Come As You Are
How much I’m enjoying their work. It’s irksome.
And so is the name that flashes on my screen.
Maureen.
Tension floods every molecule in my body.
My mother.
As I stop at a red light, I briefly weigh whether to look at her text now or later. But it’ll nag at me during my time at Flynn’s office, so I slide my thumb across to view it.
Maureen: Hey, baby! What’s shaking? I feel like I never talk to you anymore. Call your mom now and then, would you?
I draw a deep, calming breath, pretending I’m a bird soaring in the sky. My wings are spread, and I’m free of her. Free of hiding, free of lying, free of any hold she might have on me. Hell, I’ve been free for years, ever since she left Kevin and me, barely making time for us when I was in high school, leaving me to be the surrogate parent for her son.
Sabrina: Hi. Life is good. I’ve been busy with work! I’ll call soon.
I won’t call soon, but it’s easier to type than telling her the truth. I haven’t called her in years, and if she hasn’t realized that, she’s the foolish one.
As I cross the street, I kick her far out of my mind. I do the same to Kermit and his podcasts.
* * *
Flynn meets me at reception, then guides me through the offices. As he passes employees in the hall, he peppers them with questions about school plays and book clubs, remembering their kids’ names, their wives’ names, and so on.
When we reach his office, I say, “You planned that, didn’t you?”
“Planned what?”
“To wander through the halls looking like the genial, amazing boss who everybody loves.”
“Yes, Sabrina, that’s exactly what I did. I’m really a horrible ass, but I want you to think I’m a wonderful guy, so I told my employees in advance to act like they like me. Are you fooled?”
I wink. “Completely.” I pause then add, “Also, my job is to be skeptical.”
He shakes his head, and his tone is intensely serious. “Don’t be skeptical about that. I do care deeply for them.”
When he walks me through the whiz-bang features of the smart home, including a British voice that talks back to me in a sexy-as-sin accent, I have to say, I’m suitably impressed.
“Want Daniel to make you tea or coffee?” Flynn gestures to the coffee grinder and the tea kettle on the counter of the demo home setup in the offices.
“Daniel, please make me some green tea,” I say to the white device on the table.
“Of course. Would you like anything with that? Some music, perhaps, as you wait?”
Laughing, I answer him, “Yes, please play the Broadway soundtrack to Aladdin.”
As “Arabian Nights” sounds softly through the speakers, I shrug at Flynn. “Guess I had genies on my mind.”
“Or genie costumes,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows at the reminder of another private exchange of ours.
Soon, my green tea is ready, and we head to Flynn’s office where I ask him a few more questions as I drink my tea.
After we finish, I stand, ready to head for the door, lest I be distracted by another magnificent meandering conversation with him that stimulates my mind and my heart. But before I go, I reach into my purse and take out a white bag with a pink sticker on it. I place it on his desk.
“Do you like cupcakes?” I ask nervously.
He blinks. “What kind of question is that? Are you testing to see if I’m secretly an alien?”
“Are you?”
“No, I’m not an alien, because I love cupcakes.”
“I picked this up for you.” I slide the bag closer.
His smile does funny things to my heart, makes it cartwheel as my skin heats, and I wonder what compelled me to buy him a sweet treat.
“I have no idea what you like to eat,” I say, explaining myself. “But it looked really good, so I took a guess.”
He peers into the bag and removes the treat. “Looks amazing. Are you trying to bribe me with cupcakes to give up all my secrets?”
“Is that all it’ll take?”
“Depends how good the cupcake is.”
“Then, please by all means, devour it.”
He drums his fingers on his desk, his eyes never straying from mine. “That isn’t what I want to devour.”
“It’s not?” I ask, feigning innocence.
“Not in the least. But it might be a substitute.”
“I hope it tastes as good as what you really want,” I say breathily.
“I doubt anything tastes as good as what I really want.”
As he brings the cupcake to his lips, he stares at me. His expression is full of rampant lust and desire, and it almost feels like a dirty promise that at some point he’ll have me. He flicks the tip of his tongue over the icing and heat flares low in my belly.
I want to be that cupcake.
That cupcake really is orgasmic.
* * *
After I leave, I call Mr. Galloway and update him.
“Glad to hear it’s going well, and don’t forget, we have that opening coming up soon. If you deliver, we can create a beat. You could be the reporter to make it happen.”
That’s exactly what I want. “I’ll make it happen, sir.”
“Excellent. I’m told the advertising team is working overtime on the cause. As long as we get the ad support, we can start regular coverage.”
Images of watchmakers and cologne purveyors flash before my eyes. If there’s any publication that can drum up the necessary ad money, it’s Up Next. That’s what they do—land big money in sponsors, making it possible to write these deep features and hopefully keep covering technology.
“It’s going to be an exciting industry to follow,” I say, then I take stock of that comment for a second. Do I think it’s exciting because I care for Flynn? Or is it exciting in and of itself?
But the memory of the tea brewing and the soundtrack to Aladdin playing flashes before me, calling for attention. They were cool, plain and simple. This is a huge growth area. “I should have the piece done shortly. I’ve finished all the interviews with people who have worked with him and those who compete with him, as well as analysts and experts. I just need two more short interviews with him, and one with his brother. I should be finished shortly after. I’ll turn it in a few days early.”
“Excellent. I hope you’ll impress me. If you do, that will go a long way.”
I terribly want to impress him, to win him over.
The trouble is, every time I see the subject of my article, it’s harder and harder for me to be objective as I write about the man I’m falling for.
19
Flynn
We are officially freaking her out. It’s a trick we’ve employed since we were kids, and we probably will till the end of time. It honestly never gets old.
Sabrina’s eyes drift from Dylan to me and back as we stand near the bleachers at the softball field in Central Park. We are the spitting image of each other. Being identical twins, it’s not hard to look exactly like my brother.
But today, since we’re on the same softball team, the doppelgänger effect is operating at full power. We’re in matching outfits—white shirts, blue sleeves, with the Katherine’s jeweler’s logo on the back of our gear. We both wear cargo shorts.
Sabrina’s hazel eyes are painted with the astonishment I’ve seen so many times when people meet us together.
Her index finger drifts from me to him and back. “If you didn’t have black glasses, I’m not entirely sure I could tell you apart. But I think I could.”