Fearless Flying (The Vivienne Series Book 1) Page 3

  He finally looks me in the eyes. “It’s late. People are getting stupid drunk and I don’t want to have to keep an eye on you. I’ll call you a cab.”

  I’m so pissed now, I’m sure my face is as red as my dress. “I have a ride and I’ll stay as long as I want to. I never asked you to keep an eye on me.” I throw up air quotes. “I can fucking take care of myself.”

  The condescending, patronizing look on his face when grabs my arm adds fuel to my fire. I twist from his grasp and start to walk away but turn and yell, “fuck off, Danny,” before I’m too far away for him to hear.

  ✈✈✈

  Dom couldn’t hear our conversation but she can see I’m livid. She pulls me up to the bar with her and uses her body to wedge us between two guys so we can reach the bar.

  “I’m sorry, V. I really am but maybe it’s what you needed. It’s finally over.” She’s talking into my ear so I can hear. She seems a little more happy than sorry.

  “He treats me like I’m still fifteen.” I shout back to her.

  She nods her head, acknowledging that she agrees with me then leans in to talk again. “There’s someone here who definitely doesn’t think you’re fifteen.” She turns to look behind the bar and smiles at Sam, my one-night stand.

  “Hey Sam.” Dom shouts and waves him over as she is nudging me under the bar.

  I’m more than shocked to see him. I mean sure, this is where I met him when he was tending bar six months ago, but I hadn’t seen him back since or heard from him, not that I was exactly waiting by the phone. Hell, I don’t even know his last name. I’ve always referred to him as Sam the-one-night-stand.

  It takes him a minute to recognize Dom and me and I’m a little hurt—yeah, I must have been really memorable. Then again, he’s a cute, young bartender that I hooked up with on a whim and tons of encouragement from Dom and Irish whiskey. He was part of my find-another-guy-and-forget-Danny plan. There’s a good chance I’m not the first or last girl to use him for a similar plan.

  It’s clear when he does place my face and he smiles. I’m relieved.

  I smile back. “Hi Sam. How’s it going?”

  “Good.” He’s beaming at me now and I hope it’s because he’s recalling our fling. “What can I get you?”

  Dom practically pushes me out of the way to set up her plan. “My girl V here just got snubbed by this a-hole she liked. She needs a shot of Jameson Black Label and some sympathy.” She winks at him. “And I need a shot of Cuervo,” she adds.

  His eyes ask me if it’s true. I shrug and nod.

  He pointedly says, “be right back,” to me then turns to get our drinks.

  Dom leans into me. “You have to kiss him.”

  I had almost forgotten I agreed to let her pick a guy for me to kiss but once again she is right. Round two of the forget-Danny plan with Sam sounds great right now. Even better, let the asshole see me kiss Sam from his perch at the door—little girl my ass.

  When he sets our shots on the bar I let Dom work her magic. She knows that even with a few drinks in me I’m not forward enough to initiate a lip lock with Sam.

  Dom puts her head on my shoulder and makes a sad face at him. “Too bad there’s no one to kiss her and make it better.”

  He chuckles at her blatant ploy but reaches his long arm across the bar to the back of my neck and pulls me in for a very nice kiss. I’m flooded with memories of kissing him before and all the other things we did too. I kiss him back.

  The crowd around us gets restless because they want drinks and their bartender is too busy making out with Little Red Riding Hood to make them. Their jeers cause us to pull apart. I have to force myself not to look over at Danny. I’m dying to know if he saw it and his reaction. Asking Dom is not an option either.

  I get my answer about twenty minutes later. Dom and I are still at one end of the bar. Luis is there now too, making out with his very drunk fiancée. Sam stops by every few minutes to wink at me and occasionally kiss me. We are both definitely up for round two.

  Luis and Dom pull apart long enough to discuss when they are leaving and if I plan on sticking around to wait for Sam to get off work. I spot him at the other end of the bar, leaning in, listening to someone. When he leans back I see its Danny. Sam looks puzzled, says something to Danny then they both turn to look at me. Holy fuck. He did not just cock block me. I’m off my chair and shoving my way toward them.

