“That little fucking prick…” Derek said. “How dare he waltz up here like he has any right to pollute the air we breathe?”
It was her editor, Ron. His greasy hair swept to the side, and he had attempted some formality to suit the atmosphere, donning an ill-fitting brown suit that did nothing flattering for his figure. With an easy amble he strolled up to their table.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Derek said, his voice low and thunderous. Sara recognized it—it was the same tone of voice he’d used on the bouncer at the club who’d prevented Sara and Becky from entering.
“Oh, don’t be like that, Devereux,” Ron said. “It’s my job, you know, so while you can get your panties all in a bunch, it’s just people doing what they have to do. If you didn’t get so upset over it, then maybe you wouldn’t be such an enticing target.”
“What do you want?” Derek said, the words pulled one at a time from behind gritted teeth.
“I saw you two here, and I wanted to come and see how the happy couple is doing.” Ron looked pointedly at Sara, “It brings me such joy to see the two of you together.”
Derek looked at Sara, eyebrows raised.
“He’s my new editor,” she said. There were a million other things she wanted to say at that moment to each of them, but she held her tongue. It would be best if they stopped talking to each other. It didn’t look like Derek was eager to continue the conversation.
“You’ve seen how we’re doing, scumbag, now get out of here before I get you thrown out. I don’t care if you’re Sara’s boss. I won’t ever forgive you for what you’ve done.”
It was fascinating. Sara had no idea the two of them knew each other, and suddenly Ron’s obsession with digging up dirt on Derek made a lot more sense. She bet he’d tried to get into the billionaire’s professional and personal life and utterly failed. With an actual investigative journalist at his disposal, he’d turned her against Derek.
Ron ignored Derek’s threat and turned to Sara. “Do you have your latest assignment all ready to go? I expected it a couple days ago, you know, so I flew down to see what the hold-up was in person. Imagine my surprise when I get the latest scoop from all my old buddies in the press here that you two have been spending some intimate time together. Something tells me this report will be even better than I had anticipated, and it better be.”
Sara grimaced. She couldn’t believe Ron was asking her for the report on Derek while she was out at dinner with the man himself. His audacity was unbelievable.
“Can’t we discuss this later? We’re in the middle of something.”
“I see that,” Ron said, his eyes picking out the rose that sat on the table in front of Sara. She struggled to keep herself from tugging it out of his sight. “I’ll leave as soon as you guarantee me your report is done.”
Derek slammed his hand on the table. The place settings jumped and clinked together, and the candle in the center of the table teetered precariously. “For fuck’s sake, scumbag, get the hell out of here.”
The display of force made Ron jump back in a manner reminiscent of a rat scurrying for cover. Once he saw he wasn’t about to get hit, he bounced back as if he hadn’t been ready to duck and run.
“You think you’re all that, Devereux,” Ron sneered. “Big shot rich kid who gets to drive around in his pretty toys, acquiring models and actresses like they’re collectibles. I bet you think you deserve all the attention that gets heaped on you every day, don’t you? You must love it, the flash of cameras everywhere you go. You are just an entitled brat who lucked out in life, that’s all.”
There was a screech as Derek’s chair slid backward and almost tipped over with the force and speed of him standing up. The height difference between him and Ron was immediate and obvious. He had at least half a foot on the editor, not to mention a much more imposing mass of muscle. “Get. Out.” He said the words with exaggerated care. “Now. I won’t warn you again.”
Ron’s face paled, but he didn’t back down. He puffed up his chest and took a step closer to the table. “I won’t crawl away and do whatever you say, Devereux. You don’t scare me. And you think Sara is here because she likes you? The only reason she came to L.A. was because I told her to come down and investigate you and your family.”
“Ron!” Sara’s shout escaped before she could stop it.
Derek looked at her, his mouth dropping slightly as the smaller man’s words sank in. “You… is he telling the truth?”
