Matt didn’t tell Darien about Little Miss Rainbow moving in with me to be malicious, and even though he’s a fucked-up person, he doesn’t bad-mouth people unless they do some shady-ass shit. Sometimes, he gossips more than the women on Golden Girls.
I rub my hand on the back of my neck, averting my eyes to the nurse with short blonde hair winking and smiling at me. I don’t acknowledge her and glance back at Darien.
“You fucking like her,” he states like it’s a fact.
“I don’t like her. I love how her pussy would feel around my dick. Two different things, D.”
“Bull. Shit. I know you like the back of my hand. Spill your bullshit to someone else. You help women but your spiteful ass wouldn’t move a woman into your home unless you’re feeling her,” he says.
“Are we gonna stand here and talk about my shitty love life? Or are we gonna talk about American Banking and getting it out of the shithole?”
He shoves his hands in his pants pockets, leaning against the wall. “A guy named Oliver contacted me, wanting to buy twenty-five percent of the company and come on as a board member. He lives in Atlanta, Georgia. I interviewed him over the phone. I would meet with him, but we just had Cydney. Alana needs me to stay home with her for the first few weeks.”
“How much is he offering to put in?” I lean against the pale walls as a nurse passes out food trays to each room.
“Thirty mil, that should cover the cost of the loss. I told him to let me run it by you before I take his offer.”
“All right. Send me his contact info. I’ll see if I can fly out later this week to meet him in person. I want to see what his motives are before letting him become a board member.”
If you’re going to choose a business partner, you choose one like you’re going to marry them. Someone who is open to communication, who is loyal and committed. If you don’t, it can leave you emotionally drained and paying money out the ass like it’s alimony.
My phone buzzes and I pull it from the back pocket of my jeans. I click on the bubble; it’s a text from Cora.
Cora: Can u come get me? Mom forgot to pick me up from my ballet lesson.
Me: I’m on my way.
I hit send and tuck my phone back into my pocket.
“I have to go.”
Right before I turn on my heel, he grabs my shoulder. “I noticed in meetings when you’re not paying attention to Gia, she looks at you like you hang the moon in her world. Ask her out, Gunz.”
Darien has always been a family man, wanting a wife and kids. He’s been a lot happier since he divorced his druggie ex-wife and married Alana a year ago.
“Darien?”
“What?”
“Shut the fuck up.” I smile.
I’m getting my ass handed to me by a twelve-year-old in a game of Mortal Kombat. I decided to take Cora to Dave and Buster’s instead of home. I called Rylee multiple times, but she hasn’t picked up. It isn’t the first time she forgot about Cora. Last month, she left Cora at her school until five and I had to pick her up. When I confronted Rylee about it, she had some bullshit excuse that she lost track of time.
“Ha, in your face like toothpaste.” Her auburn ponytail sways back and forth as she fist-pumps the air. The brightly colored bracelets dangle around her wrist.
“For a twelve-year-old, you do talk a lot of sh—crap,” I say as we walk through the sea of people. This place is the adult version of Chuck E. Cheese. They have an arcade for kids, but they also cater to adults, having a bar and pool tables. I want to drink but refrain from it with Cora around.
“You’re just mad because you got your hiney beat.” She tugs on my arm toward a game where you throw balls at a clown. We’ve been here pretty much all day, and I’m ready to go to my condo so I can have a drink and catch up on some work I missed from last week.
“Tuxedo, are you okay?” She slides the power point card through the holder, then tucks it in her pocket. The clowns pop up on the shelves and she grabs a ball, throws it, and misses a clown.
“Yeah.” I rub the back of my neck.
“We can go after this game.”
“No. I’m fine.” I grab a white ball and toss it at the clown.
“Are you ashamed of me?” she asks out of the blue. Sadness colors her face. The game is over, and she grabs her tickets and stuffs them in a large empty cup from the table. “Because Momma said that you are, and that’s why you won’t take me to meet Alana.”
