Going with Gravity
by
Cate Masters
PUBLISHED BY:
Cate Masters on Smashwords
Going with Gravity
Copyright © 2011 by Cate Masters
Smashwords Edition License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.
View more books by Cate Masters at
http://catemasters.blogspot.com
or select online book retailers.
For Gary, always.
Special thanks to The Wild Rose Press, which first published this ebook.
Going with Gravity was a 2011 EPIC finalist.
Previous reviews:
5 smacks from Mistress Bella Reviews
http://mistressbellareviews.blogspot.com/2009/09/going-with-gravity-by-cate-masters.html?zx=ccefaaadb79427d
Wow! Talk about a book that will keep you on the edge of your seat until the very end. I was so captured by these characters and this plot. I had to know what was going to happen next. I had to keep reading until I found out the fate of these two characters. Could all really be forgiven and forgotten? Ms. Masters has given us another masterpiece. She has given us another story to stay up way past our bedtime to read. Never read a Cate Masters book? What’s wrong with you? You are missing out on a great author who writes such romantic tales that really touch your soul.
4.5 hearts from The Romance Studio
http://theromancestudio.com/reviews/reviews/goinggravitymasters.htm
Cate Masters took this plot and worked it into a great work even though it was not a long book. This story covered so much territory and was so compelling I did not want to put it down. The actions taken by the couple, the employers, and the tabloid photographers were so believable. It was as if I was there watching the story unfold. The conflict was great. The sexual encounters were sizzling and the ending was unexpected. There were moments of poignant emotional conflict.
I liked this book and would recommend it to everyone.
4.5 books from LASR
Going with Gravity is a condensed feel-good romance where the feelings and emotions of the hero and heroine touch you with their believability.
Read more reviews, view the trailer and more at http://catemasters.blogspot.com/2007/12/going-with-gravity-contemporary-romance.html
* * * * *
Going with Gravity
The ringing phone split the darkness. Allison Morris reached across her pillow and pulled the receiver to her ear. Multiple profanities crossed her mind, but all she said was, “Hello.”
An earsplitting rant greeted her. She rolled on her back and held the phone away from her head until it subsided.
“Calm down, Michelle. Where are you?” She rubbed her temple, trying to think.
The quiet of the night magnified her nasal squeak. “In Hawaii. What’s wrong with you? I told you I was landing yesterday.”
The illuminated numbers on her alarm read 4:04. “It’s four in the morning, Michelle. I’m not exactly awake yet.”
The velocity of her rant increased with its decibel level. “I pay you to think at any time of day. I need you here. Get on the next flight out.”
Ah, the never-ending drama. Michelle reveled in it.
For Allison, it was getting old. “Tell me what happened.”
The shriek had left her voice, but hysteria never completely left it. “Some asshole followed me to the beach. A private beach. I was told it was safe to be myself, do as I please. So of course it ends up on the front page of The Examiner, The Times and The Enquirer.”
Allison couldn’t help but notice there was a bit of pleasure in her boss’ tone. Michelle craved the spotlight, whether naked on a Hawaiian beach or wearing Armani on the red carpet.
She stifled a groan. “Fax me the articles so I can get a jump on it.”
“A jump? That’d be nice for a change. Where are you when I need you? You’re my publicist, not my best friend.”
Right. Her publicist. Not her miracle worker. And Michelle had no friends. Just people who partied with her.
Michelle used to be a friend. Allison used to love this job until Michelle’s partying became a full-time endeavor requiring full-time cleanup. “I’m on my way. Fax me the stories and I’ll get on it.”
She held the phone away as Michelle got in her last digs, as always. Then, silence. She placed the handset back on the charger.
Within two minutes, her fax machine whirred, churning out page after page.
She slapped her hand to her forehead. “What have I done to deserve such punishment? Am I such a terrible person?”
Groaning, she kicked away the bed covers. A plan. Think of a plan.
“Laptop. Book flight.” She sat up. Maybe that would increase blood flow to her brain.
Nope. Maybe coffee would jump-start her thought process.
She shuffled through the loft toward the kitchen, hitting the power button on her laptop as she passed her desk.
Michelle McCarter had leached into every facet of Allison’s life. She convert her loft to an office and devoted all her time to making Michelle the beloved media baby doll. Magazines and newspapers strewn on her sofa raved about her or slammed her, depending on whose publicist did the most talking – herself or Todd, PR guy for Michelle’s soon-to-be-ex-husband James, a musician who could sell out the Wachovia stadium in minutes and lead singer of Flight. Michelle and James’ world allowed them access to anything .Neither seemed to understand celebrity didn’t entitle them to all the things to which they believed they were entitled. Cocooning themselves within a confined circle of friends did not ensure privacy. Far from it. Photographers stalked Michelle and James, especially since their messy breakup, precipitated by affairs and accusations on both sides, followed by her demands for reparation and his laughing response to fuck off.
