Flirting with Disaster

by Catori, Ava

  I finally answered my father's comment, wording it cautiously. "Dad, it's not personal. You know I'm there whenever I'm needed, but there's something there. I'm not going to lie, I'm having feelings. I'm going to see where it goes."

  "You're your own, man; just don't step on your friends along the way," he reminded.

  I stepped outside and tried to call Barbara one more time. Nothing. Maybe her phone's battery was dead. Either way, she wasn't answering. Was she sulking?

  My father's words sank in. It was complicated. Why was she the one who consumed me? I could have had anyone, but I was drawn to the one woman I should have been avoiding. I wish I could say I regretted getting to know her better, but I didn't. In fact, I wanted more. I was still scratching my head about how it all played out, but there was nothing left to explain. It was her smile I wanted to see, and her body I wanted to wrap up in my arms.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Somehow I managed to get through the day. All the inventory was ruined. There was no way the orders would be delivered on time. Not even if I got a green light to reinstate the second shift and have everyone work overtime.

  I called the clients to inform them of the unfortunate fire. They made the appropriate noise and politely inquired about casualties. I reassured them that no one was injured. This was all civilized until I gave them a choice between accepting a late delivery or canceling their orders. After the third cancellation, I knew what the end result was. Production would cease sooner than expected.

  My boss must have already guessed that much because he was already sending me information about my next assignment. I was to return to California in three weeks. I closed my eyes and rubbed my temple searching for a part of me I could no longer access. The part that used to adore this job and always looked forward to the next mission. I sighed. When had opening a new file cease to be as exciting as unwrapping a Christmas present?

  I took my credit card out of my bag and went online to make a reservation for a car rental at the airport.

  "Are you okay?" The question startled me. How had this woman managed to get into my office without me hearing her arrive?

  "Sure, thank you for asking, though," I answered forcing myself to smile. I tucked my credit card in my pocket and wondered why she looked so familiar. A younger version of her now wrinkled face flashed in my memory. She had been pretty before the black mane turned into scattered salt and pepper hair. The lips had been fuller too. Her skin bore the telltale marks of alcohol. One of my mother’s drinking buddies? That would explain my blocking out her name. "Can I help you with something?"

  "Well," she hesitated. "I really didn't want to bother you since you're busy and all but I was wondering what you wanted me to do."

  I shook my head. "Can you be a bit more specific?"

  She tilted her head sideways as it talking to a dim witted person.

  "About the cleaning?" I frowned and she sighed. "Do you want me to organize the cleaning of the stuff that got burnt in the fire?" Her tone was exasperated as if I should have known what she was talking about.

  "Oh, could you do that?" The relief in my voice was unmistakable. Of course it put me in a position of weakness in front of her, but strangely, I didn't care anymore.

  "So you're good with the overtime for the cleaning crew?"

  "Absolutely!" I may have sounded a bit over-enthusiastic, but the idea of having this out of the way made my day look a lot better.

  As she left, my cell phone rang. The caller ID indicated it was Brad and for a moment I felt like letting it go to voice mail. Wouldn't it be nice to have rose colored glasses for the weekend and make believe everything was going to turn out for the best? This was so not me. If I didn't answer I would spend the weekend wondering about his decision.

  "Good evening, handsome." My cheerful tone was a bit forced, but it was the best I could do.

  "Business or pleasure first?" Brad asked.

  "Let's get the business part out of the way first." Always a glutton for punishment.

  "Okay, I got confirmation it's arson so there are two possibilities." He paused and since I didn't comment, he continued. "The first one is I withdraw my offer totally and you search for a new client for the real estate."

  "I see." Cool. Collected. Curiosity was eating me up but I was not going to ask. I knew his negotiating technique. Ask for an arm first, let it sink in and then appear ever so generous when only demanding a finger or two.

  A few seconds went by, him waiting for me to ask what the second possibility was and I biding the time by looking though the glass door of Dylan Bishop's office at the woman coming back with a steaming mug. She knocked on the door.

  "Hold on a minute," I asked Brad. "Come in."

  "Made tea and I thought since you were staying late too you might enjoy a cup," she said.

  "Thank you so much. That's so sweet of you." Pointing to the phone, I added, " I'm sorry but I have to get back to the call."

  "Sure thing," she said.

  "Wow, you're making progress if someone's bringing you tea," Brad commented. "And now you're gonna have to drink it even though you hate the stuff."

  I laughed. The man knew me well. "Right, because the only plant in this stupid office is artificial and I can't very well water it with the tea."

  "Now about the second possibility." Surprise, surprise, he didn't want to play hardball. "I will stay on, but I want someone local to go in with me and I want that person to be part of management of the new place."

  He gave me time to absorb his conditions. To occupy myself I drank some of the hot beverage. It was sweet enough for me to drink half of the mug.

  If this was some sort of peace offering I was not about to reject it. It would make the coming weeks easier for everyone if there was less hostility in the air. "How much of a participation would the other party have? Do you want something significant or a token participation to make it look good for the town's people?"

