by B. N. Toler
Her mouth pinched into this weird thing where she seemed to be fighting a huge, crazy smile of disdain. The look she gave me said: No. I was not his lover. You’re an asshole.
“I’m just trying to understand here. Who are you? How did he know you?”
Walking over to the back wall where we kept a bulletin board of photos from jumps, she crossed her arms and stared. Most of the photos in the front of the office where customers entered were of me. This board, however, held mostly photos of my uncle.
“He looks like he led a very full and exciting life.” The way she said it raised my hackles. She said it as if it made her mad he’d lived a happy life. Putting my feet down, I stood and rounded the desk while I watched her. For some reason, I felt the need to defend Dennis even though I had no idea what I was defending him against. In the short time, and very few interactions I’d had with Clara, I’d seen very few dimensions to her. She was a ballbuster, definitely. But oddly, I found it attractive. She was uptight; her sense of humor nonexistent, it seemed. But in that moment, while she stared at the photos of my uncle, I saw pure and unadulterated vulnerability. Something about looking at those photos broke her heart. And for the briefest of moments, her façade of being unbreakable slipped away, revealing what lay beneath.
“He was a great man. He led a great life,” I pointed out.
Turning back to me, she dropped her arms. “I bet,” she murmured, but the words didn’t sound authentic.
Then it hit me. I stood to my full height. “Shit,” I mumbled. How could I not have thought of it before? “You’re his daughter?”
This time, she put no effort into hiding her displeasure. Her expression read: disgust. “No. I am most definitely not his daughter.”
I didn’t respond. I had no idea what to say. Clearly, this woman, my new business partner, not only hated my uncle, but loathed him. So why would he leave her half of his business?
Clara, apparently tired of discussing her affiliation with Uncle Dennis, moved on. “I hope we can work together to make this business flourish.”
“It does pretty well as it is,” I defended. I didn’t need her help, and for a woman who couldn’t even find the courage to jump out of a plane, even in tandem, I wondered how in the hell she could possibly think she had anything to offer this business.
“There’s always room for improvement,” she answered simply.
I snorted. “Well, since you’re such an authority on skydiving,” I added dryly.
“Can I use this as my office?” She ignored my smart-ass comment.
“We can share it. I guess. I’m not in here often,” I grumbled.
“Good,” she acknowledged. “I need a key. Where can I get that?”
Begrudgingly, I rounded the desk and opened the top drawer, pulling out my uncle’s set that had been in there for weeks. “These were Dennis’s. Feel free to take off the engraved key chain.” I didn’t even know what in the hell they were. Initials and a date. I tossed them to her and she caught them, staring at the key chain in the palm of her hand. She was frozen as she looked at it. At that point, I was pissed off and tired. In the span of a day, I’d gone from thinking I would own this business solo, to finding out I had a very unwanted, uptight business partner that knew nothing about skydiving. I was done.
“We good?”
Closing her fist around the keys, she clutched them to her chest. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
That first week after Clara arrived was hell. We hated her. Marcus especially. She demanded to see all the financial information and wanted to get new software to help manage the business’s spending. Marcus had a system, even if he was the only one that could understand it, and he was pretty damn efficient. He didn’t like having her come in and start taking over what he felt was an already well-oiled machine. She stated we would have a biweekly meeting with the staff. At the first one, she informed everyone they would be needed Sunday evening to help “revamp” the office. Sap was excluded as he had a bad back, but everyone else was required to show. She needed painters. No one liked that idea. That’s because her little idea was pure bullshit. Why would they want to give up their Sunday evening?
“The guys are paid to jump,” I pointed out as I followed her into the office after the meeting had concluded. She plopped her notebook on the table and started fingering through a stack of papers.
“And this office as a whole is the first impression. It looks awful. This is where they work and asking them to help out one night is not that much to ask.”
“We can hire painters,” I protested. “Or you can call your little friends to come back and help you.”
