by Shandi Boyes
Jamie leaves the handshake I’m offering hanging, her devotion fixed on Tyrone. “There’s still time.” When he peers at her in confusion, and with way too much admiration for my liking, she adds, “To sue him. The standard statute of limitations is one year, so I’ve got plenty of time to decide since the charges brought forward would be much more severe than a standard civil suit.”
When she climbs into the van to find a seat, I mumble, “You better hurry, my insurance runs out next week.”
She gives me the same doe-eyed look Tyrone gave her, but before she can voice a single word I see in her eyes, I slide the van door shut so we can commence our six-hour commute to a cabin with open fireplaces, a twelve-man jacuzzi, and not a single person to enjoy it with. Boo-fucking-hoo!
“If you’re planning to continue your I-don’t-like-her ruse for the next four days, you better quit staring at her. It’s getting very creepy real quick.”
After dumping two weeks’ worth of Twizzlers, Milk Duds, and M&M’s onto the passenger seat of the van, I shoot Tyrone a warning look before devoting my focus back to Jamie. She’s standing in the middle of a puddle-drenched lot, wrangling a bent umbrella and a cell phone as she endeavors not to let brutal winds give the truckers eyeballing her a peek of her no-doubt cotton panties.
“What’s she doing? Trying to get electrocuted?” I strive to make my voice sound hopeful. I should purchase a one-way ticket out of LA—I’m a shit actor. “If she wants cell service, she’ll have to wait until we arrive at the cabin, and even then, it’ll be sporadic.”
Tyrone waits for the gas pump to click before placing it back on its holder. “She said it was too important to wait.”
“Probably giving her fiancé his tenth update for the morning.” For a man who swears he doesn’t work out, Tyrone has a lot of oomph in his whack when he hits me in the stomach. “What the fuck was that for?”
He hands Claudia three Benjamin Franklins to pay for our gas before shifting on his feet to face me. “For a man who hasn’t quit staring at her for the past four hours, your observation skills are shit.” I glare at him, a little lost—even more so when he says, “She’s not wearing her engagement ring, douche canoe.” His smirk turns smug when my heart rate skyrockets. “Ah, look at you perking up like I just inserted an IV of coffee into your veins.”
I make a pfft noise, trying my best to play it cool. “She’s probably getting it cleaned in preparation for their wedding.” That hurt to say more than I care to admit. “We saw them at the gala last week. They were very much together.” Even with her wearing the dress I bought her mere seconds after busting her fiancé kissing another woman.
“I didn’t see shit. Couldn’t past your stalker watch. They don’t hold masked balls so the freaks can mingle without fear of prosecution—” His interrogation bomb misses its target when I steer it off course with my fist. He doesn’t stay down for long.
Once his lungs are replenished with air, he recommences his campaign to take me down. “Maybe her wearing the dress you purchased was her way of trying to reach out to you when you cut her off.”
“I didn’t cut her off. I…” Ran like a fucking coward. “It doesn’t matter what I did. You were right. I don’t know her like I thought I did.”
Tyrone squeezes my shoulder, his firmness convincing it’s more to maim than offer support. “If you truly believe that, I’m not the only idiot standing under this awning.”
After a second squeeze, he advises our clients their twenty-minute pit stop is up and to return to the van. Most follow through with his request, but Jamie pleads for another five minutes. She’s more drenched than she is dry, but Tyrone approves her request as if her happiness is more important than the other two dozen people who paid to spend a long weekend surrounded by wilderness and not smelly cattle trucks and roadkill.
“We need to go. It will be dusk soon, and the rain is already slowing us down.”
Jamie takes a giant step to the left, clearing the girth of Tyrone’s shoulders so she can lock her eyes with mine. I can barely see hers through the fog on her lenses, but from what I can see, she’s fuming mad. “It’s five minutes. I’m sure it won’t kill you.”
“If I give you five minutes, I have to give everyone five minutes. That will add up to a whole heap of minutes no one wants to waste at a gas station.”
“Yeah. Let’s go. It stinks here, and the toilets are…” A gag finalizes the blonde’s whine.
