Mine to Steal (Mine to Love)

by T. K. Rapp

  “Goodnight,” I grunt before I shut the door and lock it, to make sure that he won’t barge in.

  She left after I fell asleep, that much is clear. I never got her name. Hell, I never even got to see what she truly looked like between the dark apartment and dim bar lights. All I know is that I spent the night with someone who had my attention as soon as I saw her and now she’s gone. Just like that.

  The workday will come early, so I lie back on my bed and roll onto my stomach to get the sleep I know I need. As soon as my head hits the pillow, her sweet, flowery perfume drifts up and brings hazy memories of the mystery woman to mind.

  Her legs.

  Her lips.

  Her body.

  Her voice.

  All of them lull me into a deep sleep, where she takes center stage in my dreams.

  Chapter 4

  The buzzing I hear next to my bed rattles the loose change sitting on my nightstand. The noise might as well be coming from across the room because I have no luck silencing the damn thing. I extend my hand over to stop the noise, somehow managing to knock a glass over, and the shattering glass jolts me upright. I instantly regret the swift movement that causes me to grab my pounding head. My eyes refuse to open, but I can see faint sunlight through my eyelids. I squeeze my eyes tighter as I try to shield them from the intruding light source, but it hurts even more. Everything fucking hurts.

  I consider the time and I wonder if I can sleep in a few more minutes, but there’s no way. I’ve already snoozed the alarm once and now I’m running behind. I lie back down and yank my pillow over my head, but the smell of perfume lingers on the pillow, and once again, she’s in my head. Try as I might to block it all out, there’s no escaping it.

  Flashes of her at the club and in my bed come to mind, reminding me of what happened last night.

  Maybe I should have skipped the late night clubbing and drinking, but then I wouldn’t have spent the night I did with the enigma I did. Granted, I wouldn’t be sporting this nasty hangover that is inconvenient considering I have to be on a plane this afternoon. Despite my tired and achy state, I drag myself from beneath the sheets and notice the clothes strewn about the room, but there’s no trace of her anywhere.

  As I sit at the edge of my bed, my elbows resting on my knees, I try to recall something about her, other than her hair. She smelled like spring or something fruity. I wish I could have made out her features, but between the shots and the darkness, very little was visible. Hell, I’m surprised I was even able to perform.

  Shit. Did she leave because it was bad or was she embarrassed by what we did?

  I remember my hands gripping her waist. The moment my fingers touched her, fire shot through my entire body.

  Focus, Trey. You have too much shit to do today.

  Pushing to my feet, I head to the bathroom and start the shower so I can get moving. While I wait for the water to warm up, I observe my reflection, and I’m knocked back by my ragged appearance. I smell as awful as I feel - the stench of stale alcohol and cigarettes invade my senses. My tongue feels like it’s been rubbed against a piece of sandpaper or as if I licked an ashtray - either way, it’s pretty disgusting.

  The shower is steaming when I step in and I try not to think back on last night, but she refuses to let me go that easy. For the third time since my alarm went off, the stranger has infiltrated my head. Her hands on my body, the familiarity of her - though we’ve never met - and the minty taste of her lips are enough to keep me still a little too long.

  From what I recall of the evening, the band was a little too country for my taste, but the crowd seemed to enjoy them. Jett moped after being teased by Joss but recovered when a random drunk girl who was looking for someone to dance with approached him. I know Jett hates country music, more so than me, but there was no way he was going to pass up the chance to hook up with a sexy girl. He was desperate to redeem himself after his public shaming at the hands of a woman who sounded like she’d inhaled one too many helium balloons.

  When the band finished their final set, Jett walked back over with the girl, who he introduced as Cayenne - as in pepper. I knew what he had in mind and I didn’t care - until I saw her. And when she agreed to leave with me, I didn’t give a second thought to letting my brother figure out his own way home, even though it was a dick move.