Why the fuck did Rylee tell her shit like that? For the last few weeks, Rylee has been like this. Putting shit in Cora’s head and asking for more money from me. She’s been acting weird since Ellis’s insurance money ran out. My anger is climbing up my spine, and I ball my fists but keep them glued to my side.
“I tell you what. I’ll pick you up on Labor Day, and you’ll be able to meet Alana then. Okay?”
“You promise?” Cora asks, her eyes meeting mine.
“Yeah.”
We head to the little store where you can cash in tickets for a prize. The line is so long it reaches the door.
Cora looks like a ballerina and an emo kid morphed into one. Her black short-sleeve shirt hugs her tiny frame and she’s wearing black leggings and a pink tutu with matching Converse complete her outfit. I bought those shoes for her last week.
Cora bites her glittery index nail like Alana does when she’s nervous. She reminds me so much of Alana when she was her age. I can’t believe I missed twelve years of her life.
“Are you excited about going to the seventh grade?”
“I am, but my boyfriend won’t be there. He was so mad I’m leaving, but I told him that we can Snapchat each other.”
“You’re not supposed to have a boyfriend.”
We move as the line moves.
“Momma knows.” She shrugs.
Yeah, like that’s going to stop me from putting my foot down.
“Your mom and I will have a talk real soon. What’s his name?”
“Liam. He’s super sweet. He bought me a heart necklace, and we’re supposed to go on a supervised date. Momma is so uptight about it. We want to be alone, you know? What are we going to do alone, anyway?”
I know what’s on his mind at that age. When I was twelve, I was going through puberty. I discovered that my right hand can make me come in a matter of seconds. I just didn’t understand what the white stuff coming from the tip of my dick was.
“Has he kissed you yet?”
I really didn’t want to know, but I wonder if she is having sex. I’ve heard some kids start as early as ten, but she hasn’t started her period yet—well, at least, she hasn’t told me. Has Rylee had the talk about the birds and bees?
“Oh, no, that’s third base.”
“Third base?”
“Yeah, like the baseball field, crazy.”
“What’s first base and second base?”
“First base is holding hands, and second base is hugging and we hug a lot.”
“We’ll just keep it at first base. Okay, kiddo?”
“I really want to go to third base.” Her round cheeks turn rosy red as if she’s embarrassed. “I’ve been practicing with Talon, so when the chance comes I’ll know what to do.”
Talon is her best friend since kindergarten.
“Okay, um.” I have no idea how to deal with this. “You shouldn’t be practicing with your friends. You should wait until you’re thirty. Like me.”
“That’s too old. I really want to kiss him, though. I really like Liam.”
It’s our turn in line, and Cora hands the lady the cup of tickets. The lady hits the register.
“You have two thousand tickets.” She points to the wall with stuff behind the glass. “You can choose from over there if you want to spend all the tickets.”
We move to the section, and Cora taps her fingers on her chin.
I’m glad the kissing conversation is over because this is too hard. Everything about this is hard.
“There’s nothing I wan
t over here.” She sighs. “Let’s play another game.” She eyes the arcade room. “I want to beat you at Mario Kart.”
“If you beat me, I’ll buy you Final Fantasy XV.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, get your debit card ready because you’re going to lose.”
“Rainbow, get in here,” I say, before setting the phone down on the table. Ten minutes later, she strides into my office wearing a long-sleeve cream blouse and a white skirt decorated with black polka dots and hot pink pointy heels.
Every day, she wears a pair of brightly colored heels. Luckily, I’m sitting in my executive chair and she can’t see how hard I am.
A walking rainbow.
Even her presence brightens up the room.
She sits in the chair in front of the desk with her iPad in her hand, staring at me, waiting for me to bark my next order. Even though she isn’t the best PA, I give her props for trying. I respect someone who works hard, regardless of how bad they suck at it. We haven’t spoken since I bled my heart in the text message about her being my new addiction. Because frankly, she doesn’t have a choice in the matter.