I can’t recall her name even with her advising me of it many times the past four hours. She’s an attractive girl in her early twenties, and she has the perfect three-button combination, but her voice alone gives me a headache, not to mention her numerous stories about the television pilots she has coming up. I didn’t realize how unattractive ditziness is until I became friends with Jamie. We talked for hours after our dance classes, and not once did I want to shove my head into an oven. Within ten minutes of the blonde talking, I am seeking a blunt instrument to gouge out my eardrums.
“No one asked for your input, Barbie, so why don’t you shut your—”
“Jamie!”
I arch my brow, praying it will hide the excitement flaring through me that she finally stood up to the Playboy Mansion wannabee. She’s been snickering nasty comments about Jamie all morning, but since putting catty bitches in their place isn’t in my job description, I let her comments slide—for the most part. I may have requested Tyrone to schedule her to jump with Dallas. He has the looks needed to encourage more female jumpers to visit The Drop Zone, but he comes as quickly as an average man sneezes.
“Fine!”
Jamie wrangles her umbrella into submission, forgetting she needs it to keep her sheltered from the rain before marching toward the awning I’m standing under. With how hard the rain is pelting down, she looks like a drowned rat in under a minute. She isn’t feeling it, though. She’s too mad to worry about a little bit of wetness.
After thrusting her umbrella into my chest, she climbs into the van. With the only hostile client seated, the rest follow suit. Since Jamie took my seat, the one facing the opposite direction to which we’re traveling, I fill the spot her backside was planted on in the previous four hours. It’s better this way. I can watch her without wondering if my position is the cause of the queasiness in my stomach. If it occurs this time around, I’ll know its churns are solely her fault.
Jamie remains quiet the first forty minutes of our trip. I would like to say so does everyone else. Regrettably, that would be a lie. Unlike the first section of our trip, this time, it isn’t the blonde bombshells snickering about Jamie. It’s men—grown men who should know women don’t find derogative comments about their bodies appealing.
Yes, Jamie’s nipples are braced against her shirt that’s clinging to her chest. Yes, she’s cold enough the little bumps circling her areola give a great indication on how perky and firm her tits are. No, you don’t get to request for the driver to turn up the AC because ‘you’re burning up everywhere.’ And no, motherfucker, you do not get to murmur about the many ways you plan to warm her up when we arrive at the cabin.
When I twist in my seat, preparing to rearrange the face of the douchebags behind me, Tyrone pins me to the seat with his arm. “They’re paying customers.” His words are whispers, but we’re in a van, so everyone can hear them.
“Just because you pay for something doesn’t mean you get to be an asshole.” I practically shout my last word.
“It does if it lowers the chances of us getting sued. You know what O’Donnell said… this weekend is our last chance.”
That lowers my turbines as much as it tightens my jaw. O’Donnell is our last hope. If he doesn’t find a broker willing to insure us, our planes will be grounded from five o’clock next Friday afternoon. I wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t know the real Jamie. Not even twelve hours after my confrontation with her fiancé, an email arrived in my inbox. It advised The Drop Zone’s request for coverage had been denied on the grounds I refused to s
tand down as its face.
Not going to lie, her email gutted me. It wasn’t because she couldn’t see through the bureaucratic crap others thrust in her face, it was the fact she couldn’t see the weasel of a man directly in front of her. I thought she was a good judge of character, the way she had my back after my jump with Brad proved this, but I guess I’m also learning there’s only one person I can trust. Myself.
Chapter 17
Jamie
A long grateful moan rolls up my chest when I peel my long-sleeve shirt over my head. It was stupid of me to stand in a storm with a jacked-up umbrella and my cell phone thrust out like I was Benjamin Franklin praying for a lightning bolt, but what I told Tyrone was true. My desire to untwist the knot in my stomach couldn’t wait another two hours. I’m shocked I managed to reel back the desire for the first four. I wouldn’t have if I hadn’t stupidly housed my cell in my suitcase.
