Chapter 11
Anna
As I crossed the darkened parking lot, I muttered, "I can't believe I'm doing this."
It had been only ten minutes since Flynn had sauntered out of the restaurant, leaving me and Michael to lock up and get the heck out of there.
Flynn's tab had come to just under fourteen dollars, which meant that he'd given me a six-dollar tip. Percentage-wise, it was a lot more generous than any other tip I'd received, not just tonight, but during the whole year that I'd been working there.
Still, I couldn’t help but compare it to the fifty-dollar bill that he'd left for Michael on his way out. I hadn't actually seen Flynn do it, but Michael had been so blown away by the surprise that he'd practically sprinted over to wave it in my face.
And then, he'd asked that dreadful question. "How much did he leaveyou?"
I hadn't wanted to say, partly from embarrassment, and partly because I didn't want Michael to feel guilty about how muchhe'dgotten compared to me.
Probably, this was the first tip he'd gotten in his whole life. After all, it wasn't exactly standard practice to tip the cooks regardless of the hour.
I was happy for Michael, really I was. But somehow, the whole thing felt like a big ploy to get under my skin. To think, Flynn had tipped Betsy twenty dollars just for seating him.
I mean, who did that?
No one at Pinkie's Waffle Palace, that's for sure.
In the end, I'd dodged Michael's question by joking that a lady never tells, which in my case, was more true than he knew. After all, Flynn and Ididhave our share of secrets.
Flynn's car was irritatingly easy to find, and not only because the parking lot was so empty. Rather, it was because his car was so freaking exotic that I didn't even know what it was.
All I knew was that it was sleek and dark, and from the looks of it, very, very expensive.
When I tapped on the driver's side window, it slid down, revealing Flynn sitting behind the wheel. He flicked his head toward the passenger's seat and said, "Get in."
"I don't need to get in," I said. "You can tell me out here."
"No."
"Why not?"
"If you wanna know, get in the car."
Talk about circular reasoning.Maybe I should've been afraid. He obviously hated me. He wasn't even bothering to hide it.
I tried to think.What if I did get in?
It would be so stupidly easy for Flynn to drive me someplace secluded and chop me up in a million pieces. Afterward, he could dump those pieces into some ditch along the side of the road.
Considering our history, it would be almost poetic.
But if that were the plan, Flynn wouldn't've bothered to come inside the restaurant at all. Rather, he would've just caught me on the way out, tossed me in the trunk of his car along with a chainsaw, and continued along on his merry way.
Flynn's voice jolted me back to reality. "I thought you wanted to get home."
"I do."
"Yeah. Me, too. So get your ass in the car, all right?"
Several months ago, the whole town had been buzzing with the news that Flynn Archer was building a home in the area. Unlike practically everyone else in Sugar Falls, I hadn't driven by the construction site, not even once. But I'd heard enough to know that the house was very big and very secluded.
All the better for chopping me up.
