Not Quite Perfect (Not Quite Series Book 5)

by Catherine Bybee

  He played with the edges of her hair. “I’m the exclusive boyfriend. I need to know about these things.”

  She closed her eyes and snuggled closer. “Feels strange telling you.”

  “Get over it. Now, about church . . .”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The first night back on the East Coast while Mary was on the West Coast was the hardest.

  He made an hourly check-in once he knew she was home from work. First was a text . . . then a call. He stopped at midnight, then tossed and turned until two in the morning.

  By Wednesday he managed to get some significant work done, distracted in the middle of his day by a brief phone call from Mary.

  “Is it me, or does it feel quiet after all of last week’s excitement?” she asked.

  “It’s not you.”

  “As the days go on, I can’t help but wonder if maybe everything was random. If someone had something personal against me, wouldn’t they be back for more?”

  “I don’t want to think like that.” But the answer was yes. “What about that Jacob guy?”

  “I haven’t seen him. His wife said he took off to a cabin they used to visit every summer to regroup.”

  “Any idea how long he’s been out of town?”

  “I have no idea. He has a job, so I doubt it’s been long.”

  Glen glanced out his office window. “Might be why it’s been quiet around there.”

  Mary sighed. “I’ve thought of that.”

  “So you think he might be behind this?”

  “I think I’ve put every client I know in the position of vandal in my head. Jacob being the most recent person who’s been belligerent with me makes him an easy target.”

  “I think you should tell the police about him.”

  “That isn’t going to happen without something more than just one outburst. Besides, it isn’t always the loud ones that are the problem. It’s the quiet ones who can’t vocalize their feelings who take it out in passive-aggressive ways.”

  “Like trashing your place when you’re not there.”

  “Exactly.”

  “And who is on your list that fits that profile?”

  “Oh, I don’t know . . . everyone else.”

  “Great!”

  “Anyway, how is your day? Have your brokers come up with any new marketing plans?”

  Glen leaned against the glass, grinning. Mary actually listened and remembered. “We actually have a few plans to target for the summer travel season.” He bounced a few ideas off of her, found her genuine interest warming to his soul. When he hung up, she was running off to lunch and he had a meeting to attend.

  Seemed to him, the East Coast–West Coast relationship was working out really well.

  Mary was sinking her teeth into her Reuben when Kent pulled up to the empty space beside her.

  “Hey,” she said around her food.

  He pointed down. “Am I good here?”

  She nodded and wiped her mouth, washed the food down with her tea. “You’re fine.”

  He glanced around. “I thought maybe your friend was joining you again.”

  “Glen? Ah, no. He’s not here. He’s doesn’t actually live here.”

  Kent accepted the ice water Carla set in front of him. “Is that right?”

  “He’s on the East Coast.”

  “That doesn’t sound terribly convenient.”

  She lifted her sandwich for another bite, hesitated before saying, “He’s a pilot, so . . . it works. Except when my car breaks down. Thanks again, by the way.” She filled her mouth.

  Kent seemed to take in the information slowly. “I suppose if you’re both committed to making it work, then good for you.”

  She smiled, tried not to look smug. “So far.”

  Carla set a Reuben in front of Kent. “Thanks, hon.”

  Carla winked, moved on down the line.

  “Is your car still in the shop?”

  Mary set her sandwich down and shook her head. “The guy did a number on it. It won’t be running for another week and then it goes to the body shop.”

  Kent just stared at her. “What guy?”

  “Someone broke into my house . . . ripped it up a bit. Messed up my car.”

  “What?” There was outrage in his voice.

  “Someone with a Napoleon complex, I’m sure. Anyway . . . yeah, my car won’t be back with me for a while.”

  “That sounds awful. Any idea who did it?”

  “No clue.”

  “Are you concerned . . . living alone?”

  “I’m not going to let this person win by living in a bubble. I’m being more careful. The police have been in the neighborhood more since the incident.”

  Kent reached into his suit pocket and removed a card. He took a pen and wrote on the back of it. “Here is my number. If you need someone to walk you to your car, just check on you . . .”

  Mary hesitated. She didn’t want the man to get the wrong idea.

  “For your safety, Mary. I know you’re dating East Coast guy. I can’t help but wonder if that will work, but I get the hint. I’d like to think we’re friends. If I had a girlfriend as gorgeous as you, I’d like to know there was someone watching out for her when I couldn’t be there.”

  When he put it that way, it felt wrong not to take his number. “Thank you, I appreciate it.”

  “I think I need a drawer,” Glen said from her bathroom the following Saturday morning.

  He’d arrived in time to take her out to dinner Friday night, made love to her until one in the morning, and now stood in her bathroom brushing his teeth.

  “A drawer?”

  “You know . . . the boyfriend drawer.”

  She hid a smile behind her palm with a tiny squeak she knew he couldn’t hear. She’d never been in a relationship long enough to warrant a drawer. “What makes you think you’re drawer-worthy?”

  She stood over the very place his drawer would be, removed a pair of panties, and slid them on.

  “I think the exclusive boyfriend is entitled to a drawer.”

