I’m in.
I scan the lobby. A fancy placard on an easel announces that the SCCBL Press Conference is in the banquet room to my left. I veer towards it.
Oh, man. The doorway is clogged with people focused on the front of the room. My gut seizes up. It must have started. I race to join the throng and start working my way through. I can’t see anything.
My eyes dart around frantically until I spot a garbage can just inside the door. It’s polished and expensive looking with a sloped lid that discourages miscreants from climbing up onto it. But up I climb anyway, balancing precariously so that I can see everything.
The vast hall is set up with round banquet tables at which various business-attired men and women sit with pastries and coffee in front of them. Reporters and photographers stand wherever they can at the back of the room, and some even sneak in to stand between tables.
At the front of the room on an impromptu stage sits a long rectangular table skirted with white linen. A peachy-mauve curtain is somehow erected behind the stage.
Jack is going to sacrifice everything in front of a peachy-mauve curtain?
Edna and Frank sit in two chairs to the left of an empty chair at the center of the table, and some guy I don’t recognize—must be the Sawyer dude—sits to the right of the empty chair. Then Jack steps up onto the stage.
Jack.
Jack in a dark suit and green tie takes the empty chair. There they all are: Frank, Edna, Jack, Sawyer Guy. Flashes go off as the room hums with the buzz of anticipation.
I don’t know what to do.
Should I shout? Make a scene?
I check my cell again. Still no signal. So that’s out as a way of letting Jack know I’m here.
I slide carefully off the trash can, press myself against the back wall. I’ll work my way around the room by staying plastered to the wall but inching forward. I’ll be inconspicuous as I sidle toward the stage. I start my slide but halt when Edna clears her throat.
“We will each read a brief statement,” she announces in her expertly modulated, cosmopolitan voice. “Then we will take any questions that either our fellow business leaders or the representatives of the press may have.” I can positively hear the ingratiating smile.
The room falls silent, flashes still wink.
“Today,” Edna begins, “Jack Hawkins, CEO and founder of Into the Wild, will announce his company’s merger with the Sawyer Sport Shoe Company. They will sign papers to that effect. Then Hawkins United will absorb the newly formed powerhouse. Jack?”
She turns toward Jack. It’s his turn. He’s on. Oh, God. Whatever he is about to say, I know it will rip him apart. Big, fat tears roll down my face.
Jack puts his elbows on the table, moving toward the microphone in front of him. “I will not sign those papers and Into the Wild will not merge with anyone.”
What?
Shocked gasps.
And then I feel it. The hope, the power. I don’t know what Jack has up his sleeve, but I know that voice. He is in complete control.
“What?” The guy from Sawyer and Frank echo each other’s budding outrage.
“Excuse me, Jack?” Edna, of course.
Jack looks at her, then turns back to address the room.
“The only reason I’m here is to tell the world that I’m in love with Lisa Flyte.”
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
“What?!” All three of them this time. The outrage blossoming into full bloom.
“I love her,” Jack says into a thousand flashing cameras. “Totally. Completely. And definitely madly.”
“Jack, you mean—” Frank, sounding almost scared.
“You can’t do this!” The guy from Sawyer, looking disgusted.
Jack turns to him. “You outsource to poverty-stricken children in Thailand for three cents an hour, so you can just shut up.”
“Jack,” Frank begins, “there are serious repercussions. Our business—”
Jack turns to him. “Your business will recover. My life won’t. Not if I can’t get Lisa back.”
Edna focuses icy fury on him. “You—”
“I’ve used every trick I’ve ever learned from you to get what I want. Thanks, Mom.”
Edna pulls back, considers this for a second. Then, with the barest hint of a nod, she appears to decide it’s all right.
“This is just an asinine attempt to manipulate the market and increase the value of your stock!” calls a voice from the crowd.
Really?
I look around, spotting the short, dark-haired reporter with a chip on his shoulder. I hate him.
“My company isn’t publicly traded, Sherlock.”
Jack is so damn kick-ass.
“Increase your market share, then!”
Jack almost visibly brushes off this comment.
“Irrelevant. None of our so-called competitors come close to doing what we do. We have our own market.”
Calm. Confident. Damn sexy.
“So you set up this whole thing just to get us here to report that you love Lisa Flyte?” A different reporter, this one with a sallow complexion and beer gut.
Jack tips his head in the guy’s direction. “Look at it as the chance to get the story right this time.”
“Or an opportunity to cash in on her fame and up your own profile. Isn’t this just a ploy to market Into the Wild?” This time, the reporter wears purple high heels that match her nail polish. I definitely hate her.
“By admitting what an awful boyfriend I turned out to be?”
“This makes no sense,” another reporter calls.
“I knew there was a chance you wouldn’t believe me,” Jack concedes. “Why should you? You’ve gotten everything about her wrong so far. But I don’t care. I need only one person to believe me.”
“Now that’s an interesting question, Jack.” This time it’s Alan Stewart, emerging from a crowd against the back wall. “Why should we believe you? Why? You had your chance to confess your love weeks ago, but you hung Lisa out to dry, instead. Now, you haven’t got a penny to your name, not since buying up every share you could of your company once we all jumped ship. And we’re supposed to believe that suddenly you love a famous rich girl? I think we need some convincing. You set up this press conference to let the world know you love Lisa. So, why Jack? What’s so special about Lisa? Convince us she’s the one for you.”
