by Piper Rayne
“We need to appeal to a more family-friendly crowd. Or do workplace team excursions,” she says. “There’re so many possibilities, but I think the client base is too narrow right now.”
“Let me guess, you have an MBA?”
She shakes her head. “Just my bachelor’s degree.”
“I think Chip has a niche that we should maintain but find a better way to advertise to them.”
She’s already shaking her head, and I blow out a breath before having to listen to her disagreement.
“We need excursions for the non-thrill seekers. The ones who want to take a bus ride to tour a glacier or hike a trail, not climb a mountain.”
“That’s not Lifetime Adventures.”
“But maybe it should be.” She lets her hair out of her ponytail, and I watch it swing back and forth like a pendulum. I wonder if it’s as soft as it looks.
“That’s a different company than this one.”
“That’s because you’re a thrill-seeker. You want the rush of being on the brink of death.”
I tilt my head. “Had one of those already. I’m not looking for a repeat.”
The accident I was in a few years ago shook me so hard, I almost quit bush piloting. My heart still flutters when I fly over the same spot where Griffin Thorne and I went down.
“Oh yes, I forgot you were famous for a few seconds.”
“It wasn’t me. It was the music producer I had on my back. You know, from saving his life.”
She laughs, but her amusement says she’s getting used to my dry humor. “That had to propel that ego of yours up to the same level as Mount Everest.”
I shrug. She would never understand how profound that moment was to me.
“Anyway, we need to decide what we’re going to do,” I say. “After paying these bills, we need two months of clients solid in order to keep going. We can’t be looking to change the way the business is run. We need to get in the black.”
“Maybe we should sell?” She brings her knees to her chest and holds them tight to her body.
“Maybe,” I agree and her gaze darts to mine. “What? You said it first.”
“Because I want you to object.”
“Why would I object?”
She rests her chin on her knees. “Because you love this. This is your thing.”
“Not exactly.”
She shifts her head so her cheek lies on her knee. She’s as sad as Nancy, but she’s trying to hide it.
I shake my head. “Let’s just get this business into the black. I have a few connections I can call who might want to take a trip with me.”
“And what about me?”
“You can stay here and be the pretty face.” Her eyes narrow to slits and I kind of want to laugh, but I keep my composure. “I’m kidding.”
“You know, I can survive the wilderness.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” Her non-verbal cues don’t match her words in the slightest.
“Then when we go up to spread your dad’s ashes, we can stay a few days.”
“That’s not for a few months.”
“Perfect opportunity for you to watch the Discovery Channel and get some tips then.”
She picks up a pen and throws it at me. The phone on the desk rings, and we both stare at it like, ‘who the hell is calling?’ Then I see it’s the front desk.
“Hey, Nancy,” I answer.
“There’re some people here for Chip?”
Cleo and I look at one another, then at the phone as if it’s going to give us all the answers.
“Who?” I ask.
“Selma Torres with Uncovering America’s Beauty.”
“Why’s she here?” Cleo asks, and we stand at the same time.
“Let’s find out.”
Eight
Denver
A petite woman who’s dressed the complete opposite of Cleo stands in the other room. You’d think we’re in the Arctic and preparing for a month-long blizzard. She’s wearing a huge parka that reaches her ankles, where there are rubber-soled boots lined with fur.
“Chip?” She smiles and extends her hand.
Nancy cries, and Cleo slowly steps in front of Nancy’s desk to block her from disrupting the conversation.
“Denver Bailey actually.” I shake her hand. “This is Cleo Dawson.”
“Nice to meet you.” Cleo shakes her hand, but the woman looks confused.
“Are you Chip’s wife?”
“No,” Cleo answers but offers no explanation.
Great. I see this is all on me.
Two men stand behind Selma and can’t stop looking at Nancy as she loudly blows her nose, adding to the stack of tissues next to the newspaper I’m sure she was reading when they came in. Great impression.
“Would you like to come into the office?” I ask.
