by Shandi Boyes
“You didn’t come? Why not?”
I wave my hand at her, looking all prissy in a jumpsuit that should make her look frumpy, even though it doesn’t. “Because you turned up.”
“Ohhh. Now everything makes sense. I thought you threw me off a cliff because you were determined to show me you still have what it takes to be a jumper. In reality, you were just pissed I interrupted Miss Sweet Thing going to town on your… your—”
“Cock? Schlong? Captain America? Penis? Womb raider? Tonsil tickler? Pee-pee?” Too much, Colby, way too much! You’re supposed to make your cock sound manly, not like a kid’s tugboat in a bubble bath. “Shall I continue, or did you get the hint?”
“I think I got the gist of it. You came. You saw. You didn’t conquer.”
“Hey!” She couldn’t have shocked me more if she slapped me with a cold fish. “I conquered. I totally conquered like King Kong climbing the Empire State Building, banging my chest and all. She was so conquered she was left dying for more. That’s why I ran as I did.”
“Ha! So I was right? You did only offer me a ride home to escape her clutches.”
I make a pfft noise. “That isn’t close to the truth.”
Jamie folds her arms in front of her chest, her white cheeks reddening. Her attempt to act angry is as cute as fuck.
“It may have appeared that way at the start, but now I’ve gotten to know you a little better, I would have offered you a ride home… eventually. I like you. You’re cool and hip. I may even have a little crush on you.”
What the fuck!
I stop seeking the closest ditch to bury myself in when she squeaks out, “Really?” Just as quickly as her surprise arrived, it leaves. “I mean… really!” This one is delivered with a sarcastic eye roll and an ear-piercing tone. “Like I’d fall for that. Nice try, buddy, but I’m not that type of girl. You can’t woo a lower insurance premium out of me.”
I might have believed her if she stopped seeking confirmation from my eyes. I’m reasonably sure if I told her my dick was a throat lozenge, she’d be complaining about a sudden sore throat.
“Yeah. Ha! You busted me.”
My voice replicates the one I had when I reached puberty but still lacked the ‘pubic’ side of the saying. Every word I spoke is true, micro-crush part included, but her insurance premium comment reminded me quick smart she’s not a woman I should be messing with. And let’s not mention the big-ass rock that started our conversation.
Chapter 6
Jamie
Why in the world am I getting jealous? I’m engaged, angry, and bubbling with so much jealousy, I’m considering a second jump into the ocean to cool down. Jesus. I need to shut this down, and I know the perfect way to do so.
“Without the amendments we’re suggesting, Metrics will not be able to provide insurance indemnity for The Drop Zone.”
Colby tightens his grip on the steering wheel before spitting out, “Then I’ll find another insurer.”
Ha, like I’m not aware he’s tried that very thing multiple times over the past four months.
“Our stipulations aren’t the end for your business, Colby. For all you know, stepping back could benefit it greatly. Put those years of business studies to use from behind a desk.”
“My business is what it is because of me. I’m embedded in it. People don’t come to The Drop Zone just for the thrill. They come for me.”
“And a chance to get in your bed?”
I thought I said my comment in my head, but the narrowing of Colby’s eyes reveals I didn’t. “And that right there is my point.” He jerks his head at me as if I’m more than one person. “This isn’t about risks. It’s about the stiffs who can’t understand how anyone can enjoy life without anti-depressants. I’m not talking out my ass when I say if they had found a well that served them a million dollars before they turned twenty-two, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. This isn’t about risks, protocols, or any of that other shit you emailed me. This is purely about knocking me down a peg or two.” His eyes stray from the road to me. “And they’re using you to do it.”
“No one is using me, Colby. I made an informed decision from the facts presented before me.”
“Facts?” He waits for me to nod before continuing, “Were they better served than the one I just gave you? My ankles are up for the task.”
