Desperately Seeking Epic(6)

“How much more time?” I asked.

“Clara,” he said my name sternly. Like if I were a child. “I’m done talking about this. It’s your money, do what you want with it, but don’t spend it planning on a baby anytime soon because that’s not my plan.”

I frowned, my heart sinking deeper in my chest. “Fine,” I mumbled. “I have to go.”

“Don’t hang up while angry with me.”

“I’m not angry,” I lied. “Just tired. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“How long did Dr. Shelton give you off?”

“He said I could have off until Monday if I wanted.”

“Are you at least going to go and check out the place before you tell them you’ll sell your half?”

“I don’t know. I guess I should. I’ll fill you in tomorrow.” I knew I was being short with him, but I couldn’t help it.

“I love you,” he murmured.

“Love you, too.”

After hitting End on the call, I tossed my cell phone away from me to the end of the bed as if by doing so I in some way was hurting Kurt. Sitting up, I pulled my purse toward me and dug inside. I pulled the envelope and brochure out and placed the envelope on my nightstand. I wasn’t ready to read it yet. Opening the brochure, I read over it once more, finding two typos. Apparently jumping out of airplanes doesn’t require good grammar. How could they give these things out like this? It looked completely unprofessional. I tapped a finger on my leg as I stared at my cell. I couldn’t deny I was curious. The reason for which I’d been left this business wasn’t great, but it’s not every day a girl inherits half a skydiving business. Maybe I should go and check it out. What could it hurt? I could overcome my fear of heights and jump. Probably. Maybe. I hoped. Closing the brochure, I found the number on the back and dialed it.

It rang four times and I pursed my lips. How in the hell did this place run? On the fifth ring a deep voice answered, “Sky High.”

Furrowing my brows, I said, “Um . . . hello. I’d like to schedule a jump.”

“When?” he asked simply. Judging by his deep and haughty voice, I imagined some giant of a man on the other end of the line. Then I wondered . . . could this be Paul James?

“Is there anything available tomorrow?”

“Yep. Nine a.m. I need your credit card info to charge the deposit. If you don’t show, we keep the deposit.”

After fumbling through my purse, I found my wallet and gave him my name and credit card number.

“Wear pants and comfortable shoes; tennis shoes are best. Be here twenty minutes early to fill out paperwork.”

“Okay.”

“See ya then.” The line went dead and I tossed the phone back on the bed. I was less than impressed by whomever that was on the phone. How about a little more friendliness? Jackass. How the hell were they getting clients with people like that answering the phone? Maybe selling was my best bet.

Lying back on the bed, I stared up at the ceiling, a noticeable war of confliction battling inside of me. My life was nowhere near what I thought it would be. I thought I’d have a family by now. I thought I’d be happily married. I thought . . . so many things. Closing my eyes, I willed the worry away, telling myself that tomorrow was another day.





I was in the back office when she walked in, all frail-looking, and with her blonde hair tied up in a bun. She was hot in a subtle way. I watched her over the video monitor as she held her jacket in front of her and scanned the pictures on the wall. Why was she twisting her face when she looked at the photos of me? I wanted to murder Marcus for scheduling her so early. If we’d had more than one client to take up, that would’ve been understandable, but to schedule one person for a dive at this hour was a waste of money and most importantly my time. But on the bright side, this was an ample opportunity to watch Marcus in action. I lived for this shit.

Sitting in my ratty office chair, I propped my feet up on the desk and watched.





No one was up front when I walked in. I decided I’d wait a few minutes before calling to the back. At least their poor customer service allowed me an opportunity to check the place out a bit. Holding my jacket tightly to my abdomen to hide my shaky hands, I scanned the photographs on the wall. Most were crooked. Several were warped inside of the frame. The walls were off-white, with random stains here and there. The place was a shithole.

“Se?ora,” a deep, accented voice called to me. When I turned, my brows rose in temporary shock, but I quickly schooled all my features. An elf, he’s a freaking elf . . . shit . . . you’re not supposed to call them that. A little person? I shook my head as I worked hard to look at him without staring. I didn’t want to gawk . . . it’s not like I thought less of him or something because he was little. I wanted to look at him with respect, yet not seem too . . . stare-y. Was that a word? His thick, dark mustache didn’t quite match his blonde hair, which he wore slicked back. He wore what looked like a jumpsuit, like you’d see in a movie like Top Gun, only pint-sized.

“Um,” I cleared my throat, “hi. I’m Clara.” I reached down with my right hand and his smaller one accepted it before bending slightly to kiss it. Was he for real? He’d just kissed my hand . . . what the hell?

“My name is Marcello. I will be your instructor.”