“Whoa… I’m so sorry.” Tyrone’s hands shoot up to cover his eyes when he realizes I’m wearing nothing but soaked trousers and a lace bra. “It took me a bit to find, but I discovered the landline.” He jingles a brick-like phone in his hand before peering over it to check the coast is clear. It is, but my crepe-paper-thin cami doesn’t alleviate the situation. White tissue-paper material and lace aren’t the best items to cover rosy pink nipples.
I pace to my suitcase to replace my wet shirt with a sweater. “Is it in order?”
Tyrone waits for me to drag my sweater over my head before stepping deeper into my assigned room for the weekend. “Yeah. I’m not sure how long the battery will last, but it has a dial tone.”
“Great. Thank you.” I accept the cordless phone from his grasp while pretending my cheeks aren’t on fire.
That would be a heap easier to do if he didn’t say, “I was wrong about you.” My arched brow encourages him to continue. “I said what you lacked in the front you made up for in the trunk. I was wrong.” I’d be on the verge of sobbing if a gleam in his eyes didn’t tell me everything will be all right. “You should wear fitted clothes more often. Let people see you’ve got the goods both front and back.”
I smile like we’re at Macy’s, and the Thanksgiving parade just started.
Tyrone’s smile matches mine. “I’m glad you came, Jamie. I’m sure it wasn’t an easy decision to make.”
“I didn’t have much choice.”
He shrugs, not believing me. I understand. Even a stranger would have heard the deceit in my tone. “Still, you’re here instead of out there.” He swings his eyes to the window that shows the howling storm hasn’t let up for the past three hours. My smile takes on a new meaning when he cringes. “Let’s hope that clears by tomorrow, or I’ll have a heap of bouncing checks to write.”
His long strides out of my room slacken when I say, “Climatic events are covered with most travel insurance policies. As long as your contract was worded right, you have no reason to offer refunds.”
“I wasn’t talking about our clients.” He rubs his hands together like he’s suddenly cold. “I was referring to Colby. If this weekend doesn’t pan out the way I’m hoping, I’ll most likely have to buy him out. The money is there, I’m just not sure it’s something I want to do.” Tyrone’s not unsure. His eyes reveal he straight-up doesn’t want to travel this path.
“Is this what Colby wants? Does he want you to buy him out?”
Tyrone shakes his head. “No, but being at The Drop Zone and not jumping may very well kill him.” He looks like he wants to say more, but something stops him. “Anyway, I’ll let you get settled in.”
I want to tell him everything will be okay, that it isn’t as it seems, but until I unjumble the confusion in my head, I can’t be expected to clear it from others.
With that in mind, I sit cross-legged on the massive bed in my ginormous room before dialing a well-used number on the borrowed phone. Hugh answers three rings later. “I thought we agreed to a communication ban this weekend?”
I pull the phone down to check it’s still the brick Tyrone handed me before squashing it back to my ear. “How’d you know it was me?”
“Who do I know in Bigfoot territory?”
When a long, controlled breath follows his question, my jaw quivers. “Are you smoking?”
“No!” One word shouldn’t call him out as a liar, but it does.
“Hugh Bartholomew Barnett, you quit smoking six months ago. If Kate finds out, you’ll be in big trouble, mister.”
“Kate won’t find out, will she, Jamie?” I picture him stubbing out the butt with his shoe when jutted breaths shrill down the line. “I need something to take the edge off. Things are hectic down here.”
“Then why did you force this on me?” I thrust my hand around my room that’s the size of most log cabins but in a money-will-make-you-happy type of way.
“Because you need this more than I need the occasional hit of nicotine.” Because I’ve worked with him for so long, I know his ‘this’ is more regarding my personal life than our professional ties.
“I left Brad.”
He sucks in a breath that’s withdrawn with a cough. I’m about to lecture him on better lung health, but his next set of words alter the direction of our conversation. “I gathered that’s why he was stomping around here this morning like he owns the place.”
“He came to Metrics?”
“Yes.” I hear an elevator ding before his voice starts to echo. “I didn’t speak with him, but he and Athena shared words.”