“But your tact isn’t. Today proves that without a doubt. You take uncalculated risks which endanger people’s lives—”
“Today. I did that today! And that was only because it was you.” It suffices to say I’m shocked, not just by the heat of our conversation, but because of what he says next. “I started The Drop Zone specifically for people like you. The ones who can’t find themselves even when standing in front of a fucking mirror. People who are so goddamn lost, jumping out of a plane is their second jump location. You think it’s all about the thrill and the endorphins, but what about those people who just want to feel alive for an hour. That’s why they come to me. That’s why they beg and plead with Tyrone for me to be their instructor because if one-tenth of my personality rubs off on them while they’re sailing in the air like an eagle, they have more than enough reasons to live.”
Before I can fathom a reply, he pulls into an apartment building that doesn’t have the standard thumbnail size crash pad most apartments fringing LA have. The street is leafy, the vibe hip, and the price tag way above an insurance assessor’s salary. I share my apartment with my fiancé.
Share, such a weird word for me to use when referencing the man I’m set to spend the rest of my life with.
Like I need any more clues that he can’t wait to see the back end of me, Colby reaches over to open my door for me, giving me my marching orders without shutting down his engine. “You can deny my coverage claim all you want. I’ll still jump.”
I grit my teeth, holding back my remark. I have half an ocean of sand in my hair, my clothes are thinner than a sheet of paper, and my heart is whacking out a tune I’ve never heard it play before. Now is not the time for arguing. I honestly don’t know if any time would be right.
“Thank you for the ride.” I nearly add on, and the near coronary, but lose the chance when my slip out of Colby’s car concedes with his foot getting friendly with his gas pedal. He zooms down the street using the wind from his brutal speed to slam my door shut.
Once his taillights blur into a sea of many, I spin around to face the doorman whose shocked expression jumps onto my face when I realize I left my satchel in Colby’s car.
“Need me to buzz you in?”
Nodding, I give Raguel my best could-today-get-any-worse face before following him into the lobby of my building. It’s a boastful space with fresh flowers, crystal chandeliers, and glistening tiles that have no issues displaying my low-hanging head. I’ve read many reports on Colby McGregor the past four months. Most were the ones from physio specialists whose aspirations to remain in the Attwood’s family dynasty’s good graces was seen all over their reports. I doubt half of them physically attended a meeting with Colby. They just let him blind them with his good looks and charisma as unwisely as I did.
After sliding his key into the elevator dashboard and hitting ‘P’ for the top floor, Raguel slips back out. “Mr. Valeron is home.”
“He is? Oh.” I could have sworn he said he had a meeting today.
Shrugging off my confusion, I thank Raguel with a smile before the elevator commences its eighteen-floor climb. I would give anything for it to be Friday afternoon. A soak in a tub with a chocolate swirled sundae with crushed nuts on the top would be ideal right now—and I’m not even fussed if the nuts don’t belong to Colby. What he said before tearing away from my building makes sense. I feel more alive now than I did when my eyes fluttered open this morning, which isn’t great form considering I was awakened by my husband-to-be with a fresh mug of hot chocolate and a beaming smile.
Am I a terrible person? I certainly feel like one right now.
When the
elevator doors ding open, I trudge down the long, elegant corridor. The first time I walked this hallway, my feet didn’t touch the floor. Brad carried me to the door of the apartment he purchased as a surprise for me. I was shocked. Not just because he bought an apartment way above our league, but the way he bent on his knee after carrying me over the threshold. That day was a little over three months ago—exactly four months after we began dating.
Ignoring the painful twist of my stomach, I lower down the gold-leafed handle of my front door. It doesn’t budge an inch, indicating it’s locked.
“Brad.”
I tap on the door two times, eager for both a shower and to reacquaint with the lips who had avoided mine like I had a cold sore this morning. I can’t blame him. Even a man with panty-wetting features like Colby wakes up with morning breath.
“Princess? Is that you?”
