "So…? Who is she?"
He flashed me a sudden grin. "Why? You jealous?"
I gave a snort of derision. It was a joke, obviously. Nearly three weeks had passed since that incident with the cameraman in the restroom.
After that day, we'd never discussed it –orthe waffles that I'd made in retribution. Somehow, we'd reached an unspoken truce, which meant that we were back to pretending.
That was fine by me.
Still, there was one teeny problem. Every once in a while, things started to feel scarily real, here at the houseandin public. We'd been going out several times a week, not doing anything special, just having a dinner at some restaurant or walking downtown hand-in-hand.
People always stared, and Flynn usually pretended not to notice. But occasionally, someone would get too close or too obnoxious, with me in particular, at which point, Flynn would pull out the protective boyfriend routine.
Usually, he'd just hustle me away to safety. But other times, if the person had been particularly rude, Flynn would make the offender leave with their tail between their legs.
Sometimes, all it took was a look – a very scary look, judging from the reactions of all those poor saps on the receiving end.
I had to give Flynn credit. He was one heck of an actor.
In reply to his crack about me being jealous, I said, "Curiosity and jealousyaren'tthe same thing."
When his only reply was a loose shrug, I persisted, "Seriously, who is she?"
"All right, you really wanna know? She's a freelancer."
I tried to think. "Like, she's going to do a story?"
"No. Not that kind of freelancer."
"Well?" I prompted yet again. "What kind is she then?"
"Let's call her…" He paused as if thinking. "Surveillance."
I was frowning now. "What kind of surveillance?"
"The subtle kind."
I wasn't buying it, because for one thing, she couldn't bethatsubtle if I kept on noticing her. "So what is she? Some sort of baby sitter or something?"
"Why? Are you a baby?"
Sometimes when we were out, he called me "baby." And whenever he did, my knees wobbled just a little. He reallydidhave a great voice.
But my knees weren't wobbling now. "No," I said. "And I don't want to be treated like one either." I felt my gaze narrow. "Wait a minute. At the steak house, she was sittingwiththat camera guy."
"Yeah, so?"
