by Nikki Chase
“What are you going to do? You’re going to send me one of your thugs? Which one? Uncle Tim? Uncle Harry?” I laugh. I know I’m mocking and agitating him, which is not going to do me any good, but he’s already so worked up I figure I’d just go for broke.
“If this gets out, it’s not going to be just them you need to be afraid of. You’re going to have to deal with the cops. We’re going to have to deal with the cops.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “All of us. You’re putting all of us at risk.”
I shrug. What does he want me to say? I can’t see myself changing anything even if it were possible to turn back time and do it all over again. I can’t just let Emily wallow in her jobless misery, not after everything that has happened.
“You be careful now, boy,” he says. “I still own this company and I know you don’t want to lose it.”
I stare at him, daring him with my eyes.
“See you when you get back into town,” he says. He gets up and leaves the office.
Good. I’ve had enough of you too, Pop.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried. I don’t have to worry about physical violence, obviously. But he does still have me by the balls and we both know it.
Forget all that. I have more immediate problems to worry about.
For example, how am I supposed to survive three whole days — and two nights — alone with Emily?
10
Emily
I take my ringing phone out of my bag. It's Alice.
“Hey. Did I leave something at home?”
“No,” she says, laughing nervously. That’s weird. What has she got to be nervous about?
“Good.” I exhale with relief. “I thought I was going to have to ask the taxi driver to turn around.”
I'm already running late so I have no time to get anything from home anyway. I was planning to take the BART train, but it took me longer than expected to get ready this morning. I didn't think gathering the last few items and putting them in the bag would take so much time.
“So you're in the taxi now?”
What kind of a question is that?
“I told you when I walked out the door ten minutes ago that the taxi was waiting for me downstairs. So yes. Yes, I am in the taxi now.”
“All the...luggage in the trunk?”
“Sorry, maybe I wasn't clear enough. I’m in a moving taxi now. So yes, you're right again. The luggage is in the trunk,” I say. I sigh audibly and ask, “Why are you really calling?”
“Uh, you mentioned you were going with your boss? What's his name again?”
“Cole Foster. Yeah, I know. He's kinda famous. Why? You want an autograph?” I laugh.
I hope she doesn't really want an autograph because that would be a weird thing to ask from my boss.
I guess if she really wants one, I can make a copy of a corporate letter that has his signature on it and blow it up. Huh. There's an idea. I wonder if I can sell that on eBay for money.
“No, I’m just worried about you,” she says.
“Aww… I'm going to be fine,” I say. “I know I haven't left home since, well, you know. But I’m in a good place now. Don't worry about me.”
“That's good, Em. That really puts my mind at ease.” She pauses for a few pregnant seconds before she says, “Listen. What I texted you the other day… You know, the autocorrect… Uh, what I said about your boss…”
“Oh, you mean when you told me to lick his ass?” I lower my voice to a whisper at the end of the sentence, but I can't tell if the driver heard it. I giggle, remembering our little online chat.
“Yeah. Uh, I'm just calling to say… Don't do that.”
“Alice. Do you seriously think I’m going to lick my boss’ ass?” My whisper gets a little louder. I can't believe what Alice is implying.
“No, I don't mean literally.” I can almost hear her blush over the phone. “I mean, I know I’ve been pushing you to start dating again, and I don't want you to do anything rash.”
“You're calling me because you're worried about me going on a trip with a boy? I'm twenty-five. And it's an industry conference. I'm traveling for work,” I say, a little offended by the lack of trust Alice is displaying toward me right now. “I'm a full-grown adult, for God’s sake.”
“I know. It's just, you know how Mom used to lose her jobs because she had a habit of sleeping with her bosses?”
“Yes, Alice. I remember us having to go to sleep hungry whenever Mom lost her job and ran out of money, all because she inevitably got fired when her latest boss-slash-boyfriend grew tired of her craziness. But I’m not Mom, okay?”
Guilt rises within me. I have had some seriously dirty thoughts about Cole, and I’d be lying if I said I hadn't fantasized about things happening with him during this trip.
But those are just fantasies, stories I tell myself to fill my mind when I’m trying to fall asleep. We're talking about Cole Foster here. Surely a girl is allowed a fantasy or two when her boss looks like that.
“I know, Em. I'm just worried, okay?” She sighs into the phone. “I have a confession.” She goes quiet, then she continues, “I had a thing with someone at work once. It was awkward when it ended. I kept my job because he's not a vindictive man. But Em, he could've easily fired me, waited for me to make a mistake and then used that as an excuse. I was freaking out for a while. I didn't think I was going to be stupid enough to follow in Mom’s footsteps, but I did.”
“Oh, Alice.” My voice softens. Alice may be annoying sometimes, but her concern comes from a place of love. “You're not stupid. There was no way for you to have known that it wasn't going to work out with him. You're a smart, capable, independent woman. And you're a pretty good sister, too.”
She laughs softly. “Just… Just be careful out there, okay?”
“Okay. I promise you,” I say. “Now stop worrying about me and go get ready for work or you're going to lose your job anyway.”
“Have a safe trip, Em. I love you,” she says.