“Derek…” she hesitated. “It’s complicated.” The look on his face broke her heart, but she couldn’t bring herself to lie to him anymore. There was no way to explain properly in the middle of the restaurant. “I didn’t even want to do it, but then it became a lot more interesting than I thought it would. You were a lot more interesting than I thought you would be.”
He shook his head and thumped back down into his chair. “I can’t believe this.” The animosity from moments before disappeared, and he looked back and forth between her and Ron with a blank stare. “You were after me the entire time?”
Ron hooted. “The entire time, Devereux! You were taken like a fool!”
“Shut up, Ron!” Sara yelled. She seethed inside, her pulse rising as she got to her feet. “Derek, look, I kept the secret as long as I did because there hasn’t been time since things got more serious between us to tell you. I decided this morning not to publish the story—I wouldn’t do that to you.”
It was Ron’s turn to stare at her. “You what? That’s not your decision to make, Flight! That article belongs to me, and I’m going to get it!” He took a step toward her and reached for her arm.
It stopped cold before it reached her and Ron yelped. Derek had moved with a flash, intercepting the editor’s hand and shoving him roughly backward. “Do not lay your hands on Sara if you value your limbs and want to keep them.”
“Thank you, Derek,” Sara said. She risked laying a hand on his shoulder and spoke to him in a calm voice. “I’m not lying to you, you have to see that. Especially since all the other stuff happened, with the attack and Gary, all I’ve wanted to do is help you figure out who’s behind everything.”
He stared into her eyes, his dark orbs flicking from side to side, as though her eyes were windows into her soul and he searched for something inside of her. She stared back at him, trying to make her sincerity plain on her face.
“I don’t know if I can trust you right now,” he said. “It’s all too much, way too quickly. You make it all sound so damn reasonable, but then I think about how you’re working for this viper, and it all comes apart.”
Ron was suspiciously quiet. His eyes darted back and forth between the man and the woman, head cocked to the side.
I can’t believe I mentioned the attacks in front of Ron! She’d gifted her editor with new information he had no right to.
“Derek, trust me.” Sara’s voice wavered and nearly cracked. Her eyes welled with unspent tears. “I want to help you. Let me use everything I have to protect you and your family.”
He bit his lip, making the muscles in his cheek jump. “I can’t, yet, Sara. I need time to think things over. Please go. I need to be alone for a while.”
Her hand tightened convulsively where it rested on his shoulder. “Can I come and see you tomorrow after your race? I’ll explain everything then. I’ll give you everything I’ve found so far on you and the company, and…” She glanced at Ron, leaning in to catch all of her words. “…any leads that might solve the current problems.”
Derek nodded. “Come and see me after the race, and we’ll talk. I can’t promise anything, Sara. This breach of trust is more than I can bear right now. Both of you need to go. Now.”
Sara watched him as he walked away from the table, somewhere to the back of the restaurant. She wanted to chase after him, but it would do more harm than good. At least he’d agreed to meet her tomorrow—she’d have to convince him then.
“That was brilliant,” Ron said, his face wreathed in a mass
ive grin. “That asshole has had that coming for a long time. And it sounds like you’ve been hard at work, Flight. What is the attack you mentioned?”
“Shut up, Ron.” Sara put her head down and marched past him toward the exit. The tears that had sprung up earlier threatened to spill over her cheeks, and she didn’t want to turn into a fountain in front of her loathsome boss.
“Flight!” He motored his legs to keep up with her. “Don’t you dare walk away from me like that. You have my story, and a damn good one, too. I don’t care what you told Devereux just now, the world deserves to know the truth, and it sounds like it’s even juicier than I thought. You owe nothing to that pretentious pretty boy. Send it to me now, and we can catch the next flight back to Chicago.”
She ignored him and walked faster, glad for once that all her heels had been destroyed in the attack on the apartment. She only had the pair of flats she’d worn then. Becky had taken that one restriction into consideration when designing the dress.