She knows she wants me.
I know she wants me.
If I don’t take control, I’ll be stuck riding the friendzone bus, and I’m sick of it. This does not mean I want to be her boyfriend, run off into the sunset, and live happily ever after like a Disney fairytale.
It means I’ll woo her until she gives me the opportunity to fuck every hole on her small body.
Besides, she needs someone who’s normal, not someone who has five bags of psychological issues. I’m aware I’m fucked in the head, and I’m not going to ask someone to deal with my shit. Hell, I don’t want to deal with my shit.
“Go home and pack a bag. We’re going to Atlanta tomorrow morning.”
Her amber eyes widen. She assesses me like Michael Myers busted through the door and is about to hack us to death. “Why?”
“I have a business meeting with Oliver.” After speaking to him this morning, he seems like a down-to-earth kind of guy. We’re supposed to have dinner at his house and meet his wife and kids. “Take my card and buy a nice-ass dress for dinner, wear something bright.”
My spending habits on women never included whisking them off on a trip with me. I didn’t even take my own sister when I had business trips. So taking Gia with me is a big step.
“No. I can’t get on a plane. I’ll be sick tomorrow.”
“It isn’t a plane, it’s my private jet and sickness doesn’t work that way.” I lean back in the chair.
“You said during my interview you go on business trips alone. So why do you need me?”
Smartass. I love it.
“Have you forgotten your role? I’m your boss, you’re the employee. This is strictly business, Gia. Don’t get your pink thong in a twist.”
I kept a few of her clean panties in my drawer. She used my bed to finger-fuck herself, and I used her panties to jack off. Now, we’re even.
“I have to read the documents Mason sent over.”
“You can do it on the jet. Take the rest of the day off. Go pack and buy a dress. Don’t make me repeat myself.”
She gets up from the chair and tucks the iPad under her arm. “I’ll pack, but I’m not spending your money. I can buy my own dress.”
Jesus, what’s with this woman? Though her independence is turning me on. There is no more blood in my brain as it travels to my dick faster than a race car. “But you buy colorful gel pens and lunch on my credit card.”
“Well . . . Yeah, that’s when I was working paycheck to paycheck, and my rent wasn’t super-duper cheap. I didn’t have any money left after paying my student loans.” She turns on the balls of her feet, and her ass sways back and forth as she leaves my office.
Gia
My heart beats hard and rapidly like it’s trying to break free from my ribcage.
We’re going to die, we’re going to die. We’re. Going. To. Die.
My hand shakes as I pull the seat belt over my body, then I grip the armrest so tight my nails dig into the ivory cushion.
I’ve never been on a private jet before. If it wasn’t for my job requirement, I would never have set foot in one.
Last night, when Gunner came home smelling like a bar, I begged him to let me sit this meeting out, but he told me not a chance in hell.
He slouches in the chair next to me, removing his iPad from his briefcase, placing it on his lap. I close my eyes and say a silent prayer. I’m not religious by any means, but I really need to hold on to some kind of hope we’ll make it through this flight in one piece.
The thought of not having control over the jet terrifies me. My life dangles in someone else’s hands.
At least in a car, you can swerve off the road and get help immediately, but with a jet, if we go down, we will die, catch fire, turning into a piece of burnt toast.
“Are you okay? Your face looks white.” He uses his large hand to palm my cheek. I wish I could say that his touch is comforting, that he’s keeping my anxiety from going nuts in my chest.
“I-I-I . . .” I clear my throat. “I’ve never been on a plane.” I manage to get the words out. “I-I’m s-s-scared.” I bite my bottom lip as unshed tears sit at the corner of my eyes. “W-we’re g-going to die.”
“Hey, hey, it’s okay, you’re safe. Plane crashes barely happen.”
“I-I shouldn’t have googled jet crashes.”