She laughed, ignoring my dig. “No, we can’t. We need to save as much money as we can for advertising.”
“We have a budget for that.”
“Not a big enough one.”
“Look,” I affirmed. At the sound of my tone, she stopped shuffling through the papers and gave me her undivided attention. “Painting the office and making it look “pretty” isn’t going to do shit. People come here to jump. For the experience. Not for pretty-colored walls and comfy couches. This isn’t a fucking showroom.”
“It’s funny you think the experience is solely the jump. Yes,” she agreed, “the jump is the biggest part, the finale, but it’s not everything. We can give our clients, from start to finish, an incredible day starting with entering a clean, well-managed office with a friendly staff.”
“What the fuck is wrong with the staff?” I huffed. “We have a friendly staff,” I argued.
She scoffed at me. “You have Marcus playing pranks on paying customers, Sap eye-fucking anything with tits, and you with shitty manners.”
Damn. She was crass.
I shook my head and groaned in annoyance. “Tell me something, sweetheart. You say we’re doing all of this wrong, yet somehow we make a profit. Explain that.”
She walked up to me, inches away, and put her hands on her hips. “Luck.”
I took a step toward her, so our faces were merely an inch or two away. That was a bad move. She smelled incredible, and how had I not noticed before that her eyes had little flecks of green in them? “Um. Well, it’s working.”
“Did you know there are three other skydiving businesses in Virginia?”
“I am aware,” I mumbled, narrowing my eyes at her. “What’s your point?”
“Do you know what your referral numbers are?”
“Not off the top of my head.”
“Based on the website bookings alone, where a majority of your jumps are scheduled, they can enter how they heard about us, and referrals are only at two percent. That . . .” She gave my chest a hard poke, “Is shameful.”
My blood pressure was rising. “We work our asses off here. And we’ve made it work. Dennis built this business from the ground up.”
“Paul,” she snapped. “I don’t give a shit about who did what or how they did it. I see a business with potential to grow, to profit more. Are you really going to complain about the possibility of making more money?”
“No,” I argued. “I’m complaining about working with a goddamned tyrant. You’re set to suck all the fun out of this place.”
“Painting some walls and replacing some furniture is not sucking the fun out of anything. Expecting everyone employed here to be polite and do their job is exactly that . . . their job!”
I threw my hands up. “Fine. Do what you want. I’m out.”
“You’ll be here Sunday, won’t you?”
Giving her a bogus Army salute, I sarcastically said, “Sure thing, Sergeant.” What was this chick smoking? There wasn’t any way anyone could have misinterpreted what I was really saying, but just in case, I added, “If you want to paint this place, fine. But I’m not spending my night off doing it.”
Shaking her head, she turned away from me, and I left. I hadn’t realized after our meeting the entire staff was still sitting in the front office, listening to every word we’d said. A few whistled and cla
pped as I stormed out. I wasn’t sure I liked that. I didn’t think Clara fit, and I didn’t want her for a partner, but at the same time, she was my partner and these people were her staff. I had just said I wouldn’t be there Sunday, and now they thought they wouldn’t have to be there either. Looking back, I wish I would have said something to them, but Clara got under my skin. So, I let them treat her badly. I let them disrespect her. Maybe she’d leave if she saw they hated her.
Ashley stares at me, her expression stoic.
“Not my proudest moment,” I admit.
“No, I would hope not,” she agrees quietly. Mills excuses himself and makes his exit. Lucky bastard.
Shame floods me. I was a young, stupid man. But I guess it doesn’t matter that I’ve matured . . . well, mostly.
“Well, I think that’s all for today. Same time next week?” Ashley asks.
Fuck it. Why not? “Yeah, sounds good.”
I shut the door behind me as I leave the office, letting Zane and Ashley clean up. I’m halfway down the hall when I hear Neena giggle.
“They’re playing at the National next month.”
“I love Masters of the V,” Neena gushes as I round the corner into the front.
