Not Quite Crazy

by Catherine Bybee

  “It’s a long story.” It wasn’t, but she didn’t want to go into it.

  “We can postpone this,” Gerald offered.

  “As bad as this looks”—she pointed to her face—“postponing is worse. Besides, maybe the owners will see that I’m willing to take one for the team.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  Gerald took his seat when three members of the advertising team walked in. Julie ran interference by telling everyone about her door punch.

  Rachel ignored the giggling and willed her stomach to settle. She’d really wanted to go into this meeting poised and confident. As much as she knew her presentation was exactly what the company needed, delivering the message and selling it to the CEO and CFO didn’t need the distraction of a bruised face getting in the way.

  There were only two chairs left that needed filling, and it was eight thirty-five.

  When she heard voices behind the closed conference door, she turned around to gather her strength. Public speaking was easy for her, she knew her material . . . but damn, her head hurt, messing with her psyche.

  A chorus of good mornings spread around the room.

  Rachel sucked in a breath, blew it out slowly.

  “You remember Julie Kim,” Gerald said.

  Rachel painted on a smile and turned.

  “And this is our newest member of the team. Rach—”

  “Rachel?”

  Maybe the hit to her head was harder than she thought. “Jason?”

  “What the hell happened to your face?”

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Jason stood beside another man, close in stature, their power suits perfectly pressed, not a hair out of place. He was just as easy to look at as she’d remembered.

  “You two have already met?”

  Two giant steps and Jason was at her side, his hand reaching up to brush her hair back. The gesture and the concern on his face would have wooed her if he wasn’t standing in the middle of her office doing it.

  “She had a fight with a door,” Julie said from the side.

  “Have you had this looked at?” Jason asked.

  Rachel shook him off. “No. What . . . what are you doing here?”

  The room was perfectly silent, and the seed of doubt spread in her gut. She glanced around. The man Jason had walked in with had his hands tucked in his pockets as he rocked back on his heels, a mischievous grin on his face. The advertising team was exchanging glances. Julie looked at her and shook her head; the hidden message she was attempting to send was lost on Rachel.

  She felt sick.

  Gerald was the only one who found his voice. “Rachel, this is Jason Fairchild.”

  “Fairchild.” She blinked several times, trying to register everything coming in at one time. Stranded Car Guy. Her Wednesday night tree trimming date . . . was her boss. She closed her eyes, shook her head. “No, no . . . this isn’t . . .” She was thinking out loud.

  “Are you okay?” Gerald asked.

  She opened her eyes, pushed her chin in the air.

  “I think you should sit down,” Jason suggested.

  How could he be her boss? “I’m fine.” Her tone was harsher than she meant.

  “This is highly entertaining.” The man with Jason approached. “I’m Glen . . . Fairchild. Jason’s brother.”

  Rachel attempted to compose herself, reached out to shake Glen’s hand. “Rachel Price. It’s a pleasure.”

  “It sure is.”

  The staff in the room started to mutter among themselves.

  She took advantage of the noise and leaned closer to Jason. “Why didn’t you tell me you were my boss?”

  He leaned in. “You didn’t tell me where you worked.”

  Glen started laughing.

  “Now that the introductions are formally done, should we get started?” Gerald moved them along.

  Rachel couldn’t help but glare at the man she was supposed to be impressing.

  “Fine.”

  A long drink of water later, she asked that Julie dim the lights, which didn’t help much to hide the man staring at her. The fact that he sat at the head of the conference table, directly opposite her, his smirking brother to his right, Gerald to his left, made her acutely aware of the fact she’d flirted with her boss.

  Her boss!

  She stopped looking at him and started to speak.

  What the hell happened to her? It looked like she’d been punched. Her eye was swollen damn near shut. She kept rubbing her temple, a sure sign it hurt. He had a strong desire to pull her out of the meeting to quiz her and make sure a doctor had given her a clear view of her health.

  Glen kicked him under the table.

  Jason glared.

  His brother nodded toward Rachel, making him aware that he wasn’t listening to her new approach to online marketing.

  “. . . so if we’re going to capture the millennials and push Fairchild Charters to the top of the private jet food chain, we need to spend a serious effort online.” The image on the screen showed early twentysomethings holding cell phones while sitting in a bar.

  For the next hour, Rachel offered an impressive array of facts, including the sheer number of kids under twenty-five who were self-made millionaires. Many of them living in Silicon Valley, working for companies such as Google and Yahoo, both companies that had their own fleet of jets but didn’t offer them to everyone. Rachel suggested frequent trips and networking with these companies and other tech enterprises to encourage private charters as an alternative for their travel needs. It helped that she had worked with these businesses when she lived on the West Coast.

  All in all, the presentation was well thought out and left room for very few questions when she was finished.

  Jason was impressed.

  “If we start rolling out my plan now, we should see a bump in charters by early summer. By fall I’d like to see Fairchild Charters land a corporate account with Yahoo, Google, or Amazon.”

  “Or all three,” Julie added.

  “I won’t oversell that idea, but it’s worth a try.”

  “You already have contacts in Palo Alto?” Jason asked.