“Can I ask what this is about?” Cleo asks before Selma can respond.
“We have business with Chip Dawson. I’m confused. This is Lifetime Adventures, right?” She looks around the room for a sign of some kind.
There isn’t one, of course. Chip must’ve thought that once people got in here, they knew where they were.
“It is, but um…” I glance at Cleo. Nancy has stopped sobbing, so we can have a conversation right here. “Chip passed away two weeks ago.”
A loud cry from Nancy echoes through the room.
Both men stare at her, one inching closer. “Is she okay?”
“She is,” Cleo says. “Actually, maybe I’ll take her to the restroom.”
I grip her sweater before she can get away, and I tug her back to my side. She’s helping me with this whether she likes it or not.
“Oh, I’m sorry for your loss,” Selma says. “He put his name in to be part of a reality TV show based on excursion companies in Alaska. When we couldn’t get ahold of him, my boss, who’s familiar with Chip’s reputation, asked me to come up here and find him.”
I knew Chip was well-known in his circle, but not that his name alone could get him cast in a show. He didn’t have an over-friendly, peppy personality, and his threshold for drama was minimal.
“Apologies,” I say. “If we’d known that he’d had this going on, one of us would’ve contacted you.” I look at Cleo, who hasn’t added one thing to the conversation.
“Apology not necessary. I’m sure you’ve been busy with other things given the situation.” Selma nods to all three of us, including Nancy, who’s trying to get herself together. Selma’s comment only spurs another round of tears and uncontrollable crying.
Selma turns and talks to the younger guy of the two. “Zeke will be saddened by this news. We’ll call him back at the hotel. Shame, the money might’ve been able to spruce up this waiting room.”
The younger guy laughs. Yeah, it’s not the Ritz Carlton in here. Not that I’d know because I’ve never been in one. But I’m sure Cleo has.
“Money?” I inch forward. “Chip was going to get paid to do the show?”
The guy with the gray beard nods with an eager expression as if he wants me to ask about it. But I think he’d do about anything to get Nancy to stop crying.
“Of course. Did you really think reality TV stars weren’t paid? Every episode,” Selma says. “Lots of them amp up their personalities to stay on air so they can keep the paycheck.”
Cleo and I look at one another. All I can think about are the red past due stamps and the fact that our saving angel, named Selma, is standing in our waiting room. Cleo nods as if she can read my mind.
“We’re the new owners.” I wag my finger between us.
Selma’s eyes shift from me to Cleo then to the younger man with her, who’s also dressed for the tundra. “Are you a couple?”
“Hell no,” I answer.
“As if,” Cleo says with an eye roll. “I mean, no. We barely know one another.”
Selma smiles and looks at the guy again. Like Cleo and I just did, they have a silent conversation of their own. “I don’t know. Zeke w
as set on Chip, and you two don’t look like you have much experience. Maybe if you were a couple. America loves to watch couples work together. Even better if there’s trouble.”
Growing up with sisters, I’ve seen my share of reality television. I know it skews toward the dramatic.
“How about I take you to lunch? You can see the town. Believe me, there should be a reality show based on it,” I say. She continues to stand there, and I take that as a good sign. She’s letting me convince her. “I’m one of nine kids.”
“You are?” Cleo asks.
I nod. “Each of us are named after the city we were conceived in.”
“You were?” Cleo asks again.
I nod. “My parents died when I was thirteen.”
Cleo’s shoulders fall and her hand touches my forearm briefly. I look at her and nod that it’s okay.
“My brother raised me. He’s a teacher married to the high school principal. My twin brother owns a restaurant in town.” I think of anything else I could tell her. “My brother-in-law owns Glacier Point Resort.”
“That’s where we’re staying,” Selma says.
“Me too!” Cleo says, pointing at herself.
“Let’s see, what else can I tell you…” I rack my brain for anything else that might be juicy and interesting enough to get Selma to consider us.