I roll my eyes at Brad’s hideous nickname. I love when my dad calls me princess, but when it’s coming from Brad’s mouth, it is cringeworthy. “Yes, it’s me. Who else would it be?” I’m reasonably sure my dip in the ocean didn’t just wipe the makeup from my face. It dug out an attitude I haven’t utilized in a very long time. My question wasn’t snappy, it was downright rude.
“What are you doing home so early? Didn’t you have a meeting today?” His words are jutted by big breaths like he’s jogging.
“If you open the door, I’ll tell you all about it.” I will after I work out what the hell he’s up to. “Brad!” I jiggle the handle again as if it will miraculously pop open. “Why aren’t you letting me in?” I stare down at the lock, certain my adrenaline-thick blood is capable of kicking it open, but before I can, it flings open.
“Hey, there, princess. Sorry, I was getting dressed. You know what Ms. Rosa is like. If I answered the door in a towel, she’d have us kicked out of the building.”
Everything he’s saying is true, but that doesn’t stop me from storming into our apartment like I’m about to take down a drug operation being run in my kitchen. I race through the living room and past the kitchen on my sprint to our bedroom, finding not a thing out of place.
“Princess?” I spin around to face Brad, who’s eyeballing me like a freak, even with his eyes not lowering to take in the ridiculous outfit I’m wearing. “Who are you looking for?”
“Why are you showering at one thirty in the afternoon?”
He takes on a defensive stance, unappreciative of the interrogation in my tone. “Because I left the ranch Mr. Kemp wants zoned as commercial smelling like a piggery. I don’t know about you, but I’m reasonably sure those wealthy investors you despise schmoozing at every corporate function wouldn’t appreciate me turning up to a meeting reeking of manure.”
“Ah. Good point.”
“And you, Jamie?” He says my name with the same stinging scorn Colby used earlier. “Why are you home at one thirty in the afternoon looking like that.” When he spits out ‘that,’ he glances down at the jumpsuit Tyrone gave me after promising to have my skirt and blouse dry cleaned and returned to me later today.
I wait for Brad to finish raking his hand through his inky black hair that curls around his ears before replying, “I also had a meeting with… pigs.”
Brad’s icy stare pins me in place. It’s the same daring look he gave me across a conference room floor only seven months ago. It’s fierce and impenetrable, much like its owner. Brad could never be accused of being cruisy. He’s masculine, cultured, and hungrier for success than any man I know.
“I thought you had a meeting with an adventure capitalist today. What’s his name? Col—”
“Colby McGregor. I did.” I follow him out of the bedroom, not surprised his interrogation ended as quickly as it started. Brad Valeron would never believe little old me would deceive him. He’s so sure of himself, even if he had someone as ritzy as Gigi Hadid on his arm, he wouldn’t be worried. “It didn’t go according to plan.”
Brad snags his leather briefcase off the round table in the foyer before pivoting around to face me, his lips hard-lined. “He’s responsible for you looking like that?” Once again he highlights my outfit with his head.
“No.” I draw out my lie as if it is an entire sentence. “This was all me.” I hate dishonesty, but Brad knows people who know people who know my boss. If word gets out that Colby strapped me to his chest before throwing me off a cliff, The Drop Zone won’t be just shut down, I could lose my job. “My car overheated again. When I walked, I fell in a ditch. It rained last night. So…” I drag my hand down my body, letting my messy-self answer on my behalf.
Brad doesn’t hear my lie as I hoped. “So you turned up to your meeting like that? If you want to be taken seriously, Jamie, you need to act accordingly.”
“But I’m fine, so don’t you go fussing.” Some of the southern heritage I nearly forgot I had rings true in my tone.
“Don’t be like that, Jamie. I know you’re safe. I can see, you know. I’m more talking about how many hours you’ve put into this request for coverage when you should have just stamped it ineligible and moved on.”
Brad is talking about Colby’s insurance indemnity like he’s handled it as closely as I have. We may have discussed it in passing, but he’s one of the people Colby mentioned earlier—the stiffs who wouldn’t know a good time if it were to slap them in the face.
