“I know, sweetheart. I feel so bad that they can’t make it.”
“It’s not your fault. Even you can’t make other people’s bosses give them time off.”
“We’ll celebrate with them the next time we see them.”
After my bath, I stroll out of the bedroom to find the living room has been filled with red roses that perfume the air with their fragrant scent. The blinds are drawn against the bright morning sun, and a massage table has been set up where the coffee table usually sits.
Flynn is in the kitchen with a tall blonde woman he seems to know well. “There’s Nat. Sweetheart, come meet Jasmine.”
Her name is Jasmine, and the only thought in my head is whether or not he’s slept with her.
“Could you come here for a quick second, Flynn?”
“Excuse me for one second, Jas.”
Jas… I want to growl with jealous rage.
“I’m going to take this call,” Jasmine says, holding up her phone as she heads for the pool deck. “I’ll be right out here when you’re ready.”
He comes over to me. “What’s wrong?”
“Is she… Have you… Been with her?”
I see the surprise before the hurt registers, and I immediately regret the question. He speaks softly so only I can hear him. “You think I would bring someone I’ve fucked before into our home to tend to you?”
“I… No. I’m sorry.”
He seems stunned. “How can you think…”
“You didn’t tell me about Marlowe.”
“Oh my God, Nat. That was a hundred years ago and lasted minutes.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“Do you want a list of all of them? Like a spreadsheet, maybe?”
“It’s a fair question, Flynn.”
Shaking his head, he looks at me as if he’s seeing me for the very first time. “I’m disappointed that you would think that of me.”
“I’m sorry you’re disappointed.”
“Do you still want the massage?”
I don’t. I want to walk away from him and be alone, but after he went to the trouble to arrange such a lovely surprise for me, I don’t do that. “Yes, please.”
“I’ll get her.”
He walks away, and that’s when I realize my heart is beating hard, and I’m light-headed from the unusually contentious exchange. Returning with Jasmine, he introduces us and leaves us to get on with it, never once looking directly at me.
Jasmine is cheerful and professional and tries to make me feel comfortable under the heated blankets, but knowing he’s angry with me—fairly or unfairly—makes it impossible for me to truly enjoy the massage.
I’m torn between calling a halt to it and fearing I’ll hurt her feelings if I do.
She’s turned me from back to front when I hear Flynn’s raised voice coming from the pool deck. I try to hear him, but I can’t make out what he’s saying. “Jasmine, I’m sorry, but I have to stop.”
“No problem at all, Mrs. Godfrey. We can do it another time.”
“Yes, please. Another time would be great. And call me Natalie.”
“I will, thank you, Natalie.”
She hands me my robe and turns her back to gather her supplies while I put it on. I leave her to finish cleaning up and head for the deck.
He’s pacing, phone pressed to his ear, body rigid with the tension that reminds me of the days that followed David Rogers’s decision to sell my story to the highest bidder. Turning, he spots me there and lowers his voice.
I feel left out, excluded from whatever is happening, but I resist the urge to turn my back and go inside. Rather, I wait for him to end the call, which he does a few minutes later.
“Did Jasmine leave?”
“Yes.”
“That wasn’t an hour.”
“I couldn’t seem to concentrate or relax. I heard you yelling. What’s wrong?”
“Rogers’s wife has gone to the media to pressure the FBI into making an arrest in her husband’s case.”
“Anyone in particular she wants to see arrested?”
“Who do you think?”
“Flynn…”
“Don’t worry. They’ve got nothing on me, or we’d know it by now. I talked to Emmett. He says our guy on the ground in Lincoln is making progress and should have something soon.”
“Can you make his wife stop saying you did it?”
“Emmett is handling that, too.”
It’s a warm day and the sun is beating down on the deck, but I’m chilled to the bone nonetheless. Normally, Flynn would be holding me as he offered comfort, but now he keeps his distance.
“You’re angry with me.”
“A little, I suppose.”
“I may ask that question again in the future.”
“For the record, I’m not close to nor do I regularly associate with any woman I’ve slept with other than Marlowe.”
“What about Cresley?”
“We’re friendly. We don’t hang out except for once in a while at the clubs. I don’t talk to her between visits or hit her up when I’m in New York. I like her. We’ve partied together, I’ve met her son a few times, we had sex a few times with Hayden. That’s all it’s ever been or will ever be. She’s not going to suddenly drop by here out of the blue to hang with us.”
“Will she be at the party?”
“No.”
“Are there other women coming to the party that you’ve slept with?”