Is Nick Monroe here? Has he threatened Scott again?
“Flynn’s here,” Scott says nervously, biting his lip.
I relax, rolling my eyes. “And? Why has that got you so panicked?”
“He’s in the office, Jax, asking questions about the club. Did you rat on me?”
“Of course I didn’t. I can’t believe you would even ask me that.”
“You were pretty adamant that we should tell him,” he mutters defensively.
“Yeah, because weshould. But I’m not a fucking snitch, Scott. What’s he asking about? You did deal with the balance sheet, right? Because if you left them the way they were, there’s nothing I can do. He understands this stuff better than both of us, and he’ll recognize a problem immediately.”
“I dealt with them. Would you just go deal withhim? He’s in a mood about something, I don’t know what, and it’s making me anxious.”
“I’ll go and talk to him. Could you let Aidan know that we’re about to get started in here? It’s Clark’s first set, and I want more people to boost him up a bit.”
“Sure.”
“And Scott?”
“What?”
“Chill, would you? If Flynn sees the most laid-back man on the planet looking stressed, that’s more of a red flag than anything.”
He flips me off as I spin around and head up to Flynn’s office.
Unlike Scott, I like it when Flynn stops by. He took on a lot of the family's responsibilities when my dad got locked up, and I always learn something new from him.
Flynn’s almost ten years older than me, but he talks to me like I’m his equal. He’s never spoken down to me because I’m a woman—and he’s taught my brothers to do the same.
I have a lot to thank Flynn for, least of all for letting me take charge of the club while he’s working on the new one.
My gut clenches as I think about what he’s going to say when he finds out about Monroe.
Hopefully, it won’t come to that.
When I walk into the office, Flynn’s standing next to the open safe. My pulse skyrockets as I squint at the contents, but I breathe a sigh of relief when I see what’s inside.
Somehow, it’s full again. I don’t want to think too hard about where Scott got the money, but he must have known that would be the first place Flynn would look.
“Hey shithead,” I say brightly, as I push the door closed behind me, and Flynn turns with a wide grin.
“Hey dirtbag. Did you dye your hairagain?”
I snort. “Yep. You gonna dye yours so you stop looking like such an old man?”
Flynn’s hair started to go gray when our mother died. Now it’s pretty much salt-and-pepper throughout. He’s rocking it, though.
“I was thinking bubble gum pink might work,” he says good-naturedly, “but I wouldn’t want to cramp your style.”
His tone reassures me that he hasn’t found anything out of the ordinary at the club yet. He usually scrutinizes everything inminute detail, but with the sister club being set up on the other side of the city, he has other things on his mind right now.
I swallow, heading over to the desk as he turns to do the same. He glances at my shoes with a little frown of irritation as he lowers into his chair. I sit down across from him and make a show of leaning back and putting them up on the desk.
“I don’t like those heels,” he says irritably, shuffling some envelopes.
“Sexist.”
