Timberline

by Skye McNeil

  The week-long vacation couldn’t have come at a better time. The last tropical vacation Jessie took without having a full agenda was too long ago to recall. It had been years since lying on the beach with a mimosa was all she had done. Any other year, her vacations were jam-packed with activities and outings. It felt nice to let go of her restraints and enjoy the scorching sun and crystal waters.

  Her eyes pivoted to the laptop. Bobbi hadn’t sent all the photos taken during the wedding-turned-girl’s vacation. Several pictures were missing. The ones taken of her and Asher, to be more precise. “Or should I say A.J.?”

  She stood and pulled the blinds on the window. The astonishing New York skyline welcomed her view. She didn’t know what to call him these days. Since her arrival home, the prolific writer hadn’t called, emailed, texted, or even messaged her on various social media platforms. She hadn’t looked. It was as though the infamous A.J. Whit vanished into the pages of a book.

  “I brought your favorite,” Bridget sang as she sailed into the door.

  Flicking her gaze to the woman who was five levels too happy, Jessie reviewed the chocolate glazed donut in Bridget’s outstretched hand. “No thanks.”

  “Oh, come on, Jess. It’s been two months. Live a little,” urged Bridget as she neared her.

  Jessie let out a disgruntled sigh. Bridget was a ray of sunshine when all she wanted was rainclouds. She couldn’t hold it against the cheerful blonde, but she didn’t want to resort to eating her feelings either. She’d eaten more than what was acceptable in Mexico, and it took two months to work off the calories.

  “Bridge, I want to get back to work.” She returned to her desk and opened her laptop.

  When her assistant failed to leave, Jessie offered her a pestered look. “I can’t do my job very well with you hovering, now can I?”

  Bridget stomped to the desk and slammed the laptop closed. “Oh, please. You’ll be rejecting more manuscripts you haven’t read. I think you can take a break.” She shoved the donut onto the desk. “Eat it,” she commanded, never more serious.

  Seeing how Bridget wouldn’t leave until Jessie obeyed, she took the scrumptious smelling pastry, grumbling the whole time. It had been too long since she tasted the divine concoction from the bakery up the street. Before she knew it, the donut was gone, but Bridget remained in the seat across her.

  “There, much better. I’ll bring your Chinese when it gets here.”

  Jessie wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Why the room service today, Bridge? I admit, I’ve had a bad few months, but what are you up to?”

  Instead of answering, her assistant wiggled her eyebrows and zoomed from the room with a devious grin on her lips.

  Relinquishing herself back to work, Jessie dug into the stacks of files awaiting her review. Though her donut escape was warranted based on the protein shake she forced down earlier, she couldn’t overlook Bridget’s odd behavior.

  Work wasn’t keeping her occupied, so she returned to the window to utilize her mind. When the phone on her desk chimed, she ignored the blinking red light. Bridget would pick it up after two more rings.

  Jessie eyes were fixated on the bustle of people on the street. From her position, they looked like tiny figurines in a child’s fantasy land.

  Interactions after the botched wedding were minimal. Her cousins offered morose conversation at the dress rehearsal, but it went well after Tommy was ousted. The remaining wedding party had a nice bonfire, which included throwing the bridesmaid’s dresses into the heap and roasting hot dogs over the cremated remains. They didn’t eat the mystery meat, though. They just liked watching wieners burn. The bottles of rum made their celebration much more satisfying.

  Everything went well until one of the park rangers came and yelled at them for starting a fire, though contained, in the forest. Jessie grinned when she remembered how Bobbi swayed the ranger to understand when she explained the situation. Her sister flirted like a horny teenager with the man who could’ve passed as G.I. Joe’s twin brother, which helped their cause.

  Her one regret was the red work of art dress she brought to wow Asher would never be worn, save in the sanctity of her apartment. She resolved to wear the gown to some charity event or a work holiday party, if only to let it breathe a little. It deserved a better life and so did she.

  “Jessie, you have a phone call on line two,” Bridget said from the doorway.