  I heard Brad shuffle papers on his desk. No surprise there, he had it all prepared. While he took his sweet time to answer me, I pulled the trashcan from under the desk. There was paper and some foamy packing material. A glimpse through the glass door. No one was watching me. I poured a bit of the liquid onto the foam. Yeah, it worked, I slowly let the rest pour out until it was all absorbed.

  "So, ahem, the numbers..." Brad went on telling me his estimation of what the entire project would require as an initial investment before getting the first penny back and as far as I could tell his computation sounded accurate. And then he hit me with his number for the second investor.

  That number was precisely the amount of the savings I had set aside for starting my own business.

  What a strange coincidence. Unless it wasn't. He knew how much I had saved. Was he sending me a message? Nah... I was not someone local anymore and anyway he'd said something about not mixing business with friendship.

  God, I was way too tired to play games, so instead of pussy footing around the issue, I asked him directly what he meant. "You said you never wanted me to come work for you. What's changed?"

  "You have," he answered sweetly. The friend was back. The dry cut tone he used for business talk was replaced by a brotherly softer voice. "You may not want to admit it, but Ocean Crest suits you. I had never seen you so relaxed in all the years I've known you. And if it's not Ocean Crest then it’s your mechanic--"

  "Ryder--" I interrupted.

  "Yeah, Ryder, he's good for you, too, and he's not going anywhere, is he?"

  My head was spinning, so much I could not find my words. I managed a grunt.

  "Listen, Barbara, I have to go now, so tell me you'll think it over the weekend and let me know your answer on Monday. Oh, and technically you wouldn't be working for me but with me. I will set it up so you and I will be equal partners. Bye."

  I put the phone down and managed to cross my arms on the table to make a pillow for my head. Never in my life had I felt so tired. Maybe if I slept for a bit I would have the
energy to drive home and climb into bed. Tomorrow I would think about the offer.

  Some time later, in my half daze I was awoken by a conversation between the security guard and the cleaning woman.

  "The fat bitch with the suit," she said. "Oh yeah, she left hours ago. Some guy with a bike came to pick her up."

  It took all my willpower to open my eyes. I was feeling sick, groggy and unable to move. The last was not surprising given the fact my torso was literally tied to the chair with brown packing tape. The chair had been pushed to the back corner of the office making me invisible to anyone who would walk by and look through the glass door. I tried to move my feet but I was too out of it to push the chair in the line of sight of the watchman. I attempted to scream but my voice betrayed me.

  The man said something, but his voice was too low for me to understand.

  The woman answered him, "Don't worry about it, I can tell you there's no one else left in the building but me. There's no more nightshift, so I'll be quick and close behind me when I'm done."

  I dozed off until the smell of gasoline forced me back into consciousness. It was daytime again. The sunlight was bright. The night watchman was probably gone now. He had left me alone with the cleaning woman. She was holding a Jerrican and I was very wet. She had doused me and was now pouring the liquid in the file cabinet. This would be a roaring fire and I was toast. The fear made my heart pump faster. Adrenaline helped me think more clearly.

  "Annabelle!" I screamed, the name coming back to me with all her history.

  "How do you know my name, bitch?" she growled turning to face me. From the other side of the room I could smell her breath. Vodka was still her first love.

  "Annabelle," I pleaded. "Don't you recognize me?" She squinted and shook her head. "I'm Bobby-Jean, Stella's daughter."

  The woman dropped the Jerrican and teetered toward me, eyes wide open. "Bobby-Jean ... is that really you?"

  "Yeah, Annabelle, it's me." Funny how the mind works under stress. At once, I conjured up a childhood memory. One she would remember as well.

  "Do you remember the day you and Ma went to Atlantic City and some wealthy guy offered you a limo ride back?" Her face cracks up with a manic smile. "And how the next morning you told Ma you and the chauffeur of the limo did things in the backseat."

  She laughed and her dreamy look made her appear so much younger. It would probably melt my heart if she wasn't trying to roast me alive.

  "How do you know that?" she asked.

  "At the time I had no clue what you could have done in the backseat so the memory stayed with me until I was old enough to understand and then I never forgot."

  "An answer for every question, you're still a pain-in-the-ass, Bobby-Jean," she hissed.

  She paced in front of me repeating, "It can't be you." She turned the chair around and when she had me facing the wall instead of her, I thought it was the end. She was going to light the match and run out leaving me here to die the most horrible death. But no, I heard her mumble to herself, "I need some air to think."

  The door slammed and everything was silent. I had a moment of clarity though the fumes were getting to my head. To have one more chance at survival, I needed at least to escape from this room. I braced myself, and twisting around, managed to get my feet against the wall. I only had one chance to do this right. I pushed with all my strength and cried out for help. For once, the extra weight was really good for my health, it was helping me gain momentum. My scream died when I hit the door and it didn't open but shattered in millions of tiny pieces.

  The wheels of the chairs caught in the lower frame of the door and my last thought before my head hit the ground was if I was going to die today, it was a good thing I never told Ryder how I felt about him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  I headed home, ready for a shower. I turned the faucet on and watched the showerhead spring to life. I stood in the shower and thought back to my father's words. They ruffled my feathers. I've always been loyal, but this was different. The hot water soothed my body, but my mind was still spinning. The water washed my mixed emotions down the drain. I didn't know how it would all play out, but I was finished explaining myself.

