Soaring (The Vivienne Series Book 5)

by Karen Gordon

  I turn and almost walk into the door. I’m flustered. This is me at my worst—someone I thought I had left behind years ago. I take a deep breath, slowly open the door wider, then calmly walk out and shut it.

  ✈　✈　✈

  I call Dom on the way back to my hotel because I need her expert analysis a.s.a.p.

  “Chill, you are overreacting.”

  She’s right. I purse my lips and do my yoga breathing to center myself in reality. “Ok, so yeah, nothing really happened. He told me a story about having some bad dates, that’s all.” But inside I know that isn’t all it was.

  “Right, good. Now you don’t have to talk to him for a week or two, so take your time.”

  This is why I call her. She’s my Jiminy Cricket, the logical part of my brain I forget is there when I go into panic mode. “Right, two weeks or more will be good.”

  “But seriously, would dating him be that bad? I thought you kinda liked him?”

  “I do. He’s nice and we are a lot alike, but there’s the plane. If we get involved and it fails does the sale fail too?”

  “Maybe, maybe not.”

  “And how can this work. I live in Savannah, he lives here.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe he’ll buy a plane and fly it to see you.”

  At least one of us is still logical, and funny. “Good one.”

  “V, relax and let the chips fall first, then you can decide what you want to do next. Maybe he was just telling you a story. Maybe he’s madly in love with you and you’ll end up married with ten kids.”

  I try to picture that, me and Evan getting married. The only image I can get is us having a very uncomfortable end-of-the-ceremony kiss in front of hundreds of people. It’s too much right now. I need to get back to something I know. “So how goes your research?”

  She glides right over the change in subject. “Pretty good. It’s not as much fun as the other kind, but I’ve got it.”

  “Good, I’m going to spend tomorrow working from my hotel then try to fly home the next day. The holiday traffic should have died down by then.”

  “Putting some distance between you?”

  Oh, hell yes. It’s great for perspective. “Maybe, but I need to touch my home base, see how the baby-boy lump is doing, take care of you some.”

  “I’m fine, but come home anyway. I’m almost out of those meals you made me. You’re one hell of a better diet chef than Luis.”

  Chapter Five

  I see a different Evan when I’m home. When we’re not in the same room, or even the same state, he’s much more outgoing and chatty. At first he texts me at least once a day with a question about setting things up to buy the plane, but as the days progress he starts sharing bits about his life—the long line at the coffee bar, the sales guy who tries to explain a new phone feature to him. He’s actually pretty funny with the details he notices and the way he describes them. He has a vocabulary that rivals mine.

  I show Dom his latest. “Uh huh, sounds kinda like you.” She smirks at me, her way of saying, told you so.

  I take my phone back before she sees that my return texts have become just short of flirty. I don’t know why I want to keep it from her. I guess I’m still not sure what, if anything, I want to have with this guy—except a sale, of course.

  We are driving into downtown to look at a house, for me. I’m not completely sold on the idea but logic is telling me this has to be my next move. My perfect apartment was only perfect without a home office in it. Now that I’ve got files and manuals and need a proper desk it’s become cramped chaos. A house would be a good investment too but it would have to be perfect for me. I’m not in a hurry. I’ve always wanted to live on one of the quieter squares downtown. They aren’t far from my little apartment but they are worlds away in price. Dom and I are meeting a real estate agent at a renovated three-story near Wright Square. It’s listed for seven hundred and eighty-five thousand, an amount that still feels unreal to me.

  ✈　✈　✈

  It’s a beautiful house but it’s not mine. At least, I don’t feel comfortable in such a big place alone. Some would call my apartment tiny, I call it cozy. This place is gorgeous but…big, like cavernous. The main floor is set up for hosting large, catered parties, and I’m reminded of Evan’s backyard. Who the hell would I invite to sit at my table for eighteen? The master bedroom suite takes up an entire floor. I could turn cartwheels in the bathroom and not knock anything over. It feels like someone else’s house, not mine.