She looks at the young guy one last time. I want to step between them and ramble on all the reasons this could work, but before I have a chance, the outside door bursts open. A gush of cold wind enters the room, then someone pushes the young guy out of the way.
G’ma D stands in front of Selma, looking her up and down. “Oh, sweetie, it’s Alaska, not Siberia.” She approaches me and kisses each cheek. “I’m here to offer my business expertise. Savannah said you needed me.” She unwraps her scarf and unbuttons her jacket. “Oh, Cleo, welcome back.”
My grandma knows Cleo?
“Hi, Dori.”
My grandma steps over and kisses Cleo’s cheeks. “You need better shoes. Denver will take you shopping.”
I roll my eyes.
“Oh, Nancy.” G’ma D rounds the front desk and hugs Nancy. She shoots me a look to say, “Poor baby.”
“Who’s that?” Selma asks.
“That’s my grandma,” I say.
Selma nods, but her eyes won’t stray from Dori. “Give us a minute, okay?”
She holds up her hand and signals for the two men to follow her outside.
G’ma D stays with Nancy while Cleo and I move back into the office to discuss if this is something we want to do. I mean, the money has piqued our interest, but we could fail on national television.
“What if it doesn’t work?” Cleo asks. “I’d be the laughingstock of Dallas.”
“Better than being the laughingstock of Lake Starlight.”
“Hardly comparable.” She sits in her chair and crosses her legs. Does she have to purposely do things to draw my attention to her body?
“You have read Buzz Wheel, right?”
“You have no idea the circle of gossip that surrounds Dallas,” she says.
“Then I guess we have to decide whether it would be worth it,” I say.
I’m not stupid, I know I’m a react first, think later kind of guy. I made peace with that a long time ago. When you pull as many pranks as I did growing up, you figure that out pretty quickly. I never meant for Principal Gregory to find Rome’s jockstrap in our English teacher’s desk and threaten to fire her for assuming she was sleeping with a student. Nor did I think when I threatened to shave Juno’s head with clippers that young Sedona would pick them up after I wrestled Juno to the floor and shave a reverse mohawk down the center of her head.
“Do we have any other option?” she asks.
“We’re in the hole. We can do some hard work to try to dig ourselves out, but this is our best option.”
She thinks it over. “I’m not even sure she’d take us.”
“Take you? Who?” G’ma D enters the room with a semi-happier Nancy.
“The woman you insulted is a television producer for Uncovering America’s Beauty,” I say. “Chip was supposed to be on the show.”
“One of those shows where stupid people purposely get in fights so other people think their lives are better?” G’ma D asks.
“It would showcase the company and the excursions. We’d get paid and…” I look at Cleo, and she inhales a deep breath as though she’s seven and preparing to jump off the high dive. “It would be great publicity for the company.”
G’ma D scowls. “I don’t like it.”
Of course she doesn’t. She hates all reality TV, which surprises me since she’s usually the center of gossip in Lake Starlight.
Selma and the two men walk through the office door and Cleo stands.
“Well, Zeke is intrigued. He said we’ll film one and see what happens on camera. But he wants to try to get someone well-known to star on the first episode to draw in the viewership. Tommy”—Selma thumbs toward the younger of the two men—“has a few connections through a friend of a friend, so he’ll see what he can do, and we’ll be in touch.”
Cleo’s lips tip down. I feel the same way. I don’t want some spoiled Hollywood starlet risking all our lives out there.
“That’s not necessary.” G’ma D steps up between Cleo and me. “Denver knows Griffin Thorne, the music producer.”
Selma’s eyes widen as do Tommy’s, which says Griffin is a better catch than any of his prospects.
I swing my arm around G’ma D’s shoulders. “She’s right. I do.”
“Call him, sweetie, I’m sure he’ll do it.” She nudges me with her elbow.
“You still talk to Griffin Thorne?” Cleo asks. I kind of like the way she sounds impressed.
