Simply Blair: A Jet City Novel

by Gina Robinson

  I wasn't leaving the fate of my relationship with Blair in the hope her memory would return before Nigel convinced her she'd never fallen out of love with him. My diabolical, somewhat desperate, plan was to win her heart all over again with my wingman Lazer Cyrano-ing for me.

  Hey, it was the best I could do from here. Play the hand you're dealt, man.

  The feds had confiscated my phone and, as a precaution, were combing through it for evidence of someone framing me and betraying the country. They were looking for bugs and listening devices and who knows what. While they were screwing around playing traitor catcher, I had Lazer buy a new phone and switch my number to the new device. Using the new phone, he was supposed to text Blair a series of messages for me and respond to her replies as if he were me. In my voice.

  Lazer knew me as well as anyone. Of all the guys, he was best suited for this task. He knew how to play the game of love like a pro. Before meeting Ashley, he'd been a ladies' man. Now he was a one-woman guy, but I trusted he hadn't lost his touch in such a relatively short time off the market. And he had Ashley, with her additional matchmaking skills, to guide him if he was ever in doubt of how to respond. Not that he would be.

  He was supposed to have texted Blair the first message.

  Lazer nodded. "I did."

  "Well? Don't leave me hanging. What did she say?"

  He leaned forward and put a hand on my knee. "Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, bud—no reply at all. As yet."

  I frowned. "Nothing?"

  "Nothing. Nada. Zip. Dead silence."

  "And the phone is set up properly so she'll recognize the number?"

  Lazer raised an eyebrow.

  "Yeah, I get it," I said. "She can't remember. But she's been told about me. When she sees a message come in from me, she'll read it. Out of curiosity, if nothing else. Beth told her our history. Cam said she was receptive and trying to be fair."

  I glanced at my watch, glad I'd been wearing my traveling watch that gave the time in multiple time zones when the feds grabbed me at the airport. "What time did you send it?"

  "Not in the middle of her night, if that's what you're implying."

  That SOB was still pulling my leg and yanking my chain.

  "Maybe it was the message itself she took issue with. 'Hey.' Not the most original. Even though you guys like to claim it works—"

  I almost came out of my chair. "You did not."

  He pressed his lips together, trying to hold a laugh in. "Kind of generic. But it sounds completely like you. It used to be your favorite pickup text. Not that we can really call it a pickup text when it never actually worked, but…hey."

  I relaxed and settled back into my chair, even managing a small chuckle as I shook my head. "One point for you. You got me. Now, what did she say?"

  "Nothing," he said. "Sadly, I wasn't joking about not getting a response. But, if it eases your mind, I texted her exactly what you asked me to:

  "'Hey, Blair, this is Austin. Remember me? No, of course you don't. But I remember you, Southron. As soon as I get this project put to bed, you and I are going on a date. In England. In Scotland. On the damn moon if you want. I'm going to woo you all over again, because I know one thing to the core of my soul—I might be forgettable, but our love isn't.'"

  Lazer didn't sound mocking or teasing as he repeated my message. His voice was surprisingly full of emotion.

  "I wish you could have read it to her," I said. "It sounds even better coming from a billionaire's lips."

  He laughed, leaned over, and slapped me on the knee. "Cheer up." He glanced at his watch. "It's only been eight hours. There could be a perfectly rational explanation for why she hasn't responded."

  I frowned. "Haven't you given me this same pep talk half a million times before? And the outcome has never been good."

  He looked upward like he was concentrating and made a motion like he was counting on his fingers. "More like three-quarters of a million." His gaze returned to me. "I can send her another text. Why don't we try a proven winner, like 'Heyyy'?"

  Lazer, damn him, was a good enough friend to be able to make me smile. "Yeah. That's a good idea. And be sure to add wassup, just to be safe and seal the deal."

  "I'm serious this time about not stressing over this, Aus. Let's not parse this too finely. Or get too hung up thinking she should have texted back immediately.