  “Take a message,” she snapped in return before she could stop it. Her attitude hadn’t been the greatest since leaving Cancun. Funny how returning to normalcy makes a person unhappy. The unread manuscripts called to her from the desk. Any and all stories added to her pile were rejected on impact. Not because they were bad. Hell, they could’ve been Shakespeare’s ghost writing them, but she wouldn’t have known. She didn’t bother to read them. The manuscripts were love stories, a genre she wanted no part in except to demolish them.

  “I think you want to take this. It’s the brothers.”

  Groaning, Jessie returned to her desk. The Miller brothers never called her unless they needed something. Big shocker there.

  She grabbed the phone and noticed Bridget remained in the doorway. “Jessie Davis,” she said with faux cheer.

  “Ah, Jessie. Just the girl we need. Can you jog up to our office, please?” the elder brother asked, his British accent dripping with honey. If the two men weren’t so old, Jessie might have tossed her hat in the ring for one of them. Accents always get the girl. But alas, they were both chubby, short, and married, none of which appealed to Jessie.

  “You bet. I’ll be there in five minutes.” Swinging her eyes to Bridget, she said, “Can you please hold my calls? This may be a while.”

  “As you wish,” Bridget responded as Jessie swung her suit coat on.

  “What are you so smiley about?” she asked when the blonde continued to preen like a beautified doll.

  Bridget followed her out of the office and to the front desk, her annoying heels clipping. “Oh, it’s not much.” Jessie tossed her an exasperated glance. “Okay, fine. It’s a guy.”

  “Ah, yes. It’s always a guy, Bridge. I told you, they’re no good,” she said, but the blonde shook her head.

  “Nope. Not this one. This guy puts the man in romance.”

  “Cute, Bridge. Real cute. You should be a writer.”

  “Why? So you can turn down my book?” Bridget crossed her arms over her white sundress. A paper bag would’ve looked good on the blonde.

  “If it is a romance book then, yes.” Jessie jerked her head toward her office. “They’re horrible. The lot of them.”

  Bridget tapped her foot. “You didn’t read a single page of any of them.”

  Jessie reviewed the paperwork on Bridget’s desk. “Because they’re a load of crap. Love is crap. Romance is bullshit and someone has to tell women the cold truth before their picture ends up on the internet,” she huffed with a frown.

  “Look, I know your Asher had a few skeletons—”

  “He’s not my anything,” Jessie cut in. If he was anything, he was her least favorite author. One who was silent, to her surprise. It unnerved her how little he cared following his confession of love. Either he was a coward or a liar. Based on their time together, she opted to believe the latter.

  Bridget rolled her eyes with dramatic fashion. “Yeah, whatever. Asher should have handled it better, but he can be your dreamboat. Romance isn’t dead yet, Jess.”

  “Then I better keep my pitchfork on hand,” Jessie quipped with a flick of her hair. “And this is the last I want to hear about A.J. Whit,” she added, all but jogging to the elevator.

  Bridget didn’t answer, though she wouldn’t have listened. Jessie needed to focus on work. Editing was her salvation. Some tattooed guy with an ego the size of Mount Princeton was not.

  »»•««

  “You’re telling me she didn’t read any of them?” Asher uttered in disbelief. “I gave you ten different author names, ranging from Beatrice to Vince. How did she n
ot read at least one of them?”

  Bridget gnawed on her shellac nails painted pink today. Asher swore the woman bathed in the color as much as she wore it. “It’s a funny story, to be honest.”

  Asher’s cheek twitched. This would not be entertaining in the least to him, but what other choice did he have? Bridget was his foothold to Jessie and for the last two months, he’d endured the chatty girl’s company. It was the perfect edge he needed. He wasn’t spying on Jessie. Spying would be creepy. Plus, he didn’t need to spy on her. His plan involved fine dining and obscure celebrities. He didn’t need Bridget, but it didn’t hurt to have another person on his side either.

  “So last Christmas, I gave Jess an assortment of stamps to put on the submissions. One says Rejected, another says Better Luck Next Time.” The blonde toyed with her red tulip coffee cup. “They were a gag gift. I never thought she would use them except as a joke.”

