by Karen Gordon
Fearless Flying
The Vivienne Series
Book 1
By Karen Gordon
Copyright 2016 © by Karen Gordon Author
All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Chapter One
I can count the number of guys I’ve slept with on one hand. I can count the number of guys I’ve wanted to sleep with on one finger. And that man is on his way to my apartment right now. Ironically, if I end up having sex with Danny tonight I have my dad to thank, or blame, depending on how this goes.
It’s 4:05 and the chime on my electronic meat thermometer dings. Perfect. Danny will be here at 4:15 so that gives the roast beef ten minutes to rest before I need to serve it. I do another walk through of my tiny apartment for a final confirmation of the details of my plan of seduction.
Pecan pie warming on the stove top and combining with the roast for the perfect scent—check.
Tools necessary for removing and storing the window A/C unit lying next to it—check.
Pristine linen sheets replaced with Walmart cheepie sheets that I am willing to have sex on—check.
My heart is racing a little but ten years of anticipation will do that to you. I check myself in the full length mirror in my bedroom one more time. Even I have to admit, I’ve nailed this outfit. My new jeans keep it casual, but have strategically placed seems and fading to highlight all my curves. My ass could turn me on in these. My tee shirt looks like I just threw it on, but I shopped for an hour online for this specific one—it’s a little sheer, hangs off one shoulder, and highlights the blue lacy bra underneath. And even through my toes are freezing on the hardwood floor I’m barefoot to show off my shell-pink Pedi. My feet are one of my best features; no way I’m hiding them today. If all goes as planned I can warm them under Danny’s gorgeous muscular legs during our post-sex snuggle.
I grab the tousle spray from the bathroom cabinet and primp my perfectly-styled messy beach waves one last time. Good luck resisting me now Danny. You’re going to need it.
At 4:15 I hear the buzzer from the building’s front door announcing his punctual arrival. I knew it. Danny doesn’t do late. He was never late one day in the eight years that my dad was his boss. Yes, his reliability is one of the reasons I crave this man. I buzz him in and use the two minutes it will take him to climb the stairs to my apartment to pull the roast from the oven and tent it with the waiting piece of foil.
I try to suppress my smile as I open the door. I’m keeping it casual. Like he’s just Danny moving my air conditioner to storage, not my undying crush finally ready for me.
He is definitely looking laid back, leaning on the door frame, hands in his jean’s pockets, looking at the floor. He looks up and shifts the tooth pick to the other side of his mouth, drawing my attention (once again) to how damn full his lips are. I swear I’m already wet and he hasn’t even said a word.
Then he does. “Roast?”
I regain my composure and nod. “Yep.”
He takes a deep breath in and launches himself off the door frame. “Pecan pie too?”
“Yep.”
And he lets out a long frustrated sigh.
What? NO! Not this. Not again.
He walks over to the window and starts to pull the air conditioner from its perch. It’s wedged tightly into the ancient window frame and puts up a fight. I silently thank it for making this harder for him. In muted distress I watch him as he takes a screwdriver from my tool kit and uses it to push the frame back where it has embedded itself into the unit. After replacing the screwdriver in its correct slot (Do you see why he is perfect for me?), he shifts his weight back, stretches his impeccably muscular arms around the machine and heaves. I can’t help but marvel at the way his shoulder muscles flex then settle as he leans the old hundred-plus pound thing against his chest.
He looks at me, but only to get my attention, then nods toward the door. “Let’s go.”
My weak smile can’t hide my disappointment. Surely he must see that I anticipated and want more than this.
I open the door to my apartment then walk ahead of him down the three flights of steps to the basement storage area. He’s not even trying to make small talk--not asking about my job or my new car. This is worse than I thought.
I admit I knew there was a chance he would turn me down, but I weighted it as a slight chance. He could still be getting over his divorce, but it’s been over a year. She left him. How long can he mourn the loss of the stupid, wussy woman? I’ve written off his reluctance to let her go to the fact that she has their son. That’s the only reason I can see for him not moving on to someone better, someone who won’t bail at the first sign of trouble, someone with a backbone—
Someone like me.
I fumble with the padlock on the door of my storage locker. I probably should have had it unlocked already so he wouldn’t have to stand there holding the A/C unit, but I didn’t want to leave it unlocked for too long and I did not plan on him doing this right away. My roast and pie were supposed to work their magic and slow this project down so it would last until morning, or at least a few hours.
With the lock finally off I open the door and step aside for him to enter the tiny room. I fight the urge to lock him in there and hold him until he wakes up and notices what is right in front of him.
“I didn’t ask you to do this, you know.”
He sets the unit down with a grunt and turns to me. “I know.” He dusts off his hands and walks past me as I shut and lock the door.
“I had already made a deal with the maintenance guy to do this for me.”
He starts back up the stairs ahead of me. “Yeah, well your dad asked me to come over here and do this, so here I am. You’re welcome.”
