"We'll see," he replied as he stood. "OK. Give me ten minutes."
Holding the work boots as far away from herself as possible, she said, "If I were you, I'd make it five."
John gave her a quick nod and flew up three flights of stairs, peeling off his clothes as he went. By the time he reached the laundry chute centered on the wall between his 25' x 25' walk-in closet and palatial bathroom, he was buck naked. Stepping into the shower stall in his gray and red tiled bathroom, he pushed a button. Water, not too hot and not too cold, started falling like a gentle rain from a stainless steel tile situated a foot above his head and spraying from nozzles aimed at him from nearly every direction.
Unlike the trickle that usually came out of the shower head in his tiny studio apartment, the perfectly pressurized water came at him from all sides. Closing his eyes, he turned his face upwards.
I could stay here all night long.
He had gone three weeks without a break, cleaning the windows of one high-rise right after another on weekdays and filling in the rest of his free time working at the running shoe store in Old Town.
He wasn't working hard because he needed the money so much.
He was doing it because work was the only way to keep his mind off of his impending birthday, or as he liked to call it, "D day," the D being for "Deadline"—the date by which he was required by the terms of his late father's will to cough up a spouse to prove he was a stable, upstanding corporate citizen. Otherwise, the board would be directed to recruit a new CEO from the outside—a first for the company.
No pressure.
And that would leave him—hell, he didn't even know. Didn't even want to think about it.
Stop stalling.
John turned the water off and shook it out of his sun-scorched hair. After combing it back and trimming his beard, he dabbed on some Clive Christian No. 1 Pure Perfume for Men and stepped into his closet.
After selecting a Hugo Boss pale-blue dress shirt to wear with his Gucci ecru cotton suit, he pulled matching loafers from the shelf. Unlike the mismatched, broken-in, out-of-style handouts he had dressed himself in since walking out, these clothes looked and felt as if they were made just for him.
Maybe because they were.
He descended to the east sitting room on the second floor of the 1897 mansion where he knew she was waiting for him, but not before checking his phone, again, to see if the woman from the coffee shop had called.
Damn. She hadn't, and the disappointment that had gnawed at him all day took another bite.
He spotted his gran dressed in an elegant black tunic tastefully embellished with hand-embroidered sequins and sitting in her favorite floral-print upholstered high-back chair that afforded her the best view of her urban oasis of a garden. When she saw him approach, she took off her reading glasses and held them midair. "Tell me you apply sunscreen when you're outdoors. If you don't, your skin will look like shoe leather by the time you're my age."
"You know I do," he lied as he leaned down to kiss her upturned cheek and give her shoulder a light squeeze. "Happy birthday."
He sat on a chair facing hers. Given the time that had lapsed since he'd last seen her, he was surprised at how much older she looked. "You look tired, Gran. You taking care of yourself?"
She gave him a withering look. "I'll relax when I can retire to my Montecito estate and you move back in here—with your new bride."
Ka-pow.
"Yeah, about that." He sucked in a breath and got right to the point. "I'll be honest. It's not looking good." Not even the girl from the coffee shop that morning had called, even after he gave her his number. Twice.
How sad is that?
Setting her glasses on the arm of the chair, his gran took a deep breath. "I can't tell you how sorry I am to hear that."
"Heh," John shrugged. "You and me both."
"And I'm surprised." She took his chin in her hand and studied him. "It's not what you're used to, is it?"
He held her gaze. "What?"
"Things not falling into your lap."
At this, he lifted his chin from her grasp and gave his head a quick shake. She knew him too well.
"Yeah. No. No, it's not. But it's not for lack of trying." He held his hands out in front of him. "Women aren't exactly tripping over each other to go out with me."
This elicited a harrumph from his grandmother.
Then, looking as if she had just sucked a lemon, she said, "Well, as much as I respect your little experiment, the time has come to stop playing games and get serious."
John stiffened. Here we go.
"You only have a week," she continued. "Why don't you give Whitney a call? I have it on good authority she'd marry you in a heartbeat."