  Mary found a matching bra, hooked herself in, and dropped the bathrobe she’d put on after her shower. “Does that mean I can have a drawer at your place?”

  “Of course . . .” He had a toothbrush in his mouth, so of course sounded more like ah cus. The water in the sink was turned on, then off. “But you might wanna come over at least once to see if you even want a drawer at my place.”

  It was kind of strange that she’d yet to step foot in Glen’s home. “I have to be invited.”

  “Oh, sweetheart . . . you are always invited.”

  She smiled into the thought and walked to the doorway to the bathroom. Glen had a towel wrapped around his waist, his bare, sculpted chest stared at her in the mirror. “Have you ever had a drawer at a girlfriend’s house?” she asked.

  Through the mirror, he let his eyes fall up and down her frame. He licked his lips. “I’ve never had a girlfriend before. The drawer never came into question.”

  She found that hard to believe. “You’ve dated a lot of women.”

  “Dated. Some of them more than once.”

  “Not one girlfriend?”

  “I don’t count high school. And drawers weren’t an option back then.”

  “Someone in college, surely?”

  “I can give you Jason’s number if you don’t believe me.”

  “So I’m your first real girlfriend?” It sounded strange coming out of her mouth.

  “Some might claim they were, but none that I would agree to.”

  She ran a hand through her wet hair in thought. “What is your definition of girlfriend?”

  He pointed at her through the mirror.

  “C’mon . . . that sounds like a line. Seriously, why me?”

  Glen turned around with disbelief in his eyes. “Why not you?”

  “I can think of a hundred reasons. Geography alone makes it difficult.”

  “I’ve seen you more in the past two
months than either of my brothers, and we work in the same building. Give me another reason.”

  “I’m independent.”

  “A complete turn-on. I like you needy in bed, however.”

  “I’m opinionated and demanding.”

  “Women who roll over to please a man nauseate me. They’re fake and it’s only a matter of time before they let their true self come out. Then it’s usually ugly.”

  She still wasn’t convinced.

  “You’re beautiful,” he told her.

  “Beauty fades.”

  “You challenge me.” His smirk deserved a place on the billboards of snarky smiles. “I like that!” He stepped closer. “You surprise and inspire me.”

  “Inspire?”

  “Shocking, huh? Well, you do. Your honesty is refreshing and out of character for nearly everyone I know. You don’t deliver your honesty in any way other than constructive.”

  “Side effect of my job.”

  “Don’t care how you came about it . . . it’s a wonderful quality . . . and girlfriend-worthy.” By now he was standing over her, his hand on the side of her face.

  “And one more thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “My mom would have liked you.”

  The mom card nailed it. “Okay, fine . . . you can have a drawer.”

  He grinned like a kid who’d just scored ice cream for free.

  Monday afternoon, she arrived home to find a bouquet of flowers on her doorstep. There wasn’t a card, but she knew who they were from.

  She set them in her kitchen and smiled every time she passed by.

  The following weekend, Glen flew her to Connecticut.

  Glen picked her up from the airport and drove her straight to his house. His gated community offered a layer of security that he’d always taken for granted until the day he walked into Mary’s trashed condo.

  His house sat on over an acre of land, with enough distance from his neighbors to not know when they were arguing or cooking fish. The house was temporary; he’d known that when he’d bought it shortly after his parents had died.

  He always thought he’d land in Manhattan. Avoid the commute . . . but owning a company with things like airplanes and helicopters had its perks. And Glen wasn’t opposed to public transportation. He avoided driving at peak hours in the city. Many would argue there was such a rush-hour monster in Manhattan. The city was a twenty-four hour driving nightmare. And if things got hairy and business demanded attention, there was always The Morrison not far away.

  He had it good.

  And he knew it.

  He gave Mary the nickel tour of his home before sweeping her out the door with the promise of showing her more later. “We have somewhere to be,” he told her.

  “Everything is so green,” she said as he drove her toward their destination.

  “You can blame the snow and rain for that.”

  She glanced out the car window. “Not today.”

  He smiled. “Perfect day for what I have planned.”

  Glen drove past the gates of his family estate . . . the home he’d grown up in . . . the house where Jason now lived. They’d all been given the option to live there after their parents’ death. Trent had immediately moved to Jamaica, where he spent several years drowning in his own sorrow and guilt. Glen couldn’t bring himself to stay there, and Jason couldn’t bring himself to leave.

  So the house went to Jason. The estate sat on over fifty acres. It had its own airstrip and hangar. There were two guesthouses and an equestrian barn with half a dozen horses. A passion of his mother’s that all of them worked to keep alive after her death.

  Glen heard Mary blow out a breath as they passed through the gates. “Wow!”

  “It’s a lot to take in.”

  “You grew up here?”

  “Yep.”

  He wondered exactly what Mary saw as he drove through the tree-lined drive, past the gates, and onto the property.

  “It’s amazing.”

  And she hadn’t seen the house yet.

  “We’ll have time for the house later,” he said as he detoured toward the hangar.

  “I think it would take weeks to see everything.”

  “Maybe longer.”

  He parked his car outside the hangar. “Ready for an adventure?” he asked.