  I push Danny aside. (OK, I rub my ass across his crotch and push him back with my hips. I never said I play fair.) I lean across to Sam. “What did he just say to you?”

  He looks a little embarrassed when he admits, “he told me you’re wasted and I need to leave you alone tonight.”

  I turn and glare at Danny. He glares back.

  “What is your fucking problem?” I’m screaming in his face. “Who made you my parent?”

  He’s in my face and he doesn’t miss a beat. “Your dad did.”

  “You and my dad need to just get the hell out of my life. You both act like I’m some helpless child. I’ve been taking care of him since I was a kid. I don’t need you to babysit me. I don’t need your help. And I sure as hell don’t need you fucking up my love life!” People around us are staring and trying to move away. Danny puts his hands on my hips and tries to steer me out the back door. I hold my stance and push against him. “Back the hell off, Danny. If I want to go home with Sam and fuck his brains out, I will do it and there is jack shit you can say about it.”

  There may be jack shit he can say about it, but there is evidently something he can do about it. He circles my waist with his arms and lifts my feet off the floor and walks toward the back door. We’re half way there before I can react and try to punch him. I channel years of anger and frustration into my fists as I pound him on one side of his head. I’m not very strong, but I’m sure it still hurts.

  “Vivey, goddammit, stop it.” He sets me down right outside the back door. I step back but only to get some momentum to really slam one into his left cheek. He’s shocked and I think I’ve broken my hand. I curl up around it, moaning and cussing.

  He takes a few breaths to calm down then reaches for my injured hand. I pull it farther under my cape, away from him. “Let me see your hand, Vivey.”

  “No and stop calling me that.” I’m almost in tears now, fighting to regain some composure but the Jameson swirling through my head isn’t helping at all.

  “I’ve always called you that.” His voice is calm and softer, his eyes seem to register hurt and he’s still reaching for my hand. This is nice Danny. This is the guy who’s made me laugh and asked about my life and told me really lame jokes and helped my dad with stuff. This is the guy I put on a pedestal ten years ago; the guy I need to let go of so I can stop hurting myself.

  Luis and Dom are standing in the back door now watching us. I look up at them. “Let’s go.” I turn and walk toward the street though I have no clue where Luis is parked.

  I hear Danny behind me, calling me, “Vivey.” I don’t turn around. I hear him cuss and hit something before I hear the door shut and I assume he’s gone back inside.

  Chapter Six

  It’s rare that I travel with Bob but this week he is speaking at the JetStream Executive conference in Palm Springs, California. It’s a strange event where all of us who work together in Savannah get on planes, ours and commercial, and fly to another location to talk to each other.

  Bob is delivering a State of Sales address, and then the rest of the time will be spent golfing and socializing with other execs. Kara will be there too doing her exec wife things. I will be stressing out until Bob’s presentation is over then he’s asked me to come along on a golf outing. I think it’s his way of trying to reward me for all my hard work but one, I don’t play and two, business social events are almost painfully awkward for me. One on one with someone I know, I’m great but, in a group of people whom I barely know and who outrank me by a mile, I’m tortured.

  The best thing about this trip is that I can
get away from Savannah for a few days and hopefully be so busy that I have no time to think about Danny and our ugly fight or Sam and the shambles that is my social life. No better way to do that than immerse myself in presentation notes.

  Dom didn’t say much on our way home Halloween night or since. I think she’s waiting for my take on the whole debacle. We’ve talked every day but only about my trip, her work at the restaurant and her wedding plans. In retrospect this whole Danny thing had gotten out of control. He was my first crush and yes, that tends to stay with a girl. I was a socially awkward but overly mature fifteen-year-old who was disgusted with boys my own age. Not only was he a smokin’ hot twenty-three year old man, but he talked to me, like real conversations and paid attention to me. This was heady stuff. The fact that he was newly married with a baby was incidental. In my teenage brain I fantasized that he would wake up and realize that his wife was an evil hag and that I was the right girl for him. Then it happened…at least the part where she’s out of the picture, although she left him (more evidence that she’s completely insane).

