Chapter 6
Anna
When I reached Flynn's table, he didn't even look up. Instead, he continued to scan the menu, as if trying to decide what he wanted.
I knew what he wanted.
Revenge.
Apparently, ignoring me was the first step.
After all, Flynn wasn't blindorstupid. He obviously realized that I was standing right here, within stabbing distance. And hehadasked for me, so it's not like my appearance should've been a surprise.
I stood in growing discomfort while he continued to study the menu like it was the most interesting thing he'd seen all week.
What a joke.
Except I wasn't laughing. And from the set of his shoulders, neither was he.
Finally, with mock cheer, I said the thing I always said to new customers. "Hi, I'm Anna, and I'll be your server. Can I get you something to drink while you decide?"
Slowly, taking his sweet ol' time, he looked up. When our gazes met, his lips curved into a slow, deliberate smile. "Not yet."
An icy shiver crept up my spine. That smile – it was so cold, it made me want to run straight back into the freezer.
To warm up.
But that would only delay the inevitable. So instead, I gave a resigned sigh. "In case you didn't know, we're officially closed, so if you want to order, you'd better hurry."
He relaxed back into the booth. "That's not what Betsy said."
Great.So he and Betsy were on a first-name basis?Well, goodie for him.
I gave him a tight smile. "Yeah, well Betsy's not your waitress, is she?" I glanced toward the kitchen. "And besides, the cook's been here for like ten hours, and he's got class in the morning."
"So?"
"So it would be really super nice if you could order now so he can clean the grill and go home."
It was the kind of thing I'd never say to a normal customer, even if itwaspast closing time. But it was beyond obvious that Flynn wasn't here for wafflesoranything else on the menu.
If he was truly hungry, it was for human blood, mine in particular.
But hey, I told myself, I could handle it. If he wanted to makememiserable, fine. But there was no need for him to make everyone else miserable in the process.
In spite of my rudeness, Flynn looked annoyingly unruffled. "Don't worry," he said. "I'll make it worth his while."
I stiffened. It was the same sort of thing my stepfather might've said, well, before he was shuffled off to prison for a whole slew of financial crimes, that is. But before then? He was always saying stuff like that.
Mister Bigshot.
Back when I'd been in high school, he'd owned half the town. And the other half? Well, let's just say the owners tried to stay in his good graces.
One thing about my stepfather, he could make life living hell for the people he didn't like.
And hehadn'tliked Flynn. Or more accurately, he hadn't liked the teenager named John Archer. Yes, thathadbeen Flynn's name, before he'd become a bigtime movie star.
Funny, even back then, the name John had been way too generic for a guy like him – sinfully sexy and dangerous to know, especially for someone like me, who'd been desperate to keep a low profile.