  "She had a bad head injury. She doesn't remember you. We know that much. Cam said she's trying. And said she'd be out of contact for a while. Maybe she wasn't kidding about that. We also don't know what else the head injury affected. What other parts of her thinking? Does she even know? Maybe she's still confused and simply needs time to be alone and think. Maybe she's proceeding with caution, afraid she'll accidently say something that turns you off.

  "You know how this texting bullshit goes. It's too easy to say something innocent that makes the other person, in this case, you, go, 'wow, she likes castles and shit. And warm beer. She's out. I'm done with that chick, and good riddance.'"

  I rolled my eyes and shook my head. It was good of Lazer to try, but I wasn't buying his excuses. Though they were completely valid. "I would never do that to Blair."

  "Yeah, but she doesn't remember that." He flicked his wrists and pointed both forefingers at me. "Maybe she just can't think of a good response right now. Maybe she's taking her time crafting an answer."

  "Eight hours?" I said.

  "Neither of us know what it's like to lose our memory," he said.

  I nodded, miserable, and slumped in my chair, putting my head in my hand. "This texting game is shit. Complete crap."

  I took a deep breath and glanced up at Lazer. "You know what I'm thinking—she's not answering because radio silence is the easiest way to break up with someone. We all say we want honesty. That we deserve the courtesy of a call or a face to face. Hell, isn't that why Blair went to see Nigel in the first place? Because after ten years, he deserved more than a text saying, Sayonara, sucker? If she hadn't gone to see him—"

  "Don't go there," Lazer said.

  "It's true." I shook my head. "I've been over it and over it. I have way too much time to think in here. So much I'm growing tired of the company of my own mind. But the facts are still the facts—Blair is no novice traveler. She's been to London many times. Why did she look the wrong way and step out into the street like that? What did that douche do to upset her so much that she was so distracted? And what has he convinced her of now?" I felt my anger rising, like it did every time I thought of Nigel and the situation. I balled my fists.

  Lazer was a good enough buddy to understand my frustration, and let me rant.

  "Look," he said. "You've just made your own case. Blair's having a few memory issues, but she's still Blair. She hasn't lost the core of who she is. That Blair won't leave you hanging."

  I snorted. "Yeah. Comforting. She'll let me down easy." I shook my head and glanced around at the four walls. "This place is messing with my mind."

  "Don't give up, buddy. The game isn't over. It's just beginning. You can't let this prick Nigel get to you. Ashley could tell you a hundred stories of couples who overcame bad beginnings, unhappy middles, and major setbacks to eventually happily ride off into the sunset together. Keep the faith, bro. Blair loves you. She just has to remember that. Her doctor has faith that she will."

  "Before it's too late? What do I do now? Text her again?"

  Lazer put a hand on my shoulder. "I thought you knew I was joking. Texting again before you get a response just looks desperate and needy. Women hate it. You know that. If she's really out of touch and has turned off her phone, a million texts won't get a response. And if she is ignoring you, which I don't personally believe, she may block you if you push too hard."

  I nodded again, feeling beaten and exhausted.

  "Give her more time. Wait it out," Lazer said with the confidence of a guy who wasn't in the situation. "If she doesn't respond by the time you get out of here, you act on your promise and show
up to take her out and make her remember why she loves you. Sweep her off her feet. Women like confident, decisive men. And romance and passion."

  I took a deep breath. He was right. Damn him, he was right. But by the time I got out of here, would it be too late?

  * * *

  Monday

  Blair

  I woke very early the morning after our trip to see Santo, feeling much better than I had since the accident. Even my constant headache seemed mild by comparison to what it had been. I decided to cut back on my painkillers. And already the flow from losing the baby was lessening to the equivalent of the last days of a period. I was healing exceptionally quickly. If I'd been my own doctor, I would be very pleased with my progress. Even my bruises were fading rapidly. I wouldn't have an excuse to put Nigel off much longer. Damn my good constitution and robust health.

  I didn't analyze too closely why I wasn't eager to fall into bed with Nigel again. Certainly it had been a while since we'd had sex. Since I'd had sex. At least sex that I remembered. Which usually got the libido going. He was a handsome man, in his prime sexually. Our sex life had always been good. But there was something restraining me. Maybe it was subconscious guilt.

