Page 32 of Gold Rush

My stomach rumbles. I suppress the urge to pull my phone out, too, not sure why I care if Rory thinks I have important matters to attend to as well.

She talks for another minute, then hangs up and returns to my side. “I have to head straight back to my office,” she tells me. “This was a⁠—”

“Let’s meet up this weekend,” I interrupt, guessing mistake was going to be one of her next words.

Rory clears her throat. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“I’ll make sure you get more out of it, okay? I’ll—after we fake break up, I’ll make sure everyone knows I was the one who fucked it up. That you were the best thing to ever happen to me. And, behind the scenes, I’ll play matchmaker. I’ve spent the past decade partying with most of the guys in this city. I know who you should consider and who you should avoid.”

She’s silent for a moment, then asks, “Did you know Carson was cheating before the video came out?”

I recoil like she slapped me. The fuck? “You think I wouldn’t tell you?”

“I don’t know, Flynn. That’s why I’m asking. You’re Kit’s friend, not mine.”

I’m still stunned. I knew Rory had a low opinion of me. But my going out drinking while she was home studying doesn’t mean I lack a moral compass. I never thought Carson was worthy of her. If I’d known what he was up to, I would have absolutely used that information as evidence he wasn’t. Obviously, Carson didn’t tell her I’d punched him.

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” I state coolly.

Surprise flashes across her face before it returns to a neutral expression. “Because I asked you a question?”

“Because you don’t trust me. Of course I didn’t fucking know he was cheating, Rory. I can’t believe you would even ask me that.”

She bites her bottom lip before saying, “I’m sorry. I—what happened didn’t exactly eliminate my trust issues. But I’m not—I do—if you say you didn’t know, I believe you.”

We lapse into a brief silence that’s interrupted by her phone ringing again. It doesn’t surprise me that Rory is in high demand. She’s probably running that office already.

“I have a workout class on Saturday mornings,” she finally states. “I could meet you after, for lunch?”

“Because you want to or because you feel badly for offending me?”

Rory pulls her phone back out but holds my gaze. “I feel fine. I’ll text you the address.” She raises the phone to her ear as she walks away. “Rory Kensington,” is the last sound I hear before she’s lost in the surrounding crowd.

10

Flynn slides into the booth across from me, sporting a baseball cap and a pair of aviator sunglasses.

“What are you wearing?”

He casts a furtive glance around, like we’re starring in a spy thriller, before slipping the sunglasses off. “I thought we weren’t supposed to be seen together?”

“Why would you think that?”

“Well”—he surveys the bustling diner again—“you suggested meeting here.”

“It’s close to my apartment,” I inform him. “And someone seeing us together would be helpful, if we’re about to announce our engagement.”

I can hardly believe those words just came out of my mouth.

Flynn pulls the cap off, tossing it on the table and running both hands through his thick hair.

I experience a brief urge to do the same. I always assumed it was styled, but based on his rough treatment, his hair just naturally looks that way. So unfair.

“You said be discreet when you sent the address,” he mutters, picking up a laminated menu.

I’m irritated and secretly amused—my usual state around Flynn Parks. He’s the most exasperating, entertaining person I’ve ever met.

“I was talking about other women.”