God-damn it. I did sound ungrateful, but this was about so much more than the air conditioner. “I made you dinner to thank you.”
We reach the landing with the building’s front door and he turns toward it. I can’t let him go yet. I need to have this out now. “You’re not staying for dinner?”
“Can’t. I’ve got to go to work.”
Puhleeese. What a lame bull-shit lie. I know where he works, I know his hours, and I know that he doesn’t have to go back to work tonight. His shift ended at three and he’s not wearing his work uniform. “Did you change shifts?”
“No, but I’ve got to go.” He makes a move for the door and I block him.
The war of anger and embarrassment and pain in my head has me at a loss for words. I open my mouth to speak but I’m afraid of what might come out. I needed time to process this and formulate my response. For once I have no plan B. I didn’t plan on failing this spectacularly. All I can think to do is kill him with kindness. “Take the pie at least. I can wrap it up and you can share it with the other guys on your crew.”
“Not tonight.” He moves toward the door again. I block him again.
“Danny, I…”
“Vivey, I told your dad I would come over here and help you move your air conditioner. That’s all he asked me to do and that’s all I’m going to do.” He reaches out and touches my arm as if the contact would somehow lessen
the blow. “I…,” He checks his watch. “I gotta go. I’m gonna be late.”
He pushes past me, his size and warmth momentarily engulfing me, his Irish Spring scent lingering in his wake as he passes by me. He doesn’t look back as he descended the stairs then gets on a motorcycle illegally parked on the sidewalk. When did he get a motorcycle? He guns the engine, checks for pedestrians and cars and pulls out onto Drayton Street heading toward downtown.
I’m not sure how long I stand there, recovering from the shock of that short, excruciating brush-off. I had an armory of temptation ready in my apartment and he ran after he caught a whiff of my first shot. I shut the door tightly and check that the handle has locked. I love this apartment and this neighborhood, but I’m not stupid enough to not be aware of its dangers.
On my way up the stairs I pull my phone from my back pocket to call Dom who’s on standby, waiting for her BFF sex summary. She answers, “So soon? Jesus he’s quick on the draw.”
Chapter Two
“There wasn’t any draw. He moved the air conditioner then practically sprinted out of here.” I plop down on the couch and hug my favorite pink chenille pillow to my chest. It’s like putting a fluffy Band-aid over where I hurt.
“So start from the beginning, he got there and then what happened?”
A Dom-analysis could take an hour, five times longer than the actual date. I wasn’t up for it. “I don’t know. He got here, smelled the roast and pie, asked me if that’s what he smelled, then immediately started pulling the air conditioner out of the window. He was definitely on a mission to get the hell out of here. He even lied and said he had to go back to work. He wasn’t even wearing a uniform. I mean, what the hell, like I’m not going to notice that?”
That shut Dom up. Danny was not known for lying. If anything he could be called too blunt, honest to a fault.
“I need an exorcism, Dom. I need to purge him from my soul.”
“I won’t argue with you there. I’ve been listening to you moan and drool over him for ten.”
“I know. I know.” I cut Dom off because I didn’t want a review of all the stupid ways I had embarrassed myself over Danny. “Cut me some slack. I was fifteen.”
“Ok, when you met him, but this past year…V, if he hasn’t made a move by now…” I can tell she doesn’t want to say it and hurt my feelings and she doesn’t have to.
“He isn’t going to.” Fuck that hurt to say, but it’s like ripping off a Band-aid. I need to do it. I need to move on. “Just give me some time.”
“Sure. Yeah. I know.” A sad silence hangs heavy between us because only Dom knows how hard this will be for me.
I change the subject. “You and mama going to play bingo tonight?” I know they are.
Dom and her mama and her aunties all played bingo together every Thursday night at their church. “How goes the wedding fund?” They are all pooling their winnings and saving up for Dom’s wedding.
“Growing baby, growing. Luis’s aunt and grandma are going in with us now.” Dom’s family is the opposite of mine, huge and involved. Dom still lives with her mama and siblings and will until she marries Luis in a few months. “Do you want to come with us tonight? The girls will make you feel better. We’ll down a few cervezas…”
“No, not tonight. Besides, I’m an Irish girl…I’ve got to drown my sorrows in whiskey. I think it’s required.”
“Alright, you have the night off to drown your sorrows.”
“Thanks. And thank you for understanding. ”
“Hey, I get it. Believe me I’ve been there the whole time. The man’s smile and body alone could do any girl in. And he was really sweet to you, when you were younger. Ever since your dad moved away and his divorce, he’s changed.”
“Yeah, he has.” She’s right. “I guess he was so nice to me because of my dad. Now that he’s not here…”
“Are you going to tell your dad to stop sending him over to help you? You know he’ll do it again.”
Damn, she’s right again. It’s a losing battle with my dad to convince him to let me take care of myself. I spent half my life taking care of him, and me, and our house, and he still treats me like I’m a feeble-minded child. “Noooo. Oh hell, you’re right. If this weren’t the most perfect effing apartment in this city, I would move my ass to Sweden and get away from both of them.”