"Whitney?"
"Whitney Crenshaw. You remember. Lester's niece? A delightful girl. I have it on good authority," she repeated, "that she's unattached."
An image of the girl he took to a couple of dances while they both attended the Latin School flashed before him. Last he heard, she had graduated from a tiny liberal arts college on the East Coast with a degree in fashion merchandising and was living in Evanston—fashion capital of nowhere.
Was she pretty? If memory served.
Did he like her? I guess.
Did she like him? I think so.
Would she marry him if he asked? Probably.
Would he be happy if he married her? Hell no.
The thought of living in a McMansion in the suburbs with someone like Whitney Crenshaw, superficial as the line at Starbucks is long, having kids he would probably never see because he'd be working eighty hours a week to finance their opulent lifestyle, coming home to a spouse he barely knew let alone loved—the whole idea filled him with the urge to bolt. Just as it had a year and a half earlier.
If he had to get married, he wanted something more with someone who would look at life as an adventure like he did, not something you lived so you could acquire a whole lot of crap and hang out with other people with a lot of crap just so you could compare your crap. And work your ass off in the process.
And if he was going to have kids, he wanted to spend time with them, be involved with them. Love them.
Was that so much to ask?
Seeing as he had already shared these sentiments with his gran after the reading of his father's will, he didn't see any point in rehashing it all. Instead, he simply smiled and said, "No, thank you."
Her face seemed to turn to stone before his very eyes.
"Do you realize what will happen to you if you do not marry by your 30th birthday?"
He narrowed his eyes. Now probably wouldn't be a good time to whip out his union card. Instead he replied, "I've thought of little else since I left."
She stared at him long and hard before hissing, "Obstinate boy."
Keeping his eyes trained on her, he leaned forward a bit with a hint of a smile curving the corners of his eyes. "I learned from the best."
At this, he saw her steely resolve melt, just a little. Pursing her mouth into a smile, he actually thought she was getting a little teary eyed when she asked, "Will you at least take me to my party?"
He stood and held out his hand. "That's why I'm here."
Descending the marble stairs with her, he asked, "Where is it anyway?"
"Larson's."
On hearing the name of the legendary steakhouse, the primal carnivore within him, that had not been sated in a very long time, growled.
Yes.
"Is Cameron driving us?" His gran's personal driver's dry sense of humor and wicked funny impersonation of his employer was sure to be the only highlight of the evening.
Without looking at him or pausing a beat, she replied, "No, you are."
He stopped in his tracks.
Let's just stop and review the facts for a moment, shall we?
First, she insisted that he meet her at the family domicile where she knew he'd want to clean up and change before going out. Then, she informed him that they were going to o
ne of his favorite restaurants. And now, she was putting him behind the wheel of one of his beloved cars.
She turned to look up at him. "Problem, dear?"
Don't fall for it.
He frowned at her for a good couple of seconds, trying not to get sucked into her evil scheme of reminding him how good he had it and might still if only he did what he was told and coughed up a wife. Any wife.
"Nope. No. Everything's good," he said through the most charming smile he could muster.
And then uncrossed his fingers behind this back.
* * *
After the roller coaster of a day she'd had, Aubrey was desperate to get her head on straight. That was the only reason she found herself sitting across from Teddy and Nancy at Chessy's, a new restaurant with an already rollicking bar in Pilsen that was celebrating its grand opening.
Having ducked home first to scrub off any residual window washing yuck and change into clean clothes before heading out for the evening, Aubrey was glad to see her friends had beaten her there and snagged a table on the back patio near the outdoor fireplace.
Seated under the glow of white Italian lights that covered the high wrought iron fencing and potted trees, Aubrey sat back and listened as Teddy assessed any decent-looking men who happened to be sitting within her line of vision, labeling each by their astrological signs.
Leaning forward, Teddy whispered, "Don't turn around. But the guy at that table right over there, pretending like he's listening to his date while he bounces his knee like crazy under the table? He's a Virgo."