“Love you too,” I say.
I put the phone back in my bag and look out the car window. The taxi driver has been quiet the whole ride, and he doesn’t even play any music. Just the silence I need. Soon, I get lost in my thoughts.
I had no idea Alice ever went through something like that. She never told me about it. When did this happen? A chill runs down my spine when I realize I must've been too absorbed with my own problems to notice her pain.
Damn it, Emily. You need to do better for your sister’s sake.
I spend most of my commuting time either on the bus or on the train, so it feels strange to see the city whizz by from inside a car. I can relax more with the cushy seat and the knowledge that I’ll be dropped off right at the terminal entrance, instead of having to drag my wheeled suitcase from the BART station all the way to the check-in desk.
I wonder if I’ll be able to get the taxi fare reimbursed. Just as I send a text to ask Lily about it, the taxi pulls up at the airport.
I pay the taxi driver, leaving him a twenty-percent tip. No matter how much I’m struggling with money, I can never bring myself to tip any less. I’ve spent too many years working as a waitress to stiff service workers out of their tips.
I drag my suitcase into the cool, air-conditioned airport terminal and stop in front of the monitor that shows a list of the departures.
Hmm… SEA… Flight Omega 4989…
Just as I spot our flight on the list, someone grabs my arm and I let out a loud shriek.
I turn to find Cole with his eyes wide in shock, and I immediately cover my mouth with both hands.
But it's too late. People are already looking at us curiously, whispering to each other.
Cole quickly drops my arm and puts on a strained smile, nodding at the people who are still staring. Most of them quickly realize there's nothing extraordinary going on here.
“What are you doing?” He whispers without moving his lips, which are still frozen in a weird smile aimed at the few rema
ining nosy travelers.
“Sorry, Cole,” I say, heat spreading across my cheeks. “I’m so sorry. You just surprised me.”
Even with that suspicious, axe-murderer expression on his face, Cole still draws the attention of the women around us. The wow-he’s-cute kind of attention; not the look-at-that-creepy-axe-murderer kind.
He looks different today. That's definitely a big part of why I was so taken aback. I didn't recognize the sizzling hot bad boy standing before me.
He's wearing a pair of jeans that hangs a little loosely on him. A plain white T-shirt shows off his broad shoulders, hard chest, and built abs. I have to suppress the urge to reach out my fingers and trace the ropes of muscles along his bare arms.
“Let's just get to the check-in desk. I’ve been waiting for you,” he says, his teeth gritted.
“Oh! Am I late?” I pull my suitcase as I walk behind Cole, openly checking out his back now that he's not looking my way. His shoulder blades are outlined beautifully underneath the thin cotton.
“Yes,” he says. “I got here first and you have the tickets. You're going to have to give me your phone number so I can reach you in the future.”
“Okay,” I say.
My heart beats a little faster at the thought of Cole calling me on the phone. Then I remind myself he’ll just be calling to coordinate work stuff, and I feel stupid.
Oh boy, this is going to be a long trip if I have to keep fanning myself around Cole.
“What took you so long anyway? I thought we agreed to meet here fifteen minutes ago,” he says.
“It took longer than I expected to finish packing, and then when I called the taxi, there was a long wait.”
“You should’ve told me. I would’ve picked you up,” Cole says, approaching the First Class check-in counter.
“Really, there's no need,” I say.
God. What would Alice say if Cole showed up at home with his fancy car? She’d probably freak out and curl up in the fetal position while rocking back and forth to soothe herself.
“Obviously there is a need because you were late today,” Cole says with finality.
He stops at the counter and shoots a charming smile to the female agent, who greets him a little too eagerly.
“Can I see your tickets, please?” She flashes Cole a big, wide smile, not paying me the slightest bit of attention. I’m surprised she can blink under the weight of her mega-thick fake eyelashes.
“Emily, the tickets?” Cole looks at me expectantly.
I dig the pieces of paper out of my bag and hand them over to the woman across the counter from us.
She takes our IDs and types away on her keyboard. After she checks our bags, she continues typing. She slides something onto the counter.
“Your gate is C40. Mr. Foster, your seat is 3A. And Miss Webb, your seat is 22B,” she says, placing the boarding passes on the counter with a smug smile directed at me.
“Hang on,” Cole says. “Why aren't we sitting together?”
“Your seat is in First Class, Mr. Foster. Miss Webb’s seat is in coach,” she says, a sickeningly sweet smile plastered on her face.
“Is the seat beside me empty?” Cole asks.
The agent glances at her computer screen and nods. “Yes, Mr. Foster,” she says.
“Move her there. I’ll pay for the upgrade,” Cole says, pulling his wallet out of the pocket in the back of his jeans and handing the agent his credit card.
I stand beside him with my mouth hanging open. What am I supposed to do here?
That's really generous of him, and a part of me wants to protest -- at first.
But then, I don't know if I’ll ever have the chance to fly First Class ever again in my entire life. What if, in my old age, a young person comes to see me in my nursing home and asks me about my biggest regret, and I have to say, “Well, there was that one time I said no to a free First Class ticket fifty years ago…”
As if he senses my apprehension, Cole turns toward me and smiles. Is that tenderness I see in his eyes?