Allison felt as if she spent her life faxing hyped-up blurbs and statements to the press touting Michelle’s philanthropic good works – mostly fictional – or on the phone, talking down rumors and squelching fires that sprang up everywhere, with no notice. In her three years of marital mayhem, Michelle developed a taste for partying with the richest people on the planet. With no way to rein her in, Allison could only follow behind with a literary brush and metaphorical dustpan.
Others would kill to have Allison’s “in” with this crowd. At this point, she thought murder unnecessary, unless it included Michelle and James. She’d kill for a weekend off. No Blackberry, no laptop. No newspaper or TV. Quiet refuge somewhere with one of the many books she’d bought these past two years with the hope she’d have time to read them before retirement. The golden life her family believed she led took most of her energy to keep polished.
By five a.m., she’d booked a flight to Hawaii, leaving at eleven. She had just enough time to pack and grab a taxi.
Ah, Hawaii. She’d always wanted to go.
Not with Michelle.
***
At the airport, Allison checked in and ran through her mental to do list. She’d forgotten something, she was sure of it. Despite the fact that she kept an overnight bag half packed with spare underwear and flight-friendly toiletries, her brain simply had refused to function since Michelle’s wake-up call. Neither drugs nor alcohol were to blame. As Michelle’s publicist, she had to remain torturously sober.
Her Blackberry buzzed.
Michelle, touch
ing base. Allison had texted Michelle her flight info within minutes of arranging it. Had she forgotten already?
Though it would be another fifteen minutes, at least, she typed: Boarding now. See you soon. Then switched it off.
She hurried into the news store across the aisle. Thumbing through the just-released People, she caught sight of Michelle on the arm of a guy – she had no idea who. The blurb called Michelle a playgirl, slanted it to seem as if she was desperately trying to keep up with her rocker ex-hubby.
“Oh, no. Not another one.” Michelle hadn’t seen this one. Yet.
“Yeah. Brainless tart, isn’t she?” said a deep voice.
Allison turned. How had she missed him? A blue-eyed sun-bleached blond. At least six foot three, all muscles. Smiling at her.
She returned his smile, her bloodstream turning effervescent, and her knees turning to jello. “Yeah. Poor little rich girl.”
From his designer shorts, matching logo polo and beachcomber sandals, he might run in Michelle’s crowd. In fact, with his good looks, he could be a model.
Over the intercom came the announcement: Now boarding, Flight 343 to Hawaii.
“Oh, that’s me.” She shelved the magazine.
His smile widened. “Me too.”
“Oh.” Those two little words infused hope she hadn’t felt in too long. Hope and something else, deeper and darker and more powerful that churned up inside her from some forgotten place.
Maybe her luck was on the upswing. If his smile were any indication, she had reason to hope.
His fingers lightly touched her arm. “Well, I’ll probably see you, then.” He strode to the waiting area, leaving her standing there like a prepubescent girl after her first kiss.
And all he’d done was touch her arm.
“Oh, geez.” She grabbed the magazine and rushed to the cashier, then threw in a novel from a nearby display. This trip, she would make time for an afternoon reading on the beach.
As she handed her boarding pass to the pass taker, she spied the guy from the news stand at the ticket counter, pointing to his ticket and then at the woman’s computer. He leaned against the counter, smiling the same mega-watt smile he’d used earlier on her.
The woman gave him a coy smile and nodded.
At least he had a talent for making a girl feel appreciated. Yeah right. Every girl at whom he aimed his megawatt smile.
With a sigh, she towed her carry-on through the tunnel. He’d have been a distraction anyway. She had work to do.
The flight attendant greeted her with a practiced smile. “All set?”
“Yes. Thanks.” All set for a ten and a half hour flight of strategizing and spinning.
For a jumbo jet, it still reminded her of a bus with wings. She found her seat in the center aisle, second one in. Not far from the rest room, at least. Maybe the flight wouldn’t be overbooked, although from the number of people waiting to board, she’d be lucky to have a spare seat next to her. Room to work, and breathe.
At least her Blackberry would remain in forced quiet during the flight.
She pulled her portfolio from her laptop case and set it on her lap, afraid to open it. As soon as the articles had arrived on her fax machine, she’d shoved them into her bag, then hopped in the shower. Delay tactics only worked for so long. The moment of truth had arrived. She opened it and thumbed through. Eleven pages. Eleven. And these were only the newspaper articles from the past two days. TV and online news sites surely covered more. And then there’d be the inevitable blogger. Uncontrollable, overly opinionated and accountable to no one, they posed the greatest challenge.
Michelle had arrived on Oahu with a bang, and then had the audacity to blame Allison for not doing her job to quell the media. She held up one photo of a topless Michelle prancing in the surf, laughing. Rumors and innuendo could be stopped with logic and tact, but to downplay this photo, she’d need a good explanation. When Michelle’s logic and tact failed her so obviously, Allison had to wonder whether her boss was heading for a breakdown.
A hulking body filled the aisle, stowing his bag in the overhead compartment.
Those shorts. That shirt.
It was him.