“Yeah, they’re one of my favorites, too,” Mills tells her. They’re sitting on the love seat, sharing a set of earbuds and staring at Mills’ iPhone. Well, Neena seems to be staring at Mills while he stares at his phone.
“They’re ready for you to help clean up in there, Mills,” I snap, causing him to jerk up, the earbuds falling out of both of their ears.
“Oh, ah, yeah, cool. Good seeing you, Neena,” he mumbles as he gives a little wave and clumsily rushes down the hall. Neena lets out a long sigh as she watches him exit. Looking at her better, I notice something different. Her lips are pink and glossy.
“Are you wearing makeup?”
She immediately crosses her arms and scowls a little. “Yeah. So?”
I scratch my head. “Just curious . . . You ready to go, kid?”
“I’m not a little kid, Dad,” she retorts.
I lift my brows in shock. I’ve called her a kid quite a few times and she’s never complained. I want to point that out to her, but Ashley, Zane, and Mills enter the room, carrying their bags with them.
“Later, guys,” Zane calls.
Mills is the last one to leave and he gives Neena an awkward little nod as he pushes through the doors to the parking lot. Neena waves, her pale cheeks turning the slightest shade of pink as she smiles at him.
Why do I feel so . . . angry right now? Not really angry, just . . . protective. She just waved at him. And he didn’t do anything. There’s absolutely nothing to get upset about.
“Now are you ready to go, princess?” I had to add the last part just to mess with her.
“Daddddd,” she groans as she drops her face in her hands.
“What?” I mock confusion. “You are my little princess.”
“And I thought Mom was the embarrassing one,” she murmurs as she stands, her eyes glued to the parking lot as Ashley, Zane, and Mills load up the van.
“No, she’s just the mean one.” When Neena looks up at me and sees my grin, she giggles because she knows I’m joking.
“I’m telling her you said that,” she threatens.
“No!” I gasp, clutching my chest. “Please. Anything but that.”
“I’m sorry, but you did this to yourself, old man.” She smirks.
I pull out all the dramatics. “Your mother will end me. I’ll never see the light of day again!”
“I’ll keep this between us on one condition,” she offers.
“I’ll do anything. Whatever you want,” I say, animatedly. “I’ll run outside naked and dance on their van if that’s what it takes!” And I point out the window.
“Oh my God, please don’t do that.”
“Then tell me, Neena!” I drop to my knees and crawl toward her, my hands clasped together as if in prayer.
She laughs hysterically when I grab her and hug her tightly, while continuing to plead. “Okay, okay!” She gasps for breath after laughing so hard. “You can call me kid, kiddo, or princess, whatever you want, just not in front of other people, okay?”
“Can I call you princess-kid?”
“You’re so weird, Dad,” she snickers as I squeeze her harder. “Princess-kid . . . just not in front of anyone, okay?” she reiterates.
I sit back on my heels and chuckle, my chest tightening at the sight of her. I’ve been around the world and seen some of the most beautiful places, but nothing compares to seeing her laugh. “Okay, kid. It’s a deal.”
“I’m going to go take a shower before dinner, Mom!” Neena yells to me from the front door as she and Paul enter.
“Hello to you, too!” I yell back.
“Hi, Mom, love you,” she responds before I hear her footsteps as she charges up the stairs.
When Paul enters, he stands in the doorway of the kitchen, frozen. His hair is a bit of a mess and his face has that day-old scruff, the trace of gray lightly lacing through the dark, coarse hair. I hate that he looks sexy even when he looks like shit. It takes me a few seconds to stop staring at him. I guess I’m getting my fill since I fled from him earlier. “You’re cooking?”
“Ha-ha,” I mock dryly. “I can cook.”
He stares at me blankly.
“It’s macaroni casserole,” I grumble. “Any idiot can make it.” Why do I feel the need to explain myself? I can cook, a little. His face lights up with his signature grin, showing all of his stupidly white teeth, and I can’t help smiling a little. He’s laughing at me. “I hate you.”