Silence.
Uh-oh.
A few call from the room, “Yeah, Jack. Why do you suddenly love her?”
“Why?”
“Yeah, why?”
Oh, God.
Then Jack laughs, a smile breaking across his face.
Oh, no! What’s he going to say? You got me. I don’t really love her.
“I love her,” he says, “because she wants to see a flea flicker on third and inches.”
Huh?
“What?” the first reporter squawks. “Nobody in their right mind would do a flea flicker on third and inches.”
“I know!” Jack laughs. “Nobody ever does something like that. Though it would be a pretty smart play. But that’s the point. Lisa wants to see it just because it’s so unexpected. It wouldn’t be boring. And that’s what she loves. Finding the excitement in every possible second.”
I start moving more toward the center of the room, more toward Jack.
“How many inches?” lilts a sassy reporter with dark roots.
I stop moving. Jesus. My love story is going to end up in Playgirl.
Jack looks at her, giving her his full attention. “A flea flicker is a trick football play that nobody ever calls when you only need a few inches to get a first down.”
“So,” the woman asks, “what are you saying? That Lisa doesn’t understand football and that’s why you love her?”
“She definitely knows football,” Jack says, “and she likes to watch it naked. I love that, too.”
My mouth drops open.
“And I love that she loves to eat.”
Jack.
Jack, Jack, Jack, Jack.
“And I love that every time we see an animal in the woods, she’s sure it’s lost its mother and she wants to help.” He laughs. “I love the way she dances, like she wants to use her body to touch every inch of space around her. I love that she gets all teary when she’s describing the first episode of Murphy Brown that stars Colleen Dewhurst. I love that she took the smallest bedroom in her house. I love that it was never about the money. I love that she can’t help loving her family. I love that she can back up any point she’s making with a quote from Quantum Leap. I love that she never kowtows to anyone, not even to my mother.”
By this time, I’ve moved so far toward him that I’m standing alone in the center of the room where everyone can see me.
Jack looks right at me. “And I love that she loves me.”
He’s searing into me with those damn cobalt eyes, and I cannot move.
The room pulses with the silence.
“Nice,” I finally say in a scratchy voice. I swat away a tear. “You get full marks for the grand romantic gesture.”
He doesn’t move. He just keeps looking at me.
Nobody in the whole room breathes.
“But you swept me off my feet before,” I say. What am I saying?!?!?! Shut up shut up shut upshutupshutup!!! “Then you dropped me.”
Jack never stops looking right at me, like there’s no one else in the room. “You were right, Lisa. Physical courage and emotional courage are completely different. I can do one as easily as flicking a switch. But the other? I couldn’t handle it. I froze. I left you. I’m sorry.”
My mouth opens.
Jack waits to see if I’m going to say anything, and when I don’t, he says, “Lisa.” His voice is soft, but so strong, gliding across my skin like an ocean zephyr. “You suffered because I was a coward, and I am so sorry I hurt you. I can hardly believe that I did that to you. I don’t want to be that guy. Not ever again.”
I stand there, staring at him.
“Lisa, you lacked a certain kind of courage, or thought you did, so you worked on it. I’m working too, doing the things that terrify me most. Things I suck at. But I will not let you down ever again.”
He leans forward, right shoulder leading. “I’m asking you to have the guts to give me another chance.”
I’m speechless, like I’m watching a movie, waiting to see what happens next.
He pins me with a look so hot I gasp. “Lisa, can you fly this plane?”
My breath puffs out in a kind of laugh, breaking the spell of my glazed-over silence. In a rush, I realize everything is real. A line from a freaking movie, but at last, the story is about me.
“Yeah,” I say. “I can fly it. I’m the best there is.”
He smiles at me from the stage, a smile that’s anchored deep in those eyes of his. “Yeah,” he says. “You really are.”
Then he pushes back his chair and stands up. Without missing a beat, he steps onto and over the table. Flashes go wild all over the room.
Jack is coming for me, walking right up the aisle at me. He’s not stopping. Or slowing down.
He sweeps right into me and kisses me.
And I’m ready for it.
He’s here, and it’s real, and I can’t get enough.
Jack Jack Jack Jack Jack.
Jack breaks the kiss, leans into me and kisses me again, then rests his forehead against mine. “Lisa.”
I blink at him through the barrage of flashes. It tingles through me, this strange and amazing and wonderful sensation of standing here with Jack. For the first time since I’ve known him, I feel like I am really with Jack.
“Jack,” I whisper, leaning into him. “Jack.”
He smiles, the really good kind where his eyes crinkle. “Let’s get out of here,” he whispers back.
I take a deep breath, look around. Impossible, but I’m ready. “Okay.”
I see a hint of a smirk. “I’ve got a plan.”
And we take off. He leads me full speed back up the aisle toward the stage. We leap onto and over the table, through the curtains. Edna follows as Frank tries to hold off the reporters on the other side.