“It isn’t as simple as it seems. Colby made a lot of good points today… points that deserve assessing.”
Brad stares at me with his brow cocked and his jaw tight. “Colby? You refer to your clients by their first name now, do you?”
His jealousy is unexpected but highly appreciated considering the hot mess I’m currently in.
“He’s very laid back, Brad. Nothing like the media portrays.” That’s not entirely true. Colby is cocky, self-opinionated, and arrogant but in an endearing I’m-going-to-hell type of way. “I’ve got until the end of next month to decide, so a few more hours of deliberation won’t hurt anyone.”
“Jamie…. Princess…” He cups my cheeks like two names aren’t enough to reveal how stupid he thinks I am. “You’ve deliberated over this claim for months. It’s time to let it go. The risks far exceed any premium amount Metrics could draw against them. Do you really want to be the woman who singlehandedly loses thousands of jobs this close to Christmas? Nice guy or not shouldn’t come into it. This is business. Nothing more.”
Why do I get the feeling he’s talking about us more than The Drop Zone’s liabilities?
“Now, have a shower, fix your hair that’s all types of wrong, then get this wrapped up like the responsible, smart woman I plan to marry.” When he swoops down to kiss me goodbye, I stupidly pucker my lips. He isn’t going for a mouth peck, instead he kisses me on the forehead like we’re saving my virtue for our wedding night, which is scheduled to occur on New Year’s Eve. We’re not, but it certainly feels like it has been over the past two months. “I have a meeting in Santa Clara for the rest of today, so I’ll be home late. Don’t wait up for me.”
With that, he leaves our apartment, tapping out a message on his cell phone on the way out the door.
Chapter 7
Colby
I tiptoe into the foyer of The Drop Zone, unsure if the extermination company I regularly utilize for pests got the silent signals I was shooting his way during my fast departure. It has the same lackless vibe it usually has each Monday afternoon when the nuns have finished collaborating with God. The trained jumpers are in the break/games room playing X-box and talking smack about what they did on the weekend. The cleaning staff is ridding the toilets of the nerves nearly every jumper gets before they’re shoved into a tin can we call a plane, and the safety officers are checking each chute—including the one I disengaged while soaring over the Cali coast earlier today.
Not going to lie, my blood is still pumping. Not just from my base jump, but from my exchange with Jamie after it as well. I shouldn’t have snapped at her like I did. Even if everything I said were true, making out
I threw her off a cliff just to bring her out of her shell was a lie. There’s no doubt she’s uptight, but if she were as stiff as I first perceived, I would have been charged with attempted murder by now.
My next sneaky step lands with a thud when Tyrone says, “She’s gone. It was easier than I thought.” He rounds the counter, making me anxious since there’s no longer a big clump of wood between us. “And I didn’t even have to make out you had an STI.” He drags his hand across the stubble responsible for the only bit of roughness on his face, hoping it will hide his smile. “I’ve caused you more issues than a little ole STI lie. Serves you right, too. You fucked up today, man.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“I know what you were thinking with, and it wasn’t with this.” He taps my temple, his pat strong enough to inform me he’s still pissed as fuck. “You like her… so much so, you had to bang your chest like a fucking moron.”
It’s sufficed to say I’m shocked. “What? Whatever! You’ve got rocks in your head. Today was nothing about liking anyone. I was merely proving a point.”
“That you want to get into her floral panties?” Tyrone moves past me to restack the pamphlets that make most jumpers’ eyes water. It isn’t a list of injuries they most likely will never endure during a jump that has them almost sobbing, it’s our pricing catalog. “They were floral, right? I’m guessing paisley pink with a cute little bow at the top. She probably smells like flowers, too.”
I take a step back, shocked as fuck. “Who likes who? Silly me, I thought your are-you-okay-Ms.-Burgess routine was about keeping our business afloat, not getting your dick head wet.”