  I have no doubt when I leave this afternoon, Jett will have an endless trail of women making their way into my apartment. All I have to say is he better not bring them into my bed.

  The shower does little to alleviate my hangover, but at least I feel refreshed when I get out. My typical black slacks and button-down shirt give me the appearance of a put-together guy, but my head is still pounding. I grab some aspirin and down them before I notice Jett’s door is still closed.

  “I’m leaving now. Be in by eight so we can go over some things before I head out.” I beat on the door to wake him up.

  He groans from the other side, and I smile knowing he’s in as much pain as I am. This is the guy I’m about to entrust my company with while I’m gone. I push away the doubt that starts to seep in.

  What am I thinking? In what world is it a good idea to leave Jett in charge of anything?

  When push comes to shove, I think he’ll get the job done, but to be sure, I need to have a little chat with Hattie and give her a heads up. With that in mind, I head to the office to get everything in line before I go out of town.

  In the three years since I opened my own business, I haven’t left the office for more than an afternoon, but if I want to land this contract, I’m going to have to go to Cave’s Camo and Outdoor headquarters in Chicago. I was told the owner, Mr. Cavette, doesn’t do much in the way of social media and relies on an assistant to handle all email communication. After some serious thought, I decided my best bet is to meet with him in person, which is what he prefers.

  “Good morning, Trey,” Hattie greets me as she sets her purse inside of her desk drawer. “Did you get the email with your itinerary?”

  “Yes, thank you, Hattie.” My voice is harsher than I intend, but it garners her attention. “I need to speak with you before my brother gets in. We’ll get to everything else when he gets here.” She follows behind me and shuts the door, waiting for me to continue.

  “Is everything okay?” she asks as she walks in to take a seat across from my desk. Her forehead crinkles as she bites her lip, and I realize she must think there is a problem with her work, so I rush to alleviate her concern.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, but I wanted to talk to you before I leave. About Jett.” I see her relax when she exhales and rights her shoulders before she settles against the seat back. Once I’m sure she’s ready, I continue. “Let me start by saying my brother is a good guy. He’s tried numerous careers, but he’s always had our dad to fall back on.”

  “O-kay,” she drags out as she frowns with confusion.

  “I know he has it in him to do great things, but until I’m certain he’s in this with me, I need you to keep an eye on things while I’m gone. I’m going over the agenda with Jett when he gets here, but I still need you to make sure things get done.”

  She cocks her head to the side and appears pensive before she responds. “So you want me to babysit your brother?”

  My eyebrows jerk up, I’m surprised with her choice of words. “Well, when you put it that way, I suppose so. Jett is an intelligent guy, his business sense rivals my own, but you know what’s going on around this place - maybe better than me.”

  She smiles and nods, but I can tell she’s still hesitant to play the role I am asking of her. She takes her job seriously, which I appreciate. I’m trying not to offend her.

  “Trey, I’m happy to help Jett figure the place out, but I’d rather be up front about this. Instead of basically having me spy on him and report to you, why don’t you tell him what you told me. He might surprise you.”

  “You might be on to something there. Do me a favor; grab everything you
can on Dr. Jameson’s office, the Rialyn Productions contract, and Palm Industries. We’ll start with those, and I’ll go over as much of it as I can with him. You can fill in any gaps while I’m gone.”

  Her response catches me off guard because this woman knows nothing of my brother, but she seems to be putting faith in him. Hell, maybe I need to do the same and not assume the worst. Hattie appears to be pleased with herself when she exits my office to gather the information.

  Buried in a sea of emails, I peer up from my work when I hear his voice in the distance, but I continue working. He’s talking to Hattie about something when I hear him ask a question.

  “So does this mean you’re going to be my- ?” I recoil at what I suspect are his next words.

  “Jett, get in here,” I demand before he can finish.

  “What?” he asks, with a hint of irritation, as he shuts the door behind him. “I was just going to ask if she’s going to be my ass-istant,” he clarifies, which is where I thought he was headed. “So what exactly does Hottie do?” he questions with a wide grin.

