Page 50 of Gold Rush

I clear my throat. “Oh. Um, thanks. It’s not that—it’s still new.”

Way to sell the upcoming engagement, I chastise myself.

“Yeah, I get that. I’m not trying to—I’ll keep my mouth shut until you guys are ready to tell everyone. I just … be careful, Rory.”

I relax some. This is more what I was expecting Kit’s reaction to be. “I will be. I am being careful.”

“He’s serious about you, and I’m not sure what you’re open to, if this is to move on or if you’re looking for something substantial, but I’d hate to see Flynn get burned the first time he really puts himself out there, you know?”

I’m speechless.

Kit isn’t concerned about me. Not only at least. He’s worried about Flynn getting hurt? What the fuck did Flynn say to him?

“Flynn seems pretty flame retardant to me,” I state.

But as soon as I reference his nonchalance, I think about him admitting he picked a firm to impress his dad. I wouldn’t have ever guessed he cared, based on his other comments about his father. But Flynn caring about certain things does not mean he cares about me. He knows exactly what this arrangement is. It was his idea! He could have pursued acting instead of attending law school, it sounds like.

Kit laughs. “Yeah, well⁠—”

Jackie raps on my desk as she passes it, pointing at the large clock on the wall. It’s 2:59. Our weekly staff meeting starts at three.

“I have to run, Kit. I’ve got a meeting.”

“No problem. We’ll talk soon. Bye.”

“Bye,” I repeat.

I grab the portfolio Wren gave me as a graduation gift, tuck it under my arm, then hurry toward the conference room. As I walk, I type.

Rory: You told Kit we’re dating?!?!

The indication Flynn is replying appears immediately. Despite my annoyance, I do appreciate his expeditiousness. Carson was typically unreachable while he was at work, and he sure wasn’t employed by a top-ranked law firm.

Flynn: Yeah.

I wait, but that’s it. His entire response.

I enter the conference room before I have time to text him again. The meeting lasts the full hour, so it’s after four by the time I return to my desk. I have no new messages from Flynn, but I do have a text from my mom, wondering when they should expect me this weekend. I avoided details when I committed to coming, using the excuse of work, not sure how Flynn coming might affect my plans. Right now, I don’t even know if Flynn is coming. I went to bed before he got back from the gym, and I left before he was up, leaving a bowl of oatmeal and fresh coffee in what’s become our daily routine. I make breakfast; he cooks dinner. And makes executive decisions during lunch.

“Bye, Rory,” Carla says, passing my desk.

“Bye. Have a good weekend!” I call after her.

She waves before leaving the office.

I suck in a deep, grounding breath, and then I call Flynn Parks. I’ve never called him before. I’ve barely texted him before. We live together. Sweat shouldn’t be prickling the back of my neck, and I shouldn’t be so aware of my heart banging against my ribs as I listen to the repeated ring.

He answers right when I start to slump in my chair, thinking I’ll get his voicemail. “I can’t talk. I’m at work.”

My teeth grit. That’s my line. “Well, you had time to⁠—”

“One sec, Rory.”

I hear a woman’s voice in the background, faintly asking if Flynn is on his way to a meeting.

“I’ll be right there, Haley,” he tells her. “My girlfriend just had a question.”

How many people has he told about us? Flynn’s voice is a little muffled, like maybe he’s trying to cover the speaker, so I’m not sure if he’s intending for me to hear this or not.