  On the way back to Dom’s apartment we’re both uncharacteristically quiet and I worry about the growing difference in our lives sitting between us. We pull into the parking lot of her complex, a nice one, but still an apartment complex. It’s a place I might have lived before Jack, before Ora.

  “You sure you don’t want to go get some lunch?” I don’t want to let her go until I feel we are back in sync.

  “Na, I told Luis I would go through the box of baby clothes his cousin sent over to see what I want. It’s been sitting in the living room for two weeks and he’s ready to stop falling over it.” She starts to open her door then stops. “It was a really pretty house.”

  I smirk. “Too big, too not me.”

  “But you said it’s an investment. With what you make it isn’t unreasonable. Maybe you’ll grow into it.”

  “Maybe, but I’m not sure I want to. I’m not sure I want that to be me.”

  “Might be too late Chiquita.” She tries to soften the blow with her old name for me. “This is happening, whether you want it to or not. You might as well enjoy the ride.”

  I take in her sage advice but feel the well-spring of fear I’ve been sitting on. “It is happening to me and it feels out of control way too often. I hate that feeling.”

  “I know you do, but I’m here with you.” She takes my hand. “We got this.”

  She gets me in a way no one else can. “I’m falling apart because things are going great, only me.”

  She laughs and squeezes my fingers. “Yep, only you, but its ok. You have me to remind you that you’re not going to die from having a great job and making a shit ton of money.”

  This makes me laugh.

  “And a billionaire boyfriend…”

  I roll my eyes and shake my head at the thought of Evan. “Not a boyfriend.”

  “Yet.”

  I concede. “You know me well so I will listen to your sage advice. I will keep an open mind.”

  “Good.” She lets go of my hand to rub her round belly. “Cause I want to see you like this one day.”

  I reach over and pat my baby buddy. “We’ll see. I’m just glad you’re going first. Can you image how neurotic I’ll be?”

  We both laugh at that idea but the enormity of the whole day sobers me up quickly. “I need you Dom, seriously. I can’t do any of this without you.”

  She assures me again. “You got me.” Then the intensity of the moment quickly makes us both uncomfortable so she changes the subject. “Speaking of which, I’ll send over the stuff I have on the airport in Vietnam later.” She takes off her seatbelt and prepares to launch herself out of my little car. “When are you going back to California to meet again?”

  “I’m looking at flights next Tuesday or Wednesday.”

  “Economy class, right? And you’re determined to find the cheapest flight with the best history of not being delayed?”

  I crack a smile at how well she knows me.

  “You’re still you. All this money can’t make a dent in that.”

  ✈　✈　✈

  My talk with Dom weighs heavy on me for a few days. I know she’s right, my life has already changed and there is no turning back. No matter how good things are, the nervous-Nelly in me wants to send up red flags when I feel out of control. I start to spend a lot of time walking because it helps me think and process. I start a journal, something I used to think I didn’t have enough time for but, ironically, I’m making time for now. When Meghan calls and invites me to g
o to a Women Entrepreneurs of Savannah lunch with her, I take it as a sign and force myself to say yes. Normally an event like this would scare me away with all the socializing, but Meghan has promised to stick by me and introduce me around. I need to meet more women like me. I need connections and referrals and advice, something I’ve been missing without any co-workers.

  The same day that Meghan calls Mikel sends me another possible lead. This will make two leads I’m pursuing at once but it actually feels good. I like having a lot of work on my plate, it puts me back to a pace I was used to working at JetStream. Being busy, getting things done, checking work off my to-do list puts me in my element. This new customer is in Montreal, Canada; a city I’ve always wanted to visit, so an added bonus. Things are looking up.