  “You and the damn nicknames. I thought you would have outgrown that years ago, Jett.”

  “What? No one else minds, hell, I think Hottie likes it.” He shrugs with a smug grin.

  “First off, watch your mouth, would you? I don’t need someone filing a sexual harassment suit and you know better. Hattie-” I strain out until he finally looks at me, “practically runs the place. You will treat her, and everyone else for that matter, with respect.”

  “I’m just kidding. Damn bro, you need to loosen up.”

  “You need to take this serious. This is my name, my work, and while I’m gone, you’re going to be handling things from here. I’m putting a lot of stock in you, don’t let me down.”

  There’s a brief buzz that sounds when I push the intercom button on my desk. “Hattie, do you have those files?”

  “Diana should be getting me some additional papers, but this is a good starting point,” she says, walking in with her arms full of the information I requested. She sets everything down on my desk, takes a seat, and motions for Jett to follow suit. I appreciate her confidence and assertiveness in this situation. If he is able to do what she thinks he can, I might have to give her a raise.

  “Here’s how this is going to go down,” I warn, waiting to get Jett’s attention. “Hattie handles all of the daily scheduling, prepares any and all correspondence with potential clients, and manages these accounts until they are assigned. Basically, while I’m gone, she’ll be your babysitter.”

  “Actually -” She doesn’t finish when she earns my attention.

  “She will help you learn the ropes around here. If you have any questions, she’s your go-to.”

  “Alright then.” He rubs his hands together and flashes a confident grin. “Let’s do this.”

  I’m amazed because for once it looks like he is going to take something serious. I hand him the Rialyn file so we can go over the particulars in case they are ready to sign while I’m gone. Hattie provides information when necessary, but I do most of the talking.

  * * *

  After three hours of trying to get Jett up to speed, I hand the rest of it over to Hattie, in hopes she can get it all done. If I had one more hour, I think I’d feel a little better about taking off, but I covered what I could. Security is a bitch on a good day, and as it is, I barely make it through with enough time to grab some coffee before getting on the plane. Most of the passengers have already taken their seat and it appears as though this is going to be a full flight. It would be nice to have some space for once since being over six feet tall makes flying less than comfortable. Not only for me, but also for the person next to me.

  My boarding pass is for seat 12B, and when I spot it, I can’t stifle the annoyance that sweeps through me. Not only did Hattie not book business class but she got me a center seat. She mentioned there was limited seating, but I thought surely I’d have no problem with a mid-afternoon flight.

  “Excuse me,” I announce to the woman occupying the aisle seat. “I believe that would be me,” I gesture to the empty seat with a forced smile.

  She studies me, no doubt wondering the same thing I am, ‘how is he going to fit there?’ I move aside so she can step out into the aisle, and she offers me a nice smile. “Would you like my seat?”

  “That’s okay, I’ll be fine,” I assure her as I tuck my laptop under the seat in front of me. She keeps eyeing me from the side, as though she’s not convinced by my words, but moves back in to take her seat while we wait for the remaining passengers to file on.

  As she sits down and buckles her seat belt, she takes a deep breath and holds it. From the corner of my eye, I watch as she closes her eyes and mutters something to herself before exhaling a loud, exaggerated breath and repeating the process. Every other time, she grips the armrests and counts to three before opening her eyes. It’s a strange ritual, and I can’t tell if it’s a prayer or meditation, but I’m fascinated with the sequence. I don’t think she’s a good flyer.

  My head is still pounding from my hangover; clearly the aspirin is taking longer than I’d like to work. The flight attendants won’t bring water around until we’re up in the air, which of course makes me want water this second.

  The woman next to me continues her odd pattern until the flight attendant comes over the speaker to go over the usual safety spiel. I always tune this part out because I’ve heard it a million times and could probably recite it myself, if I needed to. However, the woman next to me is watching with wide eyes, absorbing every detail they offer.