  So to be fair, I was starting to give up on the whole Danny and me idea until she left. It felt too much like fate. Then I waited a year, and another for him to make a move. It’s not like he didn’t have an excuse to see me. My dad moved to New Orleans to marry Carla about the same time as Danny’s divorce. Dad asked Danny to keep an eye on me and help me out (which is so god-damn annoying in so many ways because I don’t need their help). He could have called or come by my place anytime. But he didn’t.

  I’ve made far too many excuses for him. It hurts like hell to finally face the fact that he isn’t interested in me and alone in my hotel room in Palm Springs I have too much time to think. Hell, I could be anywhere and I’d have too much time to overanalyze the why’s and why-not’s of me and Danny. I’m actually looking forward to the golf outing as a mental distraction.

  ✈✈✈

  It is a beautiful day on the course and the views are stunning. There needs to be a way for introverts to get to hang out in beautiful places like this and not have to deal with other people. So far today hasn’t been too stressful for me. I’m driving the cart and managing the snacks for the group. The wives are here so that allows me to fall off the social totem pole and gives me a chance to get to know Kara a little better, although she is mostly busy chatting up the top exec wives. She really is an asset to Bob. I hope she stays.

  I’ve been pretending that I have something engrossing and important on my iPad all day as an excuse not to have to chit chat. I’m really reading a BDSM romance and kind of enjoying mentally jumping between the dungeon with Master Raffe and the golf course. I’m on a particularly steamy part when I hear someone approach my cart.

  “Don’t tell me you’re working out here.”

  Holy shit, it’s Joel Rockhurst. Why is Joel Rockhurst coming over to talk to me? He’s the god damn CEO of the company. He’s supposed to stay on the course with his buddies and not even notice I’m here. I smile weakly.

  “Oh, no sir.” Then I remember what I was actually doing and cover. “Well, a little.” I sheepishly admit. “I was just checking the flights for tomorrow.”

  He nods his approval. “Joel Rockhurst.” He holds out his hand to shake mine.

  “Vivienne Ramsey,” I say. It’s one of those uncomfortable introductions that happen when you know of someone but don’t know them. “I’m Bob Brockhaus’s secretary.”

  He nods his approval again then says, “what have you got in there?” He glances at the cooler attached to the back of my cart.

  I hop out and open the lid. “water, Cokes and Diet Cokes, Coke Zero.”

  “No tea?”

  “Um, no.” I move the ice around as if that would make some tea appear. “I could run up to the club house and get you some.”

  He smiles at me like I gave the answer he was hoping for.

  “Sweet or unsweet? Lemon? Sugar? Sweetener?”

  Again he smiles and nods. “Unsweet with extra lemon, no sweetener.”

  “Two lemons?”

  “Two would be perfect.”

  I cheerfully tell him, “be right back,” as I start the cart and turn toward the club house. I drive fast because I welcome the chance to get away from him. He makes me nervous.

  ✈✈✈

  Luckily, once I give him his tea Joel Rockhurst doesn’t feel the need to chat with me anymore, but I do catch him looking at me more than once. When I do he doesn’t look away like he’s been caught. I guess you can look at whoever the hell you want when you run the company. I just can’t for the life of me figure out why.

  It doesn’t feel overtly sexual and he’s married. Wife number four is Miss Georgia from three years ago. She is vivacious, stunning, petite—my complete opposite. I doubt our CEO has suddenly developed a thing for quiet, tall, curvy secretaries.

  When we reach the thirteenth hole, I’m able to make excuses about checking on arrangements for tonight’s dinner and beg off. Not that I have one thing to do with planning the dinner, but most of them aren’t too interested in what I’m up to anyway. Bob would know I’m lying but he’s engrossed in making sure Kara is having a good time. I’m secretly planning on skipping out on the dinner and taking the rental car to go have dinner alone at In-N-Out Burger then find a quiet place near the beach to sit and read my book. It’s my true reward for all my hard work.