  She took a sip of what looked like cream with a hint of coffee. The woman switched her coffee preferences on a regular basis. “When she came back from Cancun, all she did was stamp those scripts like a toddler with a marker.”

  Asher adjusted his apron around his hips. He saw Bobbi’s social media post about going to Cancun instead of getting married. The picture of her and Jessie with margaritas in hand while sitting in the white sand calmed his rampant emotions. She was safe but not happy. It didn’t help him sleep at night, but it urged him to make his scheme work. The next time she would be in a teeny yellow bikini, he would be by her side. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.

  A new order came across the airwaves, but he ignored it. He was on break. Well, sort of. After the Rockies debacle, he was back at the coffee shop. Being around the steam of coffee and hub of new faces calmed him. Each day he hoped to run into Jessie. It was insane, he knew it the moment he stepped foot in the place, but he was a romantic at heart.

  Despite working as many shifts as he could manage with an already full schedule, not once had he seen her. Bridget was sent in her stead and he was somewhat thankful for it. Jessie’s assistant helped him in more ways than he imagined possible.

  For the first month, he locked himself in his apartment, writing like a fiend. He burned through more pens than he owned, but never let it stop him. Mike was always nearby and ready to reap the benefits of a new book. The pizza place down the street became his number one speed dial.

  The minimal time he stopped to breathe was when he went to the gym located in the basement of the complex. Straining his muscles kept his mind honed on himself. If he let it drift too far, he went sprawling for nachos and beer.

  He finished the latest A.J. Whit book in a new record time for him. The editing phase hadn’t gone so well since he was editor-less at the time. Something he aimed to fix as soon as humanly possible. Despite the drawback, Asher pushed through. Any future with Jessie depended on his book and he wouldn’t lose her. Not a second time.

  After convincing Bridget he wasn’t the devil incarnate, the woman agreed to help him. She pushed his penned story onto Jessie’s desk the moment it was complete. He was more than disappointed when Bridget returned the manuscript three days later with a coffee stain and red stamp with the words “Rejected” on the front.

  Thinking it was a mishap, Asher edited and revised his story until it shone like gold. It was perfect in every way except it kept getting sent back from the one editor he cared to send it to. He didn’t want a romanticized editor to get their grubby hands on it, even though Mike tried to sway him otherwise. Bridget was his secret agent who took the story to Brecon’s top editor time and time again. He burned through more aliases than Matt Damon in the Jason Bourne books.

  “Yeah, another fail,” he mused aloud. After retrieving the cup of Earl Grey Bridget ordered to go, he let out a frustrated breath. “I’m pulling every string I can think of. I don’t want to go public with this, but she’s not giving me much leeway.”

  Bridget sipped on her concoction a kitten like her would love. “It was super sweet of you to keep her name away from the paparazzi. Not many guys would do all this.”

  Handing over a napkin for Bridget’s whipped cream mustache, Asher mulled over the newspapers. He and Mike decided to keep Jessie’s name and occupation under wraps, but they had to give the media something. It didn’t take long for his agent to find a woman who held an uncanny resemblance to Jessie. The eager model wannabe kept her end of the deal, so Asher made certain she met with a fashion designer for Armani.

  Jessie didn’t want the spotlight, and he had to protect her interests. If a budding model was the way to go, he would do it all over again. The one thing he didn’t count on was the endless tabloid stories that followed. He ended up deactivating social networking from his phone. Mike didn’t, for obvious reasons, but it was what he got paid for. To clean up messes and make them both swim in green.

  He leaned against the table, recalling the same model ended up on the short list for fashion week. Without a doubt, he’d helped her almost as much as she’d helped him.

  Turning back to Bridget, he brushed his fingers through his hair. “I love her. It’s crazy, I know. I don’t even know her middle name, but when I’m with her, I’m the best version of me.”

  “Dear Lord, could you say anything sweeter?” Bridget preened with dreamy eyes. “I swear, if you weren’t a writer, you would be wasting your talent on coffee.” She eyed the cup in front of her. “I hope you got better in the last few weeks.”