"Oh? And what makes you say that," Nancy, herself a Virgo, asked.
Teddy sat back. "It's obvious. He can't commit. Not even to a conversation."
"Fascinating…" Aubrey teased. "So scientific."
Nancy covered Teddy's hand with hers. "Hang on. Are you saying I have commitment issues?"
Before Teddy could reply, Nancy jumped out of her seat to greet a swarthy man in a white jacket who had just come from the kitchen. "Sal. I didn't know you landed here."
And off she went.
When Teddy finished sizing up the rest of the crowd, she turned to Aubrey. "Sorry, Aubs. No Leos for you tonight."
Faking a heavy sigh, she replied, "Too bad, so sad."
She could feel Teddy's stare bore right through her. "So what's going on?"
With her curvy figure, wild tangle of long black curls, and full red lips, Teddy was a potent mix of passion and protectiveness. Unlike Aubrey, who gave off more of a barbed wire and pepper spray vibe.
"Well, for starters," Aubrey announced while looking into her rather large margarita glass, "I'm about to lose my job, but…" She looked up and paused for dramatic effect. "I finally have my plus one. Maybe."
Teddy frowned and swirled her frozen strawberry margarita before taking a sip. "Lose your job? That doesn't sound good. What happened?"
Aubrey clutched the stem of her glass in one hand. "Yeah, well, my editor told me if I want to keep my job, I have to jump out of a moving plane, midair. I almost quit on the spot, but then I wouldn't get unemployment."
"Are you telling me she wants you to go skydiving?" There was no mistaking the droll tone of Teddy's voice.
"And tape the whole thing. Can you believe it?"
Her best friend's lack of an audible reply was as unnerving as her stare.
"What?"
Teddy leaned forward and delivered verbal slap #1. "The Aubrey I know and love would've grabbed an assignment like that with both hands."
Aubrey knew she was going to say something to that effect, but it didn't make hearing it any easier.
"Maybe that's not who I am anymore."
Any hint of a smile left her friend's eyes. "Well that's too bad because I don't hang out with perdedoras."
Verbal slap #2.
Aubrey didn't know what perdedoras were, but considering the snarl Teddy added to her voice when she said it, she assumed it was an insult.
"Hey. I came here so you could help me get my head on straight, Ted, not smack it around."
She could tell from the look on her friend's face that an apology would not be forthcoming.
Instead, Teddy rubbed the salt from the rim of her glass into her gaping wound. "What happened to the Aubrey who always said life was one big adventure. Maybe you remember her? She was bold and brave."
Verbal slap #3.
Through a grimace Aubrey shot back, "Don't forget impulsive and reckless. Need I remind you that I knew Max a whopping three days before we got married?"
Leaning back in her chair, Teddy observed, "And now look at you." She held up her hand. "You'd rather quit your job—that you used to love—instead of trying anything that's even the slightest bit risky."
Aubrey smushed her lips together and willed her eyes not to well up.
After a quiet, unapologetic moment, Teddy pointed to her and added, "If you ask me, this assignment is exactly what you need."
"Can we not do this right now?" Aubrey heard herself say in a remarkably small voice.
Ignoring her, Teddy asked, "And you know what else you need?"
A new best friend?
When she didn't answer, Teddy shot out, "A one-nighter. With a really hot stranger."
Aubrey's eyebrows flew north. "Wow. Really, Ted? And why's that?"
Teddy leaned forward with her fist clenched. "So you can feel alive again." Sitting back in her chair, she added, "It's time to move on, cariña."
Not sure if she felt betrayed, confused, or liberated, Aubrey looked away. When her eyes fell on a group of Hispanic men seated around a large table in the opposite corner of the crowded patio, she was relieved to find that none of them fit her description of "really hot." Not that she was ready to take Teddy's advice, but she did notice that one of them was wearing a sky-blue windbreaker, just like the one her coffee shop rescuer had on when she saw him on the other side of Dianne's window.
Huh.
The text she had saved but failed to send sprang to mind as she pulled her gaze back to her friend. "I don't think I'm ready, Ted."