Dom laughs, “Then Big Mike would find some dude named Sven and have him at your place taking care of you.”
“As long as Sven isn’t frigid.” We both laugh that that one.
“Do you think that’s it.” Dom asks. “Do you think Danny’s frigid?”
“Oh, hell no. Like I’ve always said, there is something about the way he moves, still can’t put my finger on it, but it’s like there’s the promise of a really wild fuck in his stride.”
“No, no, don’t go there. Assume he is a horrible fuck and a shitty kisser.”
“With those lips?”
Even Dom can’t argue with that. “Ok, so he might be a good kisser, but he doesn’t deserve you.”
“Because…?”
“Because he is estúpido , a box of rocks. Come on V, how can he not see by now what an amazing catch you are? You are smart, successful, a gourmet cook, totally freakin’ cute and if he ever gave you the chance I’m sure you would wear him out in bed until he died a happy man.”
“I would rock his world.”
“Save that for someone who deserves it.”
“Like who, Dom? In twenty-five years I have met one man, one, who meets my standards.”
“And don’t you dare lower them now.”
“I’m going to die alone as a cat lady, still looking for that perfect guy.”
“No you’re not. There is going to be a guy who appreciates how hard you work to make everything perfect. Did you pour yourself that drink yet?”
I put my phone on speaker and set it on the bar cart in the corner of the living room. “Pouring it now.” Dom can hear me put ice in a tumbler and pour Jameson over it.
“Of course you had ice in the bucket.”
“And little lemon wedges too.” I add one to my drink and water from the pitcher.
“What are you going to do now?” Dom is my mother hen. A job she and her mom took over when my mom died.
“Cut the roast into sandwich meat so I can take it to some guys who will appreciate it.”
“Ok, good. No single ones yet?”
Dom is always pushing me to find romance at work which, number one, goes against my policy of never dating at work, and two, she doesn’t know these guys like I do. They are salesmen, always polite and kind and joking and so full of shit it practically leaks out their ears. “No single ones.”
“At least Bob appreciates you.”
That he does. My boss, Bob Brockhaus is the lead salesman in international sales for JetStream Aerospace. He travels the world selling private jets to billionaires and he does a damn good job of it, in great part because he has me. I make his chaotic home and work life run like a well-oiled machine and he makes sure I am paid well to do that. At least I have Bob.
Chapter Three
I’ve put the guys who work in the sales department into three categories: DAL – divorced and looking, DAG – divorced and gave up, and MAH – Married and hanging on by a thread. International sales (or I-sales to insiders) sounds cool and sexy and from the outside might look cool and sexy, but it’s a lifestyle that is hell on a marriage.
Right now my boss, Bob, is in Dubai. He’s there at least once or twice a month and stays a few days each time. After three days home he’ll be flying to Hong Kong, then Melbourne, then Seoul before coming home for another three days. He’s married, again. Kara is wife number three. He and I are working together to try to hold on to this one.
I have ten different apps that I use to keep track of Bob, his travel schedule, his contacts, his expenses, and his families and almost all are open this morning. He’s on a follow up sales call with a Prince so he had to fly
commercial to Dubai. He has enough frequent flyer miles to buy out first class but that doesn’t immunize him from delays and missed connections. I’m on line with him trying to find a work around for storms keeping him stranded in Zurich. Kara wants him home this weekend. She and Bob are both hammer texting me and each other. This is not the first time I’ve felt like I was standing in a room, watching a couple have a very private argument.
I’m refreshing the Swiss weather site on my main computer screen when Ted Kircher leans in, carrying a heaping plate of my roast beef. He holds it up and gives me thumbs up and I smile briefly at him. I set the carved beef out in the conference room with some bread and condiments when I got in this morning and sent a blast email to everyone in I-Sales to come and get it. None of the DALs, like Ted, will touch the bread. Eating out constantly on the road is hell on a diet so all the salesmen still looking for love have sworn off carbs. DAGs will take the bread and make a sandwich with the beef and mayo then add a large slice of the pecan pie. MAHs are rarely in the office. If they aren’t on the road they are at home squeezing in all the family time they can.
Ted may be hitting on me but it’s hard to tell. Salesmen who sell multi-million dollar jets are constantly on—happy, joking, overly upbeat, super friendly. I could take it all as coming on to me, but I chose not to. (Refer to rule number one at work.) If I meet them on their level it all stays completely artificial and friendly from a distance. I walk a fine line between looking accessible and being inaccessible.
I book Bob on the four p.m. train from Zurich to Geneva where he can meet up with Colin, another JetStream sales rep, who is there with one of our planes working on a sale. The storms will have moved east of Switzerland by then and Bob can catch a ride home with Colin and be back in Savannah by tomorrow morning. I text him the details.
Limo driver on way to frequent flyer club now.
First class train tic in email. Dinner rez on train(carb free).
Limo will b waiting in Geneva to get to airport.