  “I do.” She didn’t offer more.

  “I like it,” Glen said. “We’ll need our team to create a budget.”

  “The big accounts are obviously where it’s at, but the long-term plan with young CEOs will be our bread and butter in ten years,” Gerald added. “I think Miss Price has given us a lot to consider.”

  “I want to see more numbers,” Jason told them. “Projections on how much staff will be needed, cross-training cost.”

  “We can do that,” Rachel assured him.

  She rubbed the side of her neck and quickly looked away.

  “I’d like a report in two weeks.”

  “I can do it in one.”

  His gaze traveled to her bruise. “Two weeks is fine. It is the holidays.”

  She winced.

  Glen stood and someone turned up the lights.

  “Thank you, Rachel, Julie,” Glen told them.

  “Our pleasure.” Julie spoke for both of them.

  Julie patted Rachel on the back while Jason’s advertising team funneled out of the room.

  “Progressive thinking.” Gerald stood in front of him, cutting off the view of the two women whispering.

  “You said the new blood we’d hired was coming to us with innovative ideas,” Jason said.

  “Rachel knows her stuff.”

  “How do you know her?” Glen asked Jason.

  Jason looked around Gerald, wanting to catch Rachel before she left the room. “Long story.”

  Glen chuckled. “Great, you can tell me over lunch.”

  Gerald and Glen left the conference room together.

  Julie and Rachel started toward the door. “If I can have a minute,” Jason said.

  Julie looked between them, muttered something, and left them alone.

  Rachel set her laptop down. “Why didn’t yo
u tell me you were Jason Fairchild?”

  “It wasn’t intentional.”

  “You’re my boss.”

  “Technically, Gerald is your boss.”

  “You own the company.”

  “It doesn’t change anything.”

  She looked at him as if he had an IQ of five. “It changes everything. I can’t have my boss texting me for personal reasons.”

  “Gerald’s married.”

  Did she just growl at him?

  “Dating the man who signs my checks is the fastest way to lose my job.”

  “Glen is married, too. Technically he signs your checks.”

  “This isn’t a joke, Jason.”

  He knew it put a ripple in his plans, but that wasn’t going to stop him. “I like complicated, remember.”

  She waved a finger between the two of them. “This can’t happen. I need this job. I need to make things work here for Owen. Sleeping with the boss is never a good idea.”

  So she was already picturing him in bed.

  He liked that.

  “Stop smiling.” She raised her voice.

  “Did you see a doctor for that?” He purposely changed the subject.

  “No. It’s just a bump.”

  “It’s a knot, and it should be checked.”

  “I’m pretty sure if it were serious, I would know by now.”

  “Do you have a headache?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Of course. There is a golf ball under my skin.”

  “Are you eating?”

  “Are you my mother?”

  Her evasion of his question gave him the answer. “I’m your boss, as you keep trying to point out. And if you’re not well enough to be at work, you should be at home, resting . . . after you’ve seen a doctor.”

  “Would you be telling me this if my cell number wasn’t in your phone?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Exactly. Which is why we can’t date.”

  “We can date.”

  She tried to smile, huffed out a breath. “I’m sorry. I’m flattered, really, I am. I’m attracted, obviously, or I wouldn’t have . . . but I’m not stupid—”

  Yeah, well . . . that made one of them.

  Jason took a step toward her and stopped her rant with his lips.

  He could almost taste her simmering anger as it softened. Rachel gasped but didn’t pull away. He touched her cheek and held her close. Oh yeah, this was going to happen. When was the last time he’d had butterflies when he’d kissed a woman? When was the last time one had reluctantly melted in his arms?

  She opened her lips, and her tongue dipped inside his.

  All the blood in his system dumped south before Rachel pulled away.

  Her face was flushed, her breathing too quick.

  Accomplishment settled in his system.

  She stared at him without words.

  “Rachel . . .”

  She pressed a finger to his lips before gathering her computer and walking out the door.

  The inquisition began the moment Rachel returned to her desk.

  Julie rolled her chair over, ducked her head. “How do you know Jason Fairchild?”

  “He’s Stranded Car Guy.”

  “The guy you ran off the road?”

  “I didn’t run him off the road, he tried to go around. In an Audi.” A really nice Audi, if she remembered.

  “He acted a little familiar for a guy you helped stay out of the cold,” Julie said.

  Rachel glanced over Julie’s head, didn’t see anyone watching them.

  “We’ve been texting all weekend. He left chains for my car at the house on Friday. He was going to help Owen and me get our Christmas tree on Wednesday, since he has a truck,” she whispered.

  Julie squealed.

  Rachel shushed her. “Stop it. That can’t happen now.”

  “Why not?”

  “He’s my boss. I can’t date my boss.”

  “Every great soap opera has a chick doing her boss.”

  Rachel glared, whispered harshly, “I’m not doing anyone!”

  “Rachel?”

  She swung her head up too quickly, winced at the pain behind her eye.

  Gerald stood a few feet away, his expression unreadable.

  “Yes?” How much of their conversation had he heard? This wasn’t good.

  “Good job today.”

  “Thank you.”