His laugh fills the room and I feel a rush go through me. The man’s smile is lethal; pair it with his laugh—and it’s game over. Here I am, back in the suck. Falling into the Paul James trap . . . again. “I got an already made rotisserie chicken from the store. Made a salad, too.”
“You’re a regular Betty Crocker,” he quips as he plucks a cucumber off the salad and pops it in his mouth.
“How did it go?”
Paul reaches in the fridge for a beer and sighs. “I didn’t realize how . . . hard it would be to talk about the past like that. Especially to a teenager.”
“Tell me about it,” I chuckle.
“You know, Clara . . .” The way he says my name causes me to look at him. “I’m sorry for the way I treated you when you first got here.”
I’m stunned. I wouldn’t have expected him to say that in a million years.
“I was an asshole.” That either.
“True,” I can’t help adding, to which he owns with a few dips of his head.
“And I should’ve never let the staff disrespect you the way they did.”
I swallow a few times because, damn it, it was hard, and turn back to my casserole. “I managed, and got through it,” I reply. These are the days I hate to think about. I was fresh blood. Starting here was awful, but at the time the alternative—staying in Texas and possibly seeing Kurt with his new family—was far worse.
“I know. And you were right about so much. But I know that had to have sucked. If I had known what happened, why Dennis left you half, it would’ve been—”
“Different?” I sneer, cutting my gaze to him. “Wasn’t it easier to assume I was his mistress or illegitimate daughter?”
“You should have told me,” he replies calmly. “I understand why you didn’t at first, but after we . . . when we were . . .” He pauses.
“You can’t even say it,” I challenge him.
He narrows his brows. “Why are you getting angry? I’m trying to apologize.”
This time I spin toward him and put my hands on my hips. “For what exactly, Paul?” My skin heats as my tone thickens with ridicule. “Being a dick to your new business partner or for running off on me with no rhyme or reason? Or for not loving me? Which is it?”
He runs a hand through his thick, black hair. “I . . . thought you wanted other things.”
<
br /> “Maybe you should have asked me.” Popping the oven open, I shove the dish inside and slam the door shut.
I spin around intending to stomp out of the kitchen, but he’s here. Right here. I jump, startled, but he quickly grabs me and pulls me to him. His body is still hard, not like it was years ago when he had that blessed gift that is the youth of your twenties, where you look at the gym and have a six-pack, but still, for a man his age, his body is primed. Tracing his fingers up the back of my neck, he fists my hair gently, forcing me to look at him. “Look at me. I fucked up,” he rasps. “I know it. I’ve always known it. But I did love you, and I’ve never stopped. Hate me for leaving. Hate me for being a dick. But don’t hate me because I didn’t love you.”
Then he kisses me. Soft and quick, long enough for his light beard to scratch against the delicate skin of my face, before releasing me. Stumbling back, I hit the counter and hold myself. I’m going to need a minute to process what just happened.
“On another note,” he moves on. “I think Neena might have a little crush on that Mills kid.”
I stare at him. He still loves me? He kissed me. I’m still processing the kiss. What’s he talking about?
So he continues, “She got all excited when I called her a kid in front of him.”
I manage to move robotically and make my way to the fridge, snatching my own beer. It’s probably best we change subjects because I have no idea what to say about what just happened. Clearing my throat, I respond, “She’s got good taste. He’s a cute guy.”
“What?” Paul snorts. “You’re not bothered by this?”
Rolling my eyes, I twist the cap off my beer and take a quick sip. “Why would I be?”
Paul shrugs, his expression changing with his thoughts. “I don’t know. Because she’s our little girl and he’s . . . a guy . . .”
I give him a pointed look, waiting for the real issue to come out.
“With a penis,” he finishes.
I can’t help the laughter that explodes from my mouth. “Boys do have those pesky things, don’t they?”