  “Hey, I make awesome coffee. She’s the one who insists on crappy tea. I can’t make it worth a damn.” He pointed to the cup losing steam.

  “I end up giving her mine if it tastes bad, so let’s be honest, your tea skills suck.”

  Asher chuckled at her pinched face. “Maybe you should give it to her anyway. It may jog a few memories.”

  “Oh, there’s no problem with her memory. She thinks about you plenty. Every day she’s in a bad mood.” She eyed the cup. “No doubt thinking about the tea you destroy her day with.”

  “Sorry about all the trouble I’ve caused for you,” he offered with a sheepish grin. “I know firsthand how viral she can be. I’m sure she’s no fun to work for when she’s being difficult.” His mind traveled back to the day she discovered the whole truth. The look in her eyes wasn’t something he ever wanted to see again in those blue depths.

  “Aw, don’t worry about it. I’ve been around long enough to know which donut to bring her to suit her mood.” She lowered her voice. “Glazed chocolate works for all of them by the way.”

  “Those are the things I wish I knew.” The clock overhead ticked another hour and Asher shrugged. “I should head out. I have another task or two before I head home.”

  “Don’t give up, Asher. She cares about you more than she admits.”

  Asher grinned. “Oh, I know. I’ve known for quite some time.” Bridget matched his expression and he confided, “I have one last Hail Mary up my sleeve. If this doesn’t work, I’ll be forced to serenade her office wearing nothing but my camo boxers.”

  “Hmm, it could be nice. Let’s start with that instead,” said Bridget with a wiggle of her eyebrows.

  “Believe me, I’m a much better writer than singer,” he said with a shake of his head.

  Bridget moved toward the door, her heels clicking a familiar tune. “Oh, I wasn’t talking about the singing.” She waved her hand at him. “Get to it, Asher, or I’ll be forced to loathe you as well.”

  Asher watched her dash out of the coffee shop. His last chance was far-fetched, but Brecon wouldn’t let him slip through their fingers a second time. The same way he wouldn’t lose Jessie.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Babysitting. It was not the way Jessie sought to spend her Saturday night. “I’m an editor, not an agent,” she complained, thumbing through her closet. Yet here she was, getting ready for a gala she had no interest in attending.

  During her meeting with the Miller brothers, they begged her to meet a budding writer at a local charit
y event. The gala didn’t seem so bad until they added the part where she needed to follow the goon around until he signed with Brecon.

  “Paper products don’t go with Prada.” She glanced at her cat who sat on the windowsill like a regal fixture.

  “Wooing a man is a job for the Bridgets of the world,” she wailed. Still, the head honchos insisted it be her to represent Brecon.

  Jessie’s hand paused on the vision of red hanging at the back of the closet. “Hello, beautiful,” she breathed, grazing her fingers over the delicate fabric. The color reminded her of Asher. Even staring at the gown made her head spin.

  Yanking the dress down, she carried it to the mirror. No, she would wear this red masterpiece to force a new memory into her mind. From what she was told, the man she was commissioned to sway fancied tall brunettes.

  “Well, then watch out Mr. Brecon-Wants-You-Bad-Enough-To-Send-Me. I’m coming at you with guns blazing.” She smirked and then glanced at the clock. If she was going to arrive late yet fashionable, she had to hop in the shower right then.

  An hour and a half and a glass of chardonnay later, Jessie was back at her full-length mirror. Every inch of her makeup was on point. From the smoky eye shadow to her cherry red lipstick, she was fabulous. Her hair was curled as though by an expert, with the majority resting on her left shoulder, while a diamond-studded hairpin held up the group of curls above her ear. The dress looked even more stunning on than in her closet. The plunging neckline was on target with how much of her cleavage it exposed and stopped midway to her navel. It was a daring choice for a charity event, but fitting all the same.

  “You outdid yourself,” she complimented the designer as she twirled. The gown hugged her hips, but gave off a slight flare at the calves. She went easy on the jewelry tonight. With diamond teardrop earrings and a pair of Jimmy Choo heels, the outfit was complete.