“Hey, what are you thinking?” Ron asked. “Stop this second, Flight, or else you’re fired!”
The threat on her career, the thing she loved doing, was what had gotten her into this mess. If it hadn’t been for Ron’s sleazy motives, she would have still been in Chicago, moping around her apartment, and miles away from Derek Devereux. She slowed, and came to a stop, her breathing heavy both from exertion and the overwhelming emotions rocking her.
“You’ll fire me if you don’t get this story, Ron?” she asked. “Well, do that then, because there’s no chance I’ll betray Derek’s trust and tell you anything about him. If you want dirt on the Devereux family, then do the legwork yourself, asshole.”
It was empowering to tell Ron what she thought. He was a degenerate who cared about one thing, and he never should have been entrusted with the editor-in-chief position at the newspaper. The directors had panicked and brought in a snake to take over the job when what they really needed was someone dependable and who could run things responsibly.
The greasy man walked up to her and got in her face. His eyes were on level with her own, the whites flecked with red from burst blood vessels—a symptom of too much smoking and drinking, and not enough exercise and proper nutrition. “Asshole? That’s the business, honey. You’ll have to try harder than that if you want to get a rise out of me. I’ll tell you what, though. You are done at the paper. And I will do everything I can to make sure you never work for another one ever again. You are a washed up hack, a has-been. You had a couple good pieces a few years ago, but you’re a disgrace to journalists everywhere now.”
It felt like someone grabbed a hold of her heart and squeezed. An hour ago she had been on top of the world. Sure, not everything had been perfect—there was someone out there after her life, after all—but she had Derek, and she had her career, and those had become the most important things in her life. In the space of twenty minutes, it had all fallen apart, and all because of the short man standing in front of her.
She didn’t even think, just reacted. Sara’s hand whipped out from her side and smacked Ron right across the face. The impact was so forceful that the shock wave traveled up her arm and shook her whole body.
Ron’s body reeled to the side, and he staggered under the blow.
“You bitch!” he cried, hands clutching his face. “How dare you?”
She didn’t stick around to find out what he had to say about her attack, but instead—grateful once more for the flats she wore and the well-designed dress that allowed her full and easy movement—took off at a run through the front doors of the restaurant and out onto the street.
The sun had set, and the street was a confusing mixture of dark and light from the streetlights and headlights of the cars. She didn’t want to stick around and deal with the aftermath of slapping Ron, so she hung a left and sprinted down the sidewalk, taking the first opportunity to duck off into a side street and push her back against a building.
Sara’s whole body shook, as everything caught up to her at once. Her life had been such an amazing place to be just an hour ago. Even the attacker on the loose hadn’t really bothered her—it was a mystery to solve, her favorite thing in the world. Now she wasn’t even sure where she would spend the night since she was certain she wouldn’t be welcome back at Derek’s house.
Tear tracks wetted her cheeks, the dampness glistening on her fingers as she took a moment to wipe it off and try to compose herself. Sara looked up and tried to gain her bearings in the night.
“Excuse me, Sara?”
A man’s voice from behind startled her and she turned around. As soon as she did, pain bloomed in her forehead, and her surroundings faded to black.
The lightening sky cast a dull red glow on the road as Derek pushed his Ferrari along the curves and bends with reckless abandon. He fought the fatigue that threatened to drag his eyelids down and dull his reflexes.
The dawning sun broke over the hills and turned what had been merely a treacherous drive into an actively dangerous one. He slowed the vehicle down, and the more sedate pace brought back the thoughts he’d been running from.
Sara lied this whole time. She just wanted to get close to me, and to the secrets my brothers and I had kept for the past two years. I almost gave them to her.
He hadn’t been able to sleep the night before, no matter how vital it was for the race the next day. There was no getting the conversation at the restaurant out of his mind. He valued nothing above his family, and the intrusion of this woman had opened him up to divulging things that no one else was supposed to know. The betrayed trust shadowed his mind and his thoughts, and he couldn’t get past it. The warmth and affection he had felt for Sara was ruined by the revelation.