Edna hands Jack a set of keys. “5B.”
Jack flashes her a grin and tells her, “That way.” He points down the hotel corridor toward the kitchen doors. Then he leads me along the curtain, wrapping us both in its folds as the reporters break through.
Edna runs toward the kitchen and shrieks at her imaginary quarry. “Stop! Get back here, you filthy whore!”
The reporters chase her down.
Jack and I sneak out from our cover, head back through the curtain, and race right down the center aisle of the banquet room. We make it out of the hotel and dart down the mezzanine.
My feet pound across the speckled floor as we race along under the twinkling lights. An impromptu chase finally gets underway behind us, but we’re across the mall and in the elevator to the parking garage before any media people can catch us.
As the elevator doors close us in, Jack pushes the button for four, three, five, six, two and seven. Then he turns to me, grabs me by the face, and kisses me.
When the elevator stops at two, Jack hustles me off and calls the elevator right next to the one we were just on. Then he pushes the call button for the elevator that’s on its way down to get our pursuers.
In another second, we’re safely inside our new elevator. “Lisa,” he says. He kisses me again. “I love you.”
I smile. “I love you back.” I sink into his arms. “Did you really use all your money to buy the shares from the employees?”
He laughs. “I don’t have that kind of money! I used the trust fund I said I would never touch.” He stops laughing and pushes back to look at me with brilliant blue intensity.
“I’ve learned a thing or two from you about using corporate money to do good.” He strokes his thumb across my cheek. “And a few of the employees stayed or came back, keeping or re-buying their shares.”
“Peg?”
“Never even thought of leaving. Holding down the fort as we speak.”
The elevator stops and the doors open. Jack grabs my hand, and we’re off, across the floor of the parking garage and into one of its dark corners.
“This is Brenda and McGraw from Into the Wild,” Jack says, introducing me to two people waiting by two motorcycles. They both wear skin-tight body armor and nothing else.
“Hey,” I say in way of greeting.
“Thanks, guys,” Jack says to them, as he rips off his jacket and tie. “They’re close behind. Lisa, take off your clothes.”
In an instant I catch on and start to strip. Brenda and McGraw put on our clothes over their body armor. In less than a minute, they’re dressed. Then they each slap on a helmet with a darkened visor as Jack and I get into the clothes they had waiting for us. Jeans and a green T for him, sleek black leggings and a snug turquoise hooded sweatshirt for me. Brenda and McGraw hop on the motorcycles and speed off across the garage.
“Thanks,” I call softly to the retreating roar. They stop to rev their engines at the top of the exit ramp, waiting for their pursuers. Well, our pursuers, really. Mine and Jack’s.
Jack watches me zipping my turquoise hoodie and smiles. “Your eyes look fantastic.” He kisses me. “Come on.”
Before I can even think, he’s pulling me toward the edge of the garage. Toward the railing. As in, four stories above the zipping traffic of 9th street.
But there’s a space in the railing. A staircase?
More of a fire escape, really. The narrow steps zigzag down the outside of the parking garage. We’re just climbing onto them as our pursuers burst off the elevator in time to spot Brenda and McGraw disappearing down the ramp. The reporters and security people scatter to chase them down.
Jack heads down the stairs first, clattering like a monkey along the bent ladder-thing. I gamely follow, my knees in my throat, looking at nothing but each step in front of me. When we reach the ground, Jack takes my han
d and looks around. Nobody takes the slightest notice of us.
“It’s a great day,” I decide, smiling up at him.
“It is,” he agrees.
And just like that, we start walking, hand in hand, through downtown L.A. Up and across, over the glittering sidewalks, in the shadows of the tall buildings. And as we go, we talk. About everything.
He asks me about RPM, tells me how cool I am.
I ask him how Thanksgiving went with his family. His mother was astounded that he’d cooked.
But we don’t just talk as we walk. Jack touches me, too. He puts his hand on my neck, trails fingers down my back. Stuff like that. I think we’re on Third, maybe Fourth, when Jack stops walking and looks up. The tall glass towers of the Bonaventure Hotel rise up before us.
Jack looks at me. “I checked in this morning. Have the room key and everything.”
“Everything?” I ask softly.
“I’ve got you.”
Like I said, a really great day.
Dear Reader,
I hope you have found this reading adventure delightful. Please consider leaving a quick review on Amazon to help other readers decide whether they might like this book. Your precious much-appreciated time can make all the difference to an indie author.
If you enjoyed Miss Adventure, you might want to check out my romantic comedy novella All Summer on a Date.
I love to connect with readers, so please feel free to contact me at geralyncorcillo.com.
Thank you, and I hope you always find joy in reading!
Sincerely,
Geralyn Corcillo
About the Author
Geralyn Corcillo taught high school in Watts and South Central Los Angeles. But deciding she needed an even tougher job, she chose to write. She won a few contests, hit the New York Times Bestseller List with her first short story, and got a screenplay produced. Miss Adventure is her first novel.
Geralyn Vivian Ruane Corcillo is a native of Scranton, Pennsylvania and now lives in North Hollywood with her husband Ron, a guy who's even cooler than Kip Dynamite.
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