She did her best to keep her head ducked, but couldn’t help watching him. When he was near, the very air changed, filled with charged particles that zapped her to attention.
He checked his ticket, looked at her and smiled. His blond hair fell across his forehead as he sat next to her, his shoulder bumping hers. “Hello again.”
The contact of his shoulder on hers sent a warmth through her. Being so close was like entering a magnetic field that raised the hair on her arms and short-circuited her senses. For two years, she’d rubbed elbows with stars of all magnitudes without so much as a blink, and fended off paparazzi following the wife of megastar James McCarter.
With two words, she’d been reduced to the rank of dreamy-eyed teeny bopper.
He smiled and raised an eyebrow.
She realized, then, she hadn’t responded. And her mouth hung open.
Make that drooling dreamy-eyed teeny bopper.
She flashed a smile. Think. Damage control is your business. Put it to good use for once.
“Hi.” Oh, yes. Very witty. What a deft deflection of his charm.
She forced her focus to the articles, but sensed the weight of his stare.
He frowned at her reading material. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to read over your shoulder. I take it you’re a closet fan of the poor little rich girl?”
“In the same way I’m a closet fan of train wrecks, I suppose. I guess you’re not a fan.” Conversation allowed her to openly study him.
“Of hers?” He chuckled. “God, no. She’s awful. Her publicist should be shot.”
Shot. Of course. Working fifty-five to sixty-five hours a week wasn’t enough to keep the spin spinning fast enough for the rest of the world. The one guy who’d interested her in the past two and a half years thought she made a good candidate for execution. Her life was in such a rut, she’d need mountain climbing gear to get out.
“If you’re a fan, I didn’t mean to offend.” Sincerity had wiped the smile from his face.
“Actually, I’m..” She turned and smiled, “…her publicist.”
He sucked through his teeth. “I’m doubly sorry, then. In fact…” He looked at the copies and clicked his teeth. “Triply sorry.”
“Why?” If it earned her his sympathy, she didn’t mind so much anymore.
“You have to put up with her. Clean up her messes. Not a fun job, I expect.” He wrinkled his nose. Not a small nose, it was broad, but not too. A strong, masculine feature, it offset his thickly lashed eyes.
“How aptly put.” She wouldn’t burden him with the mundane details. They all sounded the same after awhile. Straightening the papers, she asked, “But tell me, why should I be shot? Just for the sake of conversation.” She flashed a sweet smile.
His keen eyes caught hers. “More important news deserves the spotlight than Michelle McCarter. I’m a little tired of her image blasting from every newspaper, magazine and TV.”
Finally. Someone not interested in fame. “News such as what? What top five issues deserve the spotlight, then, mister…”
His smile told her he liked the challenge. “Hamilton. Wes Hamilton. Ms?” He poised his hand for her to shake.
Her handshake usually elicited a raised eyebrow, a surprised comment about her strong grip. When she slid her hand in his, a transfusion of warmth and electricity wiped the slate of her mind clean. She nearly forgot to respond. And let go of his hand.
“Allison Morris.”
He peered thoughtfully at her. “Top five? Easy. Climate change. Waste reduction. Ending destructive energy practices and putting renewable energy to work. Ending the war.”
A pretty boy with a brain. How refreshing. “That’s only four.”
He leaned away to study her, a gleam in his eye. “There are many more than five, but if I have to pick only one more,
then I have to go with requiring every household to view more action movies. Preferably those centered on water sports.”
Whoa, didn’t see that one coming. She laughed. “You had me till the last one. Although I was beginning to think you were a politician on the campaign trail.”
He ducked his head. “Worse. A surfer.”
Her hopes dashed like a wave against the cliffs. “A surfer.”
Not exactly an occupation, was it? Bumming from coast to coast in the ever-elusive search for the perfect wave. She’d never have guessed. He seemed more complex than a simple surfer dude, existing “in the moment” until he realized that years had passed, along with all the best opportunities life might have offered.
He knit his brow and pulled his lips into an O but the smile beneath showed he was teasing. “Ooh, lost you again, huh?”
For a publicist, she was too transparent, to him at least. “No, not at all. That must be…” Several words flew to her head but she rejected each. Gratifying? Please. Exciting? Depending on the height of the wave.
Generic. Go generic. “Great.”
She wanted to shrink to the size of a peanut and hide in the snack bag. He still smiled, but at her condescending response. He watched her lips as if preparing for the next lie to escape through them.
“Good. I’d hate to think I lost you.” His smile devilish, he arched a brow. “Twice, in such a short time.”
Tongue-tied, she fought to construct an answer but all she could think about was his lips, curled in that teasing smile. The best way to deal with it would be to kiss him, long and hard. Just grab his head, hold him down and –
She was staring again.
Her neck and cheeks flushed with warmth, and she looked away.
The engines elicited a high-pitched noise. The dreaded noise of takeoff. How she hated it. The flight attendant went through her spiel. Gripping her portfolio, her muscles tightened as the plane taxied down the runway and began its ascent.
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