  After my shower, I dried off and put fresh clothes on. I was headed toward Barbara's house. Maybe we'd grab a bite to eat at the diner, go for a ride, and enjoy the day. We could finish whatever odd jobs we had to do later in the afternoon.

  When I pulled up to her house, her car wasn’t there. I frowned and noticed a note on the door. I parked and climbed off my bike. A delivery service had stopped by and left a note taped to her front door. They missed her, and she'd have to sign for a package. It was posted yesterday. Had she not been home? If she went back to New York for the weekend, I was pretty sure she would have said something. The only other explanation was she could have gone back to the factory to get work done and didn't notice the message from the delivery company, unless she went late last night and fell asleep at her desk. She was dedicated. She probably put her head down for just a moment, and here it was morning all ready. Poor thing would end up with a sore neck.

  I got back on my bike and rode to the factory. If she wasn't there, I wasn't sure where else to look. I'd have to ring her up later. I'd already tried to call earlier, but since yesterday she wasn't answering. I couldn't help but get a little worried. A sense of relief swept over me on seeing her car parked in the lot. I shook my head. That woman was like a dog with a bone. If she had work to get done, she was all over it. I'd check in, see if she was willing to break away to get breakfast or needed a hand.

  The door was locked. I glanced at my watch. I guess the regular crew wasn't there now that the factory was shut down. I pulled at the door again, but it didn't budge. I buzzed the bell that rang through the intercom system, but still nobody answered.

  Looking through the steel and glass door, I saw someone pacing around. It was Annabelle. When her drinking had made her too clumsy for precision work, my father had assigned her to basic maintenance work. She should have been done by now. I knocked on the glass and called out her name.

  She looked up and motioned for me to go away. She was more agitated than usual. I dialed Tony and told him to get his ass over here right away.

  And then I heard Annabelle scream, “Burn, bitch!”

  Had she been the one to set the back building on fire? Was she trying again? What had she done to Barbara?

  Panic set in, my heart racing, realizing I was low on time. I dialed 9-1-1 as I ran to my bike to report a possible fire. I pushed my bike to the window, hoping it would give me the leverage to reach the window which was just out of normal reach. I wasn't tall enough without it. I'd have to find a way in.

  I climbed onto my bike's seat and tried to balance myself. My hands pressed against the building felt a shudder before a huge ball of fire exploded through the roof.

  “Barbara! Annabelle!” The smoke was already dense... I whipped my shirt off and wrapped it around my fist. Punching through the window, glass shattered everywhere. With my hand still covered, I brushed off the ledge as fast as I could and climbed into the building.

  "Barbara," I yelled out and ran, listening for a response. Nothing. The smoke devoured the air and the fire was spreading in different parts of the building. Flames flickered on the administration floors, and dark plumes of smoke poured from the other offices. Terror locked in my throat. "Barbara?"

  I heard sirens in the distance, thankful help was on the way.

  Running toward the room she usually worked in, I found her things, but she wasn't there. I slammed through any door I could find, and checked as much as I could. I had to catch my breath. The smoke scorched my throat and lungs, taunting them, making it impossible to breathe. I tugged the T-shirt off of my hand and covered my nose and mouth. That's when I saw her. My heart stopped.

  She was not conscious, her eyes were opened but glassy. As I got closer, I kneeled next to her. She'd been taped to a chair and was wet. I touched the clothing
and smelled my fingers. Fuck! She had been doused in gasoline and flames were close. She could spontaneously combust just from embers in the air.

  Nothing would stop me. Nothing would get in my way. I didn't have much time. I ripped out my pocketknife and cut the tape. She wouldn't be able to run on her own. I slung her over my shoulder in a fireman's carry and took a deep breath. I started to run the way I came, but the path was engulfed in flames.

  The heat in the building had grown intense. I needed to get us out of. I turned and went for a window. It was our only chance. I'd have to break through or we'd succumb to the smoke. I'd started to choke, my throat closing, and losing my driving steam. Adrenaline carried us as I pushed with every ounce of energy in me.

  I ran as fast as I could toward the window. I would go full force and slam it with my shoulder. Barbara was on the other shoulder, but we were going to hit the ground hard. If I didn't make it out of the building, we'd perish with it.

  Smoke and flames chased us, smoldering ashes falling on my head. A partial image of my love’s clothes bursting into flames formed before I shoved it aside, took a deep breath, and smashed through the glass pane. It splintered into shards. We hurdled through the glass and landed with a thud on something softer than the ground. I opened my eyes, realizing we'd landed in the garbage dumpster out back. I screamed for help, and thankfully the little air left in my lungs was able to make enough noise for a fireman to find us.

  I lifted Barbara out of the bin, handing her to the fireman. I couldn't stop the raging, protective beast in me. "Be careful with her."

  "I've got her," he said, reassuring me she was safe.

  "She's doused in gasoline, her clothes," I said, climbing out of the garbage dumpster.

  "Let's get you some oxygen and we'll check her vitals," the man said.