Aubrey's friend almost knocked over her drink as she lunged across the table. "What are you waiting for? What's holding you back?"
"I don't know. Grief, maybe?"
Teddy chortled, "For who? Max? Look me straight in the eye, and tell me you didn't marry him because he had the right initials."
Aubrey shifted in her seat.
I hate it when she's right.
"You're not grieving Max," her friend continued.
"Oh, no? Then you tell me—who am I grieving?"
Delivering yet another smack to her wounded pride, Teddy pointed at Aubrey and said, "You. You buried the best part of yourself with that bastardo."
Taking a big swig of her margarita, Teddy finally stashed her daggers and softened her tone. "Tell me about Malcolm. Why's he a 'maybe'?"
Using a voice that barely made it over the noise of the crowd, Aubrey explained, "He just has to check his calendar. Said he'd get back to me on Monday."
She did not think it wise to share that Malcolm's first response was to grill her on the guest list, trying to sniff out any noteworthy names.
"I hope he can go," Teddy replied. She didn't even try to sound convincing.
"Liar." Aubrey took a pull of her drink. "I know you and Nancy don't like him, but there's no way I'm going to be the only dateless member of the bridal party."
"Trust me. If I didn't have my niece's Quinceañera that same day, I'd be there in a heartbeat."
Aubrey nodded glumly.
"Well, hey—what about the guy you're standing up with? Can't you just go with him?"
At this Aubrey snorted. "The homeless guy? Yeah, that'll work."
Teddy leaned over the table. "Mattie told me he's not homeless anymore. He's working a couple of jobs, got his own place. She also said he's kinda cute."
Aubrey held her left hand, palm side up. "Well-off, successful Malcolm or," she held her right hand, palm up, "former homeless guy.
Hmmm. Tough decision."
Pulling back, Teddy exclaimed, "I'm not saying you have to marry the guy. It's just one day. He can't be that bad."
As Aubrey looked around the crowded patio, her gaze drifted to the table crowded with guys. Window washer guys.
She shrugged, her mind's eye filling fast with the image of the window washer guy from the coffee shop and his dreamy caramel-colored eyes.
Look at me. Look into my eyes.
"Everything happens for a reason," she muttered under her breath.
"What?"
Pulling her gaze back to Ted's, she replied, "I think I'd rather go to the wedding alone." "Besides," she continued with half a smile pulling at her lips, "the day wasn't a complete washout. It was just weird."
Teddy set her glass down with a wobble, "I'm not surprised."
When Aubrey frowned, her friend kept talking, "There was a lunar eclipse last night with the moon in Aquarius which would explain all of this." She pulled some papers from her purse and exclaimed, "And with your birthday on the 10th, so you took a direct hit."
Leaning back in her chair, Aubrey sighed, "You know I don't believe in that stuff, Ted."
Teddy stared at her for a moment before leafing through the pages. Looking back at her friend, she said, "OK, if you don't want to know the rest, that's fine by me."
With a growl, Aubrey sat up. "Oh all right. What?"
Through a mischievous grin, Teddy started, "OK, good. Now I pulled your birth chart and cross referenced it with what's going on in the sky right now, and it looks like something really big is about to happen."
Raising both eyebrows, Aubrey laughed. "Something big, huh? Well, let's see. If I don't jump out of an airplane, I'll lose my job. That's big. But if I do jump out of an airplane, I'll likely die of a heart attack on the way down. Also big. But, if I survive the jump, I get to keep my job, maybe even get promoted, and that would be very big."
"Now you're talking," Teddy grinned before her face grew serious. "But that's not it."
Aubrey sucked at the salt on the rim of her glass and mumbled, "Oh. That doesn't sound good."
"Oh, but it is," her pal almost shouted with a sparkle in her eyes. "Listen." Teddy cleared her throat and leaned across the table, clutching the printout in front of her. "You're going to meet someone who, while he may have his head in the clouds—"
Flight Risk Page 6