He lifts the armrest that separates us and scoots next to me. “Hold my hand.” His tone is gentle. Hesitantly, I entwine my small fingers with his big ones, and he rests our hands on his thigh. I squeeze his palm like I’m holding on for dear life. His expensive cologne permeates the air surrounding us as I lay my head on his shoulder. As my palm grips his, I feel so protected, like he’s my dark knight in shining armor. And I don’t like it. I want to hate him so much, but I can’t. Instead, I crave him.
Tears leak from the corner of my eyes.
“Shh . . . don’t cry, Rainbow,” he soothes me like I’m a wounded child needing protection as the pilot announces that we’re taking off.
I’m glad this is Gunner’s private jet because this would have been ten times more embarrassing with people around.
As we take off, it shakes, my ears pop, and I glance around, hysterical.
“T-the jet is shaking, and there’s a popping noise in my ears,” I yell as I violently shake.
How the heck do people deal with this? I need to get off this thing ASAP.
“It’s normal.” He tilts my chin to look at him; his eyes are warm like an oven. “You have to face your fears, Rainbow. Be strong.” His breath massages my cheek. “You got this. Breathe in through your nose and out your mouth.”
Closing my eyes, I inhale a lungful of air and exhale through my mouth for several minutes. My heartbeat slows as I repeat the ritual a few times.
We’re quiet for a while and then Gunner says, “I have a bed if you want to lie down.”
I lift my head and look around. There’s a sitting area with a gray couch and a flat screen sitting on a television stand.
“No, I want to stay here with you.” I study the stubble on his chin. It looks nice on him, making him look edgier. “I feel safe with you.”
I can’t believe I said that out loud. My eyes wander to his azure eyes with specks of gold around the irises. Could he get more beautiful? It’s like God hand-carved him.
“Why are you scared of flying?” he asks.
“I don’t have control of the jet. If we go down, we’ll die and there’s nothing I can do about it.”
“You can have control of a car and still die, Rainbow.”
“But you have a better chance of surviving in a car.”
He shakes his head. “You’re safer on a plane than a car.”
“How?” I highly doubt that.
“Well, think about it.” He pushes a strand of hair behind my ear. “When you’re in
a car, you have to worry about another car hitting you, but in a plane, you don’t have that problem. If something goes wrong, it’s usually something mechanical.”
I never thought about it like that.
“This should help with your anxiety.” He lets go of my hand and grabs his headphones from his briefcase, plugs it into his iPad, and rests the headphones over my ears.
He taps a finger on the screen and an old rock song booms in my ears. I don’t know why it didn’t dawn on me to use music to help cope with my anxiety.
As soon as the song is over I pull the headphones from my ears and rest them around my neck.
“I like this song. What’s the name of it?”
“Here Comes the Sun by the Beatles.” Gunner wraps his arm around my waist, then draws invisible circles on my thigh. His touch is comforting, soothing. My breasts are heavy and butterflies swim in my stomach.
“Oh, is this a new group?”
“You’ve never heard of the Beatles?” He blinks rapidly. “Where have you been living? Under a rock?”
“Shut up,” I say, jabbing him in the ribs.
“I don’t know if we can be friends. I mean, all my friends know about the best band on the planet.” A smile slices across his face.
“Who says we’re friends?” I ask.
“I did. The friendzone bus is lonely, Gia.” His breath tickles my ear. “I’m ready to get off it.”
I twist my head toward the window so he won’t see my involuntary smile. The sad part of his statement is that for so long I wanted him to be more than my friend.
I clear my throat and change the subject. “Is this your favorite band?”
He nods his head. “Yeah, my ma used to play their songs while she’d clean the house when I was a kid, and ever since then I’ve been hooked on seventies and eighties bands.”
“Oh.” I yawn. “Maybe we can swap playlists. I listen to everything from rap to rock.”
“Sure.”
“Thanks for everything.” I’m not just thanking him for calming me down from my fear, but for everything he has done for me.
Chasing Gunner Page 8