“Is she okay?” My high heart rate is heard in my question.
“Yes.” Who knew so much suspicion could be voiced with only one word? “Why wouldn’t she be?”
I’m saved from his interrogation by a second beep. This one isn’t from Hugh’s side. It’s the brick in my hand announcing it’s low on battery.
“Listen, I’m about to lose charge, and this can’t wait until Tuesday.”
“Jamie—”
“Hugh, I swear to God, I’m fine. I’ve never felt more at ease, but I need your focus on something else.”
He sighs. “Okay… but when you get back—”
“We’ll have words. I get it.” I wait for him to sigh again, this one more in agreement than annoyance before advising Hugh of the reason for the breach in our no-electronics-weekend contract. “Colby is under the impression The Drop Zone’s renewal was denied by Metrics. Do you know why he’d believe that? I sent you my reports with the recommendation that they were clear for coverage.”
“I know that. I forwarded your reports along with my own the same day. As far as I’m aware, they’re covered.” I hear papers being ruffled. “It’s here somewhere.” Another twenty seconds pass before his search is awarded. “Yes, here it is. Coverage was extended for another five years with the stipulation it could face a new investigation if any claims were brought forward within the first year.”
“So it was approved, and they have coverage?” The hope in my tone can’t be missed.
“Yes. It’s here, right in front of me.”
“Can you forward it to me?”
I cringe before apologizing to Hugh for my ear-piercing squeal. I’m not excited this evidence will get Colby off my back, I’m just eager to use it to show him what an egotistical asshole he is. I get why he’s angry, he did everything I requested to have his application approved, but if this accidental miscommunication is the reason he cut contact with me, Brad was right. He’s a user who only befriended me because he thought it would benefit his quest for coverage.
If I were even a smidge of the woman both he and Brad think I am, I could ignore the oversight and let Colby believe his coverage was denied. Regrettably, what Mr. Luis said weeks ago is true. As an insurance assessor, my personal feelings should never enter the equation. They didn’t when I recommended that The Drop Zone be covered under the Metrics Insurance umbrella, just like they won’t be now.
“How do I get a sheet of paper to you in the middle of nowhere?” Hugh doesn’t mean figuratively. He has
no clue how to send documents since faxes were decommissioned from our office five years ago.
“Give it to Athena. She’ll handle it.”
“Okay.”
When feet-stomping sounds down the line, I imagine him running through our office, holding the sheet of paper in front of him as if it is a dirty diaper. I hear him advise Athena he needs something faxed to me before the line goes dead a mere second before the lights.
“Goddammit.”
With the light on my cell phone leading the way, I make my way into the main living area where the rest of the guests are congregating. Blow-Up Barbie hisses at me like a cat when I walk past her, and the two men who stared in the van could have dried me if they didn’t arrive with a heap of drool making gaga faces at me. After the week I’ve had, I’m more pleased by their attention than frustrated—regrettably.
“The power will be back on within a few minutes. We need to wait for the generator to kick in. Until then, why don’t we gather around the fireplace to stay warm.” After handing Blow-Up Barbie and her friends a blanket, Tyrone makes his way to me. “You all right?”
“Yeah. This died just before the lights. Figured I should put it on its charging base for when the power comes back on.”
He jerks up his chin. “It’s in the office.” Tyrone gestures behind me before motioning for me to follow him.
As we glide past the kitchen, little rays of sunshine beam through its windows. “The rain is trying to let up.”
“Finally.”
When we enter the office, which is just as quaint and beautiful as the rest of the cabin, I gasp at the picturesque mountain backdrop. “Wow. Who wouldn’t live without cell service for a view like that?” My comment pops a brilliant idea into my head. “What’s service like at the peak?”
“Too dangerous to consider trekking today to find out.” These words didn’t come from Tyrone they came from Colby, whose shoulder is propped on the doorframe, acting casual even though his face shows he’s still the grumpy-ass I’ve been dealing with the past eight hours. “If the rain holds off, and power doesn’t return, we’ll consider a hike tomorrow morning.”