  “There’s not going to be a test,” I whisper louder than I intend with a grin.

  “Excuse me?” she snaps, but keeps her eyes trained on the nearest attendant.

  Not the right thing to say.

  She seems far too serious, and I feel bad because I think I might have made her anxiety level go up exponentially. “I’m sorry. Bad habit. I was trying to make a joke.”

  Looking at me for a moment, she doesn’t say anything or acknowledge my apology. Her attention returns to the attendant at the front, all the while fidgeting with the tail of her seat belt, trying to take in everything that is instructed.

  “-Sit back, relax, and enjoy the rest of your flight,” the attendant concludes before the PA system shuts off with a crack of the speaker. The other passengers begin quiet conversations, read books, or close their eyes to get some sleep, but not this woman. She oozes more anxiety than I’ve ever felt from anyone when flying.

  “Are you okay?” I ask her, worried she’s about to have some sort of emotional fit, and I’m the nearest victim.

  “I’m fine,” she says. Her eyes are closed, and her head is tilted up toward the overhead lights as she starts her ritual once more. She reaches up and adjusts the air nozzle overhead to aim it at herself before commandeering mine as well. This woman is not okay.

  “Is this your first time flying?”

  “No,” she answers curtly, still avoiding eye contact.

  “Do you live here in Colorado, or is Chicago home?”

  “I live here. Can you please stop talking to me?” she says in a rush.

  “I’m sorry. I was trying to distract you.”

  She finally opens her eyes and turns to me. “It’s not working. Can you try something else?”

  I notice she’s wearing a wedding ring, a rather large ring, in fact. I offer my hand in greeting. “I’m Trey, nice to meet you.” She looks at me with a hint of suspicion before taking it.

  “Kris,” she answers before slipping her small hand in mine.

  “How long have you been married?”

  Her face is beaming, and she turns the band with her thumb. I wonder if it’s a habit like her counting. “Five years last month.”

  “Five years? Congratulations. Any kids?”

  “I have a six month old. This is my first trip away from her,” she admits as her smile fades. “I never minded flying before, but somehow now, lea
ving her seems wrong. I mean, what if something happens to me and she’s left to grow up without a mother? What kind of mom does that make me?”

  “A mom?” I ask with a shrug. “I don’t have any kids, but my sister, Abby, is the same way. She hates to leave my nephew, and he’s three. I don’t know if it’s gotten any easier for her, but she makes herself do it,” I conclude with a smile.

  I don’t get it. To me, you get on a plane, go where you need to go, do what you need to do, and come home. But my sister gets on my case when I approach it in such an insensitive manner. It’s not my intention, but I don’t have any kids, so I don’t understand that connection.

  “What’s your daughter’s name?”

  “Faith,” she says with a proud smile I imagine any mother would display when talking about her kid.

  The woman who came home with me - her friend said something about faith. Could that have been her name?

  “Faith,” I mutter quietly to myself. “That’s a great name.”

  “Thanks. I named her after my grandmother.” She looks at me and cocks her head to the side. “What about you? Married?”

  “No,” I drag out with a laugh.

  “Dating?”

  Shaking my head, I give her a lopsided grin. “Not really, no.”

  “What, exactly, does that mean?”

  “Nothing really,” I offer uncomfortably, unsure how I became the topic of discussion.

  “You realize you have to tell me now, right?” She laughs a nervous laugh, and I realize she needs a distraction.

  “I had a friend,” I admit, though I’m not sure why I continue.

  “And by ‘friend,’ you mean girlfriend. And by ‘had,’ you mean broke up.”

  “Perceptive,” is all I manage to say, stunned by her diagnosis, though it’s not quite accurate.

  “So, did she dump you?” She’s a little too pleased by the prospect, and I stir in my seat, trying to decide how much I want to share with a complete stranger. But, as it is, we are still climbing in the air, and she’s been so busy talking about her daughter that she’s not paying attention to our ascent.