  “I’m finding life with you to be one continuous adventure.”

  “Good answer. Leave your purse, you won’t need it.” He grabbed her hand once they left his car and led her onto the airstrip.

  Nathan stood outside the Piper, smiled as they approached. Glen shook the man’s hand.

  “Nathan, this is Mary.”

  “Lovely, lass.” His Scottish brogue always did a number on the ladies.

  “Nathan has been here since . . . I don’t know.”

  “I think you were in nappies. If that helps at all.”

  “I was young.”

  “Wet behind the ears, he was.” Nathan had a good thirty pounds of extra around his waist but stood at least six two and had enough muscle under all that extra to back up anyone in need of backing up.

  “Best mechanic and pilot I’ve ever met.”

  Mary seemed to understand what that meant and smiled. “A pleasure to meet you, Nathan.”

  “And such a beautiful voice. Do you sing, lass?”

  “Like a duck, I’m afraid.”

  Glen walked over to the Piper, patted the wing. “Is she ready?”

  Nathan shook his head in offense. “You asked, lad . . . here she is. See for yourself.”

  Mary caught on. “We’re going to . . .”

  Glen gave the single propeller a good tug. “Yep.”

  Mary sucked in an audible breath.

  “This is the plane I learned to fly in. She’s the plane we all learned in.”

  “You mean Jason and Trent?”

  Glen nodded as he walked around the wing. “That’s what I meant. As soon as we were old enough to reach the pedals, our father took us up.”

  “It’s that old?”

  He laughed. “Airplanes aren’t the same as cars. The maintenance and care are meticulous enough to keep them in the air.”

  “It’s small.”

  “Is that worry I hear in your voice?”

  Mary shook her head. “Just an observation.”

  She didn’t lie well.

  Then again, a woman who didn’t lie . . . even a little white lie, shouldn’t be that convincing.

  “C’mon.”

  He showed her where to step before rounding the plane and taking his seat. Inside the cramped cockpit, they brushed shoulders.

  “This is crazy.”

  “You said you wanted to learn.”

  Mary grabbed her head with both hands. “But we’re in . . . this.”

  Glen looked around. Saw the very basics of controls and navigation. Something to be flown on clear days with little concern for nasty weather, but that could also land safely with a skilled pilot in any condition.

  “Where is Miss Adventure?”

  “She’s right here . . . just—”

  “Good.” He didn’t give her any time for second-guessing. “Put those headphones on and the mouthpiece close to your lips.”

  Mary did as she was told and Glen went through the steps of firing up the Piper.

  He waved out the window as he put the plane in motion.

  The enclosed cockpit was meant for two. There were controls on each side that Mary kept her hands far away from. Unlike any other aircraft she’d been in, even the small space of a helicopter, this felt more intimidating.

  “Can you hear me?” Glen’s voice came through the earpiece with a tinny squeal.

  “I hear you.”

  “It can get loud in here once we get going.”

  “One propeller means one engine?” Mary’s question sounded ludicrous, even to her ears.

  “I have you, Mary.”

  She looked over the wing at the runway as they rolled over it. “Good,
cuz I’d like to eventually enjoy my cougar years.”

  Glen busted out laughing. “You have time for that.”

  He flipped a few switches and the sound in the cockpit increased. The plane followed a white line on the pavement almost as if a massive string were pulling it, increasing in speed as it went.

  “See that thing in front of you?”

  “The steering wheel?” It wasn’t a wheel, more like a double-handled control for a video game.

  “Yeah. Place your hands on it.”

  “Okay.”

  “Now pull back, slowly.”

  She pulled as slow as she could but still moved her hands.

  “A little more.”

  The plane was speeding down the tarmac now.

  “More.”

  Mary pulled with a little more effort and the ground beneath them disappeared. She gripped the controls a little tighter. “Oh my God! Did I just do that?”

  “Yes you did, Counselor. Now let me have the controls for a minute.”

  Glen was smiling from ear to ear. He banked the plane to the left as it ascended into the blue sky.

  Mary looked at the ground below as it slowly pulled away. “Feels like a slow-moving car.”

  “I remember thinking the same thing the first time I came up.”

  “So different from when you’re in the passenger cabin of a jet.”

  Glen adjusted a few controls and leveled the plane out. “You ready for your first lesson?”

  Mary grinned like a silly schoolgirl. “Seriously?”

  “It won’t really count toward a pilot license, but you will see if it’s something you might want to explore.”

  “Kinda like driving a car before you get your permit.”

  “Exactly. Only up here, it’s hard to get pulled over.”

  Mary placed both hands on the steering wheel, joystick . . . whatever the thing was called, and said, “I’m ready.”

  Glen let go of his side and Mary took control. The plane dipped and she pulled back on the wheel. “This is crazy. I don’t know if I should keep my eyes on the sky or a dial.”

  “Both.” Glen pointed at a dial. “This one tells you if you’re ascending or descending. Try and keep it steady for now.”

  Mary found herself watching the dial like a speedometer on a car. She overcorrected the controls a couple of times before forcing her shoulders to relax.