  Maybe it was the intellectual knowledge of Austin. Maybe it was more, something deeper. He haunted my dreams. I wasn't sure if I was remembering him or making up a man I wanted him to be—a dashing, romantic, passionate warrior. Someone who could have only existed in the past. A romanticized past, at that. I believed, in my armchair psychology kind of way, that something in me didn't want to betray him. Which was interesting in itself—was Austin that special? That perfect? Worth throwing over Nigel, the man I remembered, for?

  After yesterday, I had to admit to having warmer feelings toward Nigel. Giving me a glimpse of my dad as a boy, a grandma I'd never known, and a great-uncle was a gift beyond measure. Thoughtful and romantic. Even if it was tainted with Nigel's own motives. That was so like him, but did it negate the beauty of what he'd done?

  The sun came up in the wee hours this time of year, well before Nigel was ready to roll out of bed. I'd heard him rattling around late into the predawn hours. Probably typing up his notes from our trip. He was totally enthused with what he'd learned from Santos. Nigel would sleep as long as he could. And what was there to wake up early for? Certainly not a morning roll in the hay.

  There were, of course, other things we could do with each other, pleasures we could have, without full-blown sex. I was putting those off, too. Though the time was coming when I'd either have to let Nigel completely back into my life or cut him loose. It was a decision I didn't want to face. But how long could I hold out in this limbo?

  The morning was clear and beautiful. Birdsong floated in through the window, along with the soothing sound of water lapping against shore. I decided a walk along the cliffs was just what I needed. It's proven—walking helps the thought process. If you need to figure something out, take a walk.

  Well, I had plenty to figure out. And walking had the additional benefit of helping with physical healing. It was funny how quickly I adapted to there being no cell coverage at the cottage. After just a few days, I didn't even think to grab my phone as I headed out.

  Old school, I left Nigel a handwritten note to let him know where I was, and quietly slipped out of the cottage, taking the familiar path to the cliffs. I was actually glad to be out by myself, not having to worry if my pace was too slow for Nigel. Or whether I couldn't walk far enough to suit him. Walking with me was definitely not an exercise walk.

  Both the lake and the cove were calm as I made my way to the footpath. My idea was to walk around the lake and up the bluff to the cliff tops. On the cliff path on the far side of the lake there was a beautiful view of the lake, cove, and cottage. If I'd gauged my recovery accurately, I was strong enough to make it if I took it easy and paced myself.

  Birds squawked overhead as I walked around the lake. I wondered why we weren't spending our time here lying on the sandy beach at our doorstep. It was August, after all, and some of the best weather of the year. Or renting a boat to cruise around the cove. Even rowing out on the tiny lake. Me. I was slowing us down. But wasn't that the point? I was supposed to be recuperating.

  Recuperating! Even as fast as I was physically healing, I was growing more impatient and frustrated by the day with my lack of memory. Why wasn't my brain healing as quickly as the rest of me? If I could have directed my healing energies, that part of my brain responsible for recalling the last six months of my life was where I would have put it.

  The footpath along the cliffs was deserted. I had it all to myself. I brushed my windswept hair out of my face. This morning the breeze was particularly refreshing, sweeping my thoughts clean, and giving my brain space to simply sit empty and be. I was "looking away" and hoping inspiration, and memories, would hit me.

  Around me, the grass was drying and browning and long and blowing in the breeze. If you suffered from the fear of heights, the edge of the path was no place for you. There was only a flimsy barbed wire fence in places to stop you from tumbling over the edge, should you decide to venture too closely. It was also a picturesque place to commit suicide. And people did. I pushed that grim thought out of my mind.

  Fortunately, the path was smooth and wide. There was plenty of room to amble in the grassy fields away from the cliff edge if you were the least bit nervous. There was still plenty of view from that vantage. Because I was still recovering, I took the cautious route.