“Don't worry. We're already saving a lot of money by not taking the private jet anyway,” Cole says. “Besides, I have a couple of questions for you about the presentation.”
“Uh, okay” I lamely reply. “Thank you so much.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he says, waving a hand dismissively. He reminds me of his father when he does that. “It all comes out of the company expenses anyway.”
“Here's your new boarding pass, Miss Webb,” the agent says, interrupting our little awkward conversation.
As I take the boarding pass and turn to walk away, I catch her mouthing something to Cole.
“Uh, did she just ask you to call her?” I quietly ask Cole as we step away from the check-in counter.
“I guess so.” He shrugs.
“When did she give you her number?”
“When I was waiting for you.” He cocks a crooked grin my way as we walk side by side toward the security checkpoint. A wicked glint sparkles in his dark brown eyes when he says, “Why do you ask? Are you jealous?”
11
Cole
“Are you jealous?”
Fucking idiot.
I regret the words as soon as I blurt them out. Me and my big mouth. I seriously need to learn to watch what I say, whether I’m with Emily or with my father.
It's too late to take the words back now that she has obviously heard them, judging by the way she's furiously blushing. The damage is done. Might as well keep going.
“You just ask a lot of questions is all. Kinda makes a man wonder,” I say, walking a little slower to match her pace so I can watch every little change in her expression.
“I… Wha… No, I'm not jealous. I was just trying to make some conversation.” She quickly comes up with a rebuttal, but the initial stammering tells me I got under her skin. We both know why she asked.
“Okay. If you say so.” I shrug. A smile involuntarily creeps across my face as the three of us — me, Emily, and the big pink elephant of her jealousy — traverse the airport following the signs to the security checkpoint.
I just can’t help myself. She looks great today, so different from the way she looks at the office. I’ve seen her wear that same green blouse at the office, but today she wears it with a pair of light blue skinny jeans that hugs her curves.
I don’t have any complaints about her tight little pencil skirts, but it’s a nice change. I have seen her in jeans before, but she didn’t know me back then.
Now, away from the tension of the office, I feel like I can let my guard down. There’s nobody to recognize her and get all bent out of shape about it, although now that my father has found out about her I don’t actually have to worry about it anymore.
Everything just feels so nice and casual this morning. I feel like we’re going on a vacation together.
She might’ve screamed when I surprised her by grabbing her arm, but she’s been staying close to me since then. If I stretch my arm now I can reach her shoulder and pull her close against my chest, and it’s taking all my willpower to not do that. And let’s not forget the way she got all annoyed when the check-in desk agent flirted with me.
I can’t imagine her acting this way in the office. It seems I’m not the only one thrown off my balance this morning. I can’t deny I’m happy about this, but Emily looks so awkward I’m starting to feel bad now as those familiar pangs of guilt start to plague my conscience yet again.
“So are you excited about the conference?” I ask as we join the long, snaking line of impatient travelers waiting to pass the airport security checkpoint. Maybe she’d feel more comfortable it I steer the conversation toward more neutral ground.
“Yes, this is a huge opportunity for me.” She pauses, as if realizing she has said the wrong thing, and says, “I mean, not that I’m happy about the circumstances because I know it’s a huge hassle for you, with Steffi quitting and everything. But if it didn’t work out this way I probably would’ve had to wait f
or years to get an opportunity like this.”
“It’s actually not a big deal for me. The tickets weren’t even booked yet. Sure, I’ll have to help with the presentation so I won’t be able to just focus on networking, but that’s not a big deal.”
“That’s a relief,” she says.
To be honest, I’d been dreading taking yet another uncomfortable trip with Steffi. Last year, she drank a little too much at the hotel bar and started telling people — other hospitality professionals I’d been trying to impress — about how I’d never called her after “taking advantage” of her.
Luckily she was slurring her speech so badly that they didn’t understand what she was saying. I had to carry her up to her room before she could smear my reputation.
She was almost passed out, but she still had the presence of mind to run her hands all over my chest and shoulders in the hallway. She clung to me when I tried to deposit her onto her hotel bed, and I had to physically remove her hands from around my neck before I left the room. She didn’t remember anything the next morning, or at least she acted like she didn’t remember anything.
“I know what you mean, Emily,” I say. “It was unexpected, but it has worked out pretty well for you.”
“Yes, exactly,” she says. “At first I was shocked, though, when I found the resignation letter.”
“It must be annoying for you as well, that she just left like that after all the work that you’ve put in.”
I remember the look on Emily’s face when she came to my office to show me the letter, and my own horror as I realized my father was going to find out about Emily.
Steffi has really put us both in a difficult situation, and as much as I like the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to take a trip with Emily, I can’t help my blood boiling when I think about it.
“Well, after the initial shock wore off, I realized I was going to Seattle so I was pretty happy about that.” She laughs, a musical sound that helps soothe my anger.
“You weren’t at least annoyed at her?” I ask incredulously as we give our IDs and boarding passes to a grumpy middle-aged TSA agent. The female officer glances at our photo IDs, stares at our faces, and hands the documents back.