When he pulled into the parking spot by his hangar, he slumped forward in his seat and let his forehead rest on the steering wheel. Lack of sleep pulled him down toward oblivion, but the thoughts and accusations that flew through his mind kept him on the edge of delirium. Eons passed, and by the time he dragged his eyes up he had to blink against the harsh morning light pouring through the windshield.
The airport had transformed from a peaceful practice arena to a bustling event venue, with food and merchandise vendors setting up shop in their trucks along the spectator routes, and extra bleachers built around the grounds. There was a special VIP area where the rich and famous could watch the event at their leisure, well shaded and air-conditioned, with a selection of the best food and drink.
The media had arrived. There was already a cluster of them waiting between his car and his hangar. Ron Scardy’s distinctive greasy mop of hair was right in the thick of the pack. Anger and resentment flooded through Derek’s body, jolting him from the almost meditative state he’d reached.
As soon as he closed the door to the car and alerted the gaggle of reporters to his presence, the cameras flashed and they rushed forward.
“Mr. Devereux! How are you feeling this morning?”
“Derek, is your race performance going to be impacted by the events at the restaurant last night?”
“Excuse me, Mr. Devereux, have you and the journalist Sara Flight broken up?”
He used every ounce of self-control he had learned over his life to ignore the questions and the deep, sharp pains they inflicted on his already fragile state of mind. Derek blew through the middle of the group, daring them with his glare to get out of the way or face the consequences. The reporters followed him like a cloud of gnats that swarmed on a hot and sticky summer’s day, their questions coming fast and furious, pestering him and refusing to leave.
When he reached and entered the hangar door, closing and locking it behind him, he let out a loud sigh of relief. It was cool and dark in the room, exactly what he needed. The turmoil had awoken a ferocious headache in him, and he just wanted to sleep.
He checked his watch. Three hours to race time. Enough to catch a nap before the pre-flight checks, although not much of one.
He kept a small cot in the hangar for times
when he felt under the weather or not up to driving home immediately after a long day in the air. It had never felt more comfortable as he sank down into the thin mattress. A big, warm hotel bed couldn’t have been more welcoming at that moment.
Finally, he drifted into oblivion.
~
A frantic knocking at the hangar door jolted Derek awake.
“Derek, are you in there? The heats are underway, and your turn is almost next!”
Oh, no!
He hadn’t set an alarm. The bed had been too cozy when he slipped into it.
“Derek? Are you okay? Please answer me!”
He couldn’t recognize the voice through the metal walls of the hangar and over the sounds of the crowd in the background—it sounded like the event was in full swing. His mind felt groggy, and he wiped the sleep out of his eyes as best he could before stumbling over to the door and shoving it open.
There was a sharp curse in response, and Gary had to jump backward on his crutches to avoid falling over. It was a near miss, as he teetered on the edge of losing it and eating dirt, but Derek leapt out of the doorway and steadied him.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “I didn’t sleep last night and had to catch up a little before the race.”
His brother gave him a sharp look. “Are you okay? Is Sara in there with you? Becky’s worried because she hasn’t heard from her, but I assured her you two would be together here at the airport.”
The mention of Sara’s name brought back all the pain and agony from the previous night. “No, she’s not here. We had troubles last night, Gare. I’m not sure where she went, but we didn’t come back to the house together. I was going to tell you about it, but by the time I got home you were already in bed. And then I couldn’t sleep, so I came out here early…”
“Troubles?” Gary looked at him. “What kind of troubles could you run into on a date that would cause that level of problems, I thought you two were getting along great!”
“We were. Look, Gary, it doesn’t look like I have time to talk about this now, so I’ll bring you up to speed after the race, okay? Can you do me a favor and help me get things going here?”
Taking Flight (A Devereux Novel) Page 15