“He saved him a few years ago. That man would’ve died if not for my boy there to pull him out,” G’ma D brags.
Selma, as well as Cleo, eats it up as I step aside and call Griffin.
Griffin answers on the second ring. “Denver, how the hell are you?”
“Remember that favor?”
Griffin laughs. “What do you need?”
“Well, it’s big.”
“I said anything, and I meant it. Spit it out.”
I take the same breath Cleo took earlier, and I mentally jump off the diving board, preparing for the plunge into cold water. “How do you feel about doing another survivalist trip, but this time it would be filmed for a new reality TV show?”
I hear him blow out a breath. “I’d say if it helps you, I’m in. Just let me know the details and I’ll arrange my calendar.”
I fist-pump in the air. “Thanks.”
“Let me call you later tonight. I’m in the middle of something.”
I hear loud people in the background. He’s probably in the middle of recording or something. “Yeah, definitely. Thanks, Griffin.”
“Any time. Talk to you tonight.”
The line dies, and I pocket my phone. “He’s in. We just have to give him the dates.”
Selma’s wide eyes say she was ready to call my bluff. “Awesome. Okay…” She looks at Tommy and the gray beard guy now talking with Nancy. “I’ll head back to LA and we’ll be in touch.” She puts out her hand. “This is great. Griffin Thorne. Amazing.” She’s talking more to herself than any of us.
When they leave, I pick up Cleo and swing her around the room. We’re both squealing when I realize she’s in my arms, her tits pressed against my chest and we’re actually enjoying one another’s company. I drop her to her flats and draw back.
“Okay, my work here is done.” G’ma D buttons her coat as though she had any idea Selma was here. “Now, don’t forget Sunday dinner.”
“How could I forget?”
She pats my cheek. “I’m talking to Cleo. Please join us. It’s at Austin’s—well, Denver can bring you.”
Cleo looks at me and laughs at my scrunched up forehead. “I’d love to, Dori, but I have a friend with me.”
&
nbsp; “Bring her. The more, the merrier. I have another grandson, Kingston.” She leans in close. “He’s a firefighter.”
“And in love with his high school—well, it’s complicated,” I say.
“I’ll think about it.”
G’ma D hugs Cleo. “No thinking. Just come. You two are business partners now, so you’re family.”
Cleo draws back and nods. “Okay then.”
I’m stunned, watching G’ma D walk to the door. “Oh, and Denver, next time, you come to me for advice, not your siblings. I’m the smart one.” She looks around and out the window at where Selma is smoking a cigarette by her car. “But you did good here. I’m proud of you.”
Cleo glances at me with a soft smile. G’Ma D’s compliment shouldn’t hit me right in the heart, but it does. It’s been a while since anyone was proud of me for anything.
Nine
Cleo
That Sunday, Bridget and I wait in the bar of the Glacier Point Resort for Denver to pick us up. He gave me an out every day this week, but because he appeared so worried that I’d be coming to his family’s Sunday dinner, I kept insisting that I’d love to come. Irritating him is becoming a bad habit of mine.
“You said Denver has brothers?” Bridget sits on the bar stool beside me, nursing her glass of wine. She’s dressed as if she’s going to an upscale restaurant for a five-course meal. A fitted dress shows off her long legs and three-inch heels, and her makeup is so thick that if I ran my nail down her cheek, it’d look as if she had a scar. But she’s still the most beautiful girl I’ve ever known.
“Yeah, but I think majority of them are spoken for.”
“Well, you know I can change that.” I send her a look that says, ‘please don’t’ and she laughs. “Come on. You know I would never.”
Truly, she wouldn’t. Her mother cheated on her dad, which sent him into a spiral of quick marriages and even quicker divorces. To this day, she never talks about her mom. But I’ve seen her toe the line with guys who were involved with girls we knew. She’s always had that itch to be the center of attention.
“Just please don’t embarrass me,” I say, wishing I wasn’t so nervous and could’ve worded it better.