  He looked at her forehead. “That looks like it hurts.”

  “It does, which is why I got off to a shaky start. I promise my delivery is smoother than what you saw.”

  “It appeared there was more than one reason for that wobbly start.”

  She wasn’t sure how to respond.

  Gerald was. “Cussing at the owner of the company probably didn’t help.”

  “I cussed?” Seeing Jason there blocked her common sense.

  “You did,” Julie said.

  Rachel closed her eyes, tried to replay what happened. “It won’t happen again.” Not in public, anyway.

  “That’s probably for the best,” Gerald told her. “Now why don’t you celebrate by going home early and nursing that black eye?”

  “It’s okay, I’m—”

  “That wasn’t a request, Rachel.”

  She stopped talking, and Gerald returned to his office.

  “I cussed?” she asked herself again.

  Julie just laughed.

  Chapter Six

  “You ended up in a ditch?”

  Jason knew he would never hear the end of this. He managed to get out of lunch with his brother, but that didn’t stop the man from showing up in his office after two.

  “I’m not proud.”

  Glen leaned back in the chair he offered himself when he walked in.

  “Are you dating this woman?”

  Jason flipped through the work on his desk, wondering how to answer that question. Was he dating her? No. Did he want to . . . yes. Did he want his brother to know?

  “Maybe.”

  Glen was obviously amused. “Well then, this should put Monica and Mary off the matchmaking campaign.”

  Jason looked up. “There’s a campaign?”

  “Not anymore.” Glen unfolded from the chair.

  He knew his brothers’ wives were up to something.

  “No blind dates, Glen. As if I need to say that aloud.”

  “I told Mary that.”

  Somehow Jason didn’t think she listened. Both of his brothers were hopelessly in love with their wives.

  “Rachel does have some great ideas for pushing the company forward.”

  “I thought so, too.”

  “She’s obviously dedicated . . . coming to work with that shiner.”

  Jason went back to the paperwork on his desk. “I already saw to it that Gerald sent her home.”

  Glen hesitated at the door. “Risk management would advise you not to date someone on staff. So would our lawyers.”

  He’d had a few hours to think about that fact.

  “Rachel said the same thing.”

  “She’s a smart woman.”

  And beautiful, and witty . . . and someone he wanted to know better.

  “Their advice isn’t going to stop you,” Glen said.

  “Not this time.”

  God, she loved Google. Cosmo, eHarmony, Insider . . . there wasn’t a magazine or website that didn’t weigh in on why you shouldn’t date your boss.

  He holds power over you, he overlooks your faults . . . your colleagues will hate you.

  Oh, yeah . . . one more tiny, itty-bitty thing.

  You’ll lose your job.

  Fired.

  Or be forced to quit.

  No matter how you spun that bottle, dating your boss was a recipe for a last place in line at the unemployment office.

  Rachel tucked her feet under her on the couch and watched the rain outside her front window.

  Owen was at school, not due home until three. She should probably be painting, or removin
g the casing around the door that attacked her. Something. Instead she stared at the drops of water falling from the sky, contemplating her life, which was stupid. She’d only known Jason for a few days.

  It didn’t matter that he was the only man who had turned her head in close to a year. Wait . . . more like a year and a half.

  What did she know about him, anyway? Aside from the driving himself into a ditch, or his thoughtful thank-you gifts?

  He was gorgeous. She knew that.

  Rachel shook her head as if her brain was an Etch A Sketch that would remove the image of him.

  She tapped her finger against her knee.

  What did she know about him?

  Jason Fairchild.

  She jumped up from the couch, caught herself when her head swam, then moved with a little more caution to grab her laptop from the dining room table.

  Once settled, she googled again.

  She’d googled potential dates in the past, but never . . . and she did mean never . . . had there been so much information about one person who was interested in her.

  He had a Wikipedia page.

  Rachel closed her eyes. How could anyone who had their own Internet encyclopedia page be interested in dating her?

  She started there.

  CEO of Fairchild Charters, which he owned jointly with his two brothers. Yeah, yeah . . . she knew all that.

  Net worth . . .

  Rachel rubbed her eyes. How could anyone who needed a ride from her be worth that many zeros?

  He’d taken over the role of CEO after the unexpected death of his parents. Rachel found herself following the bouncing ball of Beverly and Marcus Fairchild.

  They weren’t even sixty, and both of them fell out of the sky while on a short flight in bad weather. Some reports suggested a lightning strike, others said pilot error. The brothers argued against anything their father could have done to cause the plane to crash.

  She found a picture of the Fairchild brothers standing over their parents’ graves at a funeral.

  A tear dropped off her cheek. Jason stared forward, while Glen, the man she’d met today, had his arm around the youngest son, Trent. Her gaze found Jason again. Chin high, his eyes glazed with loss. The picture had been taken eight years before.

  Sadly, Rachel understood death all too well.

  She moved on.

  The information on Jason’s personal life was limited to appearances at charity and corporate events. Most of the time he arrived solo, or on occasion he would have a date that consisted of a “family friend” or “colleague.” He wasn’t one to have the paparazzi following him, so Rachel found herself back on his Wikipedia page.