  As I walked along the cliffs and looked out at the sparkling water below, I began to have sparkles of memory. Quick flashes, like sunlight glittering on the incoming waves. More feelings and emotions than actual images or concrete details. A hint of an image. Solid, powerful emotions attached to them.

  Laughter. Beth.

  I smiled. After the scare Beth gave when I dashed out of Avebury, it was good to hear her happy and laughing—

  I gasped as I realized what that automatic thought was, and pushed myself to keep walking. A real memory. I remembered the call. Beth's doctor's voice on the phone, filled with concern, urging me to come home before it was too late.

  I could barely contain my excitement. I paused and shielded my eyes to look out to the horizon, which seemed almost like looking into eternity, and let the water mesmerize me with its rhythmic motion.

  More laughter. A handsome face. Auburn hair. A smile that took my breath away. My heart fluttered, even now. That zingy feeling of attraction that's so rare, it's startling and magical.

  I forced myself to start walking again, leaving my mind open to what it wanted to tell me. As I neared the viewpoint that was my goal destination, two middle-aged women, with binoculars around their necks, came down the path from the opposite direction toward me. One of them had a phone in her hand, chatting casually into it as the two of them strolled along the path.

  There's cell coverage on the cliffs. Is it only the hole the cottage is in that makes coverage impossible there?

  The revelation startled me. I may have gotten used to leaving my phone behind, but I didn't like the thought of being out of touch. Beth knew how to reach me, but what about everyone else? What about my patients? They liked to contact me with their successes and fear—

  My patients! Faces and names came to me. I almost cried.

  Why hadn't I taken my phone with me? I needed to check for messages. If my patients had heard about my accident, they'd be anxious for themselves as well as me. Who would treat them if I couldn't return to work?

  I was grinning madly as the women passed. I smiled at them, too jubilant to temper it. The sparkles and snatches of memories came faster.

  Beth sewing a red dress. I squinted, trying to picture the details. Elinor's dress! Actual memories about getting ready for Comicon! Panniers too wide to get through a doorway. A slimy guy hitting on me as soon as I arrived.

  Cosplay is not consent.

  I victory-punched the air. Yes.

  Randy. The name popped out of n
owhere. I didn't know what it meant, but I didn't like him. The name was surrounded by an aura of evil and caution. I shook my head.

  Physically, I was tiring quickly now. I hadn't realized how quickly I'd been walking in my excitement. I sat down on a large rock with the view I'd come up for, willing the memories to keep coming. But, as I quickly found out, you can't force memories to return. You can only wait for them to come to you. You have to look away from them, stop trying to force them into focus, and let them come to you.

  If I looked away now, would the memories just pop back into my mind rapid-fire, like my life repeating itself? A sense of déjà vu?

  I looked across the water and caught my breath. A sense of peace washed over me. It was going to be all right. Dr. Cage was right—my memories were already coming back. Excited, I headed back to the cottage to get my phone.

  By the time I arrived, Nigel was up and working on his laptop on the terrace. "Ah, there you are. How was your walk?" He frowned. "What's up? What happened? You look excited."

  Something in his manner stopped me from sharing the good news. Shouldn't he have been happy, not concerned? I hedged, keeping my newfound memories to myself. "Beautiful. The walk was absolutely beautiful. Refreshing. Lots of birds. And thrilling—I made it all the way to the viewpoint we like so well."

  "Brilliant." He closed his laptop, looking at me suspiciously and relaxing only slightly. "I hope you didn't wear yourself out."

  "Not to worry," I said. "I'm an excellent walker."

  "Good." He gave me a hug. "We have a busy day ahead. I have a surprise for you. In Fowey. Get dressed. I laid an outfit for you out on your bed."

  I studied him. "I'm your doll now?" I said it, lightly, though I was a little peeved. I didn't like being told what to wear. I expected him to bounce back with an answer like, "You've always been my doll, baby!" In fact, I could almost hear another guy saying it in a teasing, loving, sexy voice.

  But Nigel looked away and closed his laptop. "I want you to look your best today. I have a surprise for you."