  I let Evan know that I will need a little bit more time before I’m ready to come back to California and meet with him. I’ve decided to prep then go on one huge trip to meet with all three clients before coming home. I’ll start in Miami and tie up all the last minute details there before they take delivery of their plane, then I’ll fly out to meet with Evan and finish up in Montreal. I’ll be gone for two and a half weeks, living out of my suitcase in three different climates and flying on commercial planes in the middle of cold and flu season. I open a new Excel chart to create the mother of all packing lists (color-coded, of course).

  ✈　✈　✈

  The Women Entrepreneurs lunch is the day before I leave and I consider cancelling. My social anxiety is kicking in and I have the perfect excuse. I spend the morning wearing my cape, tiara and bullet-deflecting cuffs as I do a final run-through of my packing list because I need all the super power I can muster to push myself out of my comfort zone.

  At the luncheon I practically hide behind Meghan for the first hour, the hardest one. It’s time set aside for mingling or as I like to call it, torture. She seems to know everyone and dashes from person to person introducing me. I have to fight to keep a calm exterior as my angst ratchets up. I struggle to keep all the new names, titles and faces coordinated so I don’t embarrass myself later. I create longer and longer palindromes using first names, company names plus what color they are wearing. When I reach a breaking point I excuse myself for a much needed bathroom break.

  Not that I have to pee. No, I have to breathe and be some place quiet for a few minutes. First I hide in a stall then wash my hands thoroughly, killing as much time as possible. Its only when I hear them announce that lunch is being served that I slap a smile over my fear and hurry to find a seat near Meghan.

  Lunch is a thousand times easier. We are at a table for eight which means I only have to make small talk with six new people. I fiddle with pouring salad dressing and squeezing lemon in my tea as I go over the palindrome I created for these women. ASS—Angie, soap company, silver shoes. JAW—Jennifer, apple-green dress, web designer. MOB—Marlie, orange hair clip, blogger. I’m determined to remember every detail from our first meeting.

  But both Angie and Marlie don’t remember my name and have to ask again. Marlie asks what kind of company I run even though I mentioned it when we were introduced. I’m so much more relieved than offended. If these women, these cool, happily-social women don’t feel the need to memorize every detail, maybe I don’t have to either.

  I relax a little, then a little more when Meghan tells a story about accidently spilling coffee on a client whom she was especially nervous about meeting. What? Meghan? Suave, sophisticated Meghan? I’m calmer now, at least enough to enjoy my lunch and turn my attention off of me and onto the conversation at our table. And damn I’m glad I do. These women are sharp, juggling as much work as I can and more. Over dessert I learn about one of their secret weapons for getting so much done—assistants. Jennifer’s had her assistant for a little over a year now. It’s a local girl, a student, whom she is using to help with a marketing campaign. Angie has a virtual assistant who keeps her calendar straight and helps her with social media. I have to know more about virtual assistants so I quiz my tablemates who are more than happy to send me links and share all the information they have.

  ✈　✈　✈

  I’m beyond proud of myself so I crank my fave songs and dance in my car seat on the way home from the lunch. I went to a social event. And not just any social event, one where I was telling people I own my own business even though I still feel like I’m splitting hairs to fit the description. And I did small talk…me! I can’t say I liked it one bit, but I did it. I wanted to hide in a corner or pretend to be busy doing something else, but I sucked it up and smiled and started conversations. Dom is the only other person who could understand how hard this was for me. I texted her as I left the restaurant and she replied with a row of thumbs-up emoji and a promise of celebrations cocktails right after the baby is born.

  She has a month and a half to go. I know this because she’s posted a countdown clock on Facebook. She’s using it to keep everyone updated but I also think she’s hoping it will somehow influence her son to show up on time. I know she is going to be a great mom but she is not a great pregnant person. Her ankles are swollen and she has to pee every few minutes which I also know because she texts me every time. Her record day was fourteen times.

  I stop by my apartment to pack a cooler full of salt-free meals that I’ve made for her to eat while I’m on the road. Something I had time to do when I had two customers. Now that I have three this is the kind of stuff that might fall off my agenda and I don’t want it to. I need to feel connected to Dom. At a stop light I pull out my phone and add a note to research using a part-time assistant. If I learned anything from my time with Jack it’s that I don’t want my work overwhelming my life. I must be growing up because I’m ready to admit that I might need some help.