  I convince Bob that I had too much sun out on the golf course and that I’m taking the car to go get aspirin and aloe. It’s a semi-valid excuse. I am an Irish shade of pale that is usually only seen on people who are already dead and I’ve got some red spots on my shoulders where I missed with my mega sun block.

  In-N-Out doesn’t disappoint. We don’t have them in Savannah and Bob took me to one when we were in LA and got me hooked. The dinner I skipped was over a hundred dollars a plate (wine not included) but I am so much happier with my cheeseburger, fries and shake. My belly is happy and full and the sun is setting when I find a small public park with benches that have a view of the ocean. I find a bench that is a little out of the way but still looks safe and I get back to my dungeon time with Master Raffe.

  I’m more than a little surprised how much this book is turning me on. In real life the idea of being a submissive woman is somewhere between ridiculous and revolting. I’ve always been smarter and more organized and better at taking care of everyone than anyone else I know, especially men. I would no doubt have to show Master how to properly tie the ropes (because I would have researched and practiced beforehand). And then I would end up buying everything for our dungeon time because I can out-shop everyone. Eventually I would be in charge, again. It always happens that way. It can be a great thing, like at work, where I get paid extremely well for it. Or it can be a sucky thing, like at home, where I did everything and my dad still treated me like I was feeble-minded and couldn’t function without him.

  I stop overanalyzing (at least for the moment) and let myself enjoy being turned on. The heroine is crawling across the floor toward her Master, her leash dragging behind her. She has happily submitted to the god-like perfection that is Master Raffe. She is naked (like all his subs). He is dressed. She’s been good and earned the privilege of time alone with her Master and the opportunity to suck his dick. My brain is at war with my hormones as I read this. My brain says she’s a simpering moron but my hormones have me thinking I might want to sign up for that opportunity. It’s been too long. Sam the-one-night-stand was my last sex six months ago and it was fast, drunk and as clumsy as first time sex always is.

  The ringtone I have reserved for Carla pulls me back to reality. I was enjoying my alone time but she rarely calls me so I pick up. She’s not one to call just to chat.

  “Viv?” She’s crying, actually more like sobbing.

  “Carla?” I only hear more sobbing. “Carla? What’s wrong?” A chill crosses my body and I know something horrible has happened.

  “He’s gone.” I know she’s referring to my
dad.

  “Gone? As in left you? Did you guys have a fight?” I’m grasping for the lesser of two disasters.

  “No, baby, gone. Your dad had a heart attack this afternoon. He died, Viv. He died.” She starts sobbing loudly again.

  There is nothing I can say. I can’t seem to find any words. My throat is closing and I can’t breathe. I continue holding the phone to my ear. I’m looking around me at nothing, trying to grasp something that will tell me this isn’t real, that I’m in some horrible dream and that I will wake up in a second.

  Then Carla speaks again. “Oh, god, Viv. This can’t be real. He’s too young.”

  I want to answer her but I still can’t. The food in my stomach starts to churn and I think I might throw it up.

  “Viv? Are you there?”

  Finally a question I know the answer to. “Yeah, I’m here.”

  “Are you at home?”

  I look around again, trying to remember exactly where I am. “No. I, um, I’m in Palm Springs with Bob.” Now my brain has something to grasp onto; planning, organizing. I suddenly know what to do and say. The highly ordered, always-prepared part of me says, “I’m coming there, Carla. I’ll get a flight out tonight. I’ll be there in the morning.”

  “OK.”

  “Do you have someone you can stay with tonight?” I go into mothering mode, taking care of Carla. It feels good, normal, settling.

  “Yeah, I can call my friend Kate.”

  “Good, call Kate. Have her come get you. Take something so you can sleep. OK?” As always the adult/child roles are reversed with me.

  “OK.”

  “Good. Call Kate now, have her stop and get you some sleep meds, then I’ll call you when I land tomorrow. Got it?”

  “Yeah.” She answers weakly. I can hear her softening, relaxing a little as I take over.

  “I’m going to hang up now. As soon as I do you call Kate.”