  Chapter Six

  My meeting in Miami is a breeze. Delivery of the plane will take a little longer than expected but it’s not a problem because their pilots are still in Italy training to fly it. We look at the updates they’ve made to their hangar, have a long meeting with the local FAA rep and end with a great dinner at a trendy restaurant in Wynwood. It’s sales calls like this one that convince me that I can do this job even with all my social anxiety.

  Then I meet with Evan.

  We’ve been in touch since I left last time, sometimes talking business and sometimes talking life. I told him about the house I looked at because I knew he would relate. Even through he’s a lot richer than I am we are both new to having so much money and all the ways it changes your life, both good and bad. While I’m in Miami he texts me a picture of a watch he’s thinking of buying. It’s all bling and definitely not him (at least as far as I know him). I ask him about the functions and he drops the subject. I’m guessing he didn’t buy it. We’re both trying on different hats, seeing who we are with money, seeing how things feel. It’s great to have someone who can understand and we’ve had some great text conversations, but unfortunately, they don’t translate into real life.

  We’re meeting in his conference room again, my choice of location, to keep us focused solely on business. I’ve got reports, comparison charts on slides, maps and a very strong feeling that he isn’t here to talk about aviation noise policies in Asia.

  He’s completely unfocused and itching to tell me something but I’m not sure I want to hear what he has to say right now. What if he makes an overt declaration of liking me? Can I counter that with a pilot salary analysis? I like him, more than I had planned to, but I want to put that on the back burner for now. I need to concentrate on work first.

  We are ten minutes into our meeting and it’s going nowhere. I pause to brace myself for whatever he has to say and ask,

  “What’s up? You seem distracted.”

  His sheepish smile tells me he didn’t realize he was being so obvious. “Do I?” He fumbles with a flat box next to him on his chair that I hadn’t noticed until now. I choke on a breath. He wouldn’t have bought me a gift, would he? “I um,” he can’t finish the sentence so he just puts the box on
the table and slides it toward me.

  NO! No, no, no and no! “Wow, a gift for me? I think I’m supposed to buy you gifts. You’re the customer.” I stress the word customer but take the edge off with my best cheery sales smile.

  He realizes that this is a mistake and fumbles for something to say. “It’s nothing big, just something I thought you might like.”

  The room is so tense it hurts to breathe the air. I need to try to diffuse this so he can save face. “It’s really nice of you. I just wasn’t expecting anything.”

  I struggle to keep my face neutral as I study what is clearly a jewelry box, the hinged kind that you put an expensive necklace in. This can’t end well. I’m not much of a jewelry kind of girl and I’m definitely not a jewelry-that-comes-in-a-hinged-leather-box kind of girl. I open it slowly and peek inside. Oh god no. It’s huge and well, huge. And colors, so many sparkly colors. I open the box the rest of the way to study it.

  “Wow, Evan. I don’t know what to say.” Because I have no idea why you bought me a large, multi-colored, crystal-encrusted octopus necklace. I stroke it with my finger, searching for words that will fix this debacle.

  “It’s…you know, my logo.” He looks so much like a kid who just gave his mom a homemade gift that it’s tearing my heart out. I study it, then it hits me, his logo has an octopus in it, a very subtle line drawing of an octopus. This isn’t some random piece of jewelry he picked out, he had this made for me.

  I can’t let him think I’m rejecting it in anyway. It’s a really sweet, but totally too-expensive gesture. “I’m floored, Evan. I really am.”

  He relaxes and smiles and I want to reach over and hug him, so I do. I ignore the part of me that is screaming to keep this professional because we’ve already gone beyond that. I have no idea when I will wear something so loud and I’m sure ungodly expensive, but I want to try because it would make him happy. He really is a very sweet person.