The Girl He Needs Read online

  “Funny enough, Daytona. Talk about coincidence.” I don’t want to creep them out so I smile and give a nonchalant shrug. McRae cuts his eyes to me in what I’m sure is suspicion.

  I dig out a book—a thick science fiction piece I’ve read so many times the spine of the book has a deep, permanent crease that allows the book to lay flat when open.

  “Hey,” McRae says to his brother and taps the laptop screen. “Focus.”

  He could have been saying that to me. The words of the book are lost as my attention continues to stray to McRae, who drives with one hand on the wheel, drumming his fingers to the beat of country music playing on the radio. His shoulders are broad, forcing his shirt to stretch snug against him. I notice the cuff of his sleeve gets taut as he moves his arm, his muscles flexing, and there’s something so manly about him I have the crazy urge to run my hands across his shoulders and down his arms to feel the ripple of muscles. If he weren’t such a stiff I’d consider proposing a one-nighter. Silent guys like him have deep fires that burn wildly once tapped.

  I see the way he inspects the henna-created vines of leaves and flowers decorating my arms, and every time he glances at me, his gaze goes inquisitively to the diamond stud piercing below my lower lip. He’s interested. And, wow, to get lost in this intoxicating pull of magnetism might very well be mind-blowing.

  If only the circumstances were different.

  The ringing of a phone breaks the quiet and shakes me from my thoughts. It’s coming through the Bluetooth of the car. The screen on the dash says Alliance Aviation is calling. McRae answers it on the second ring.

  “Uh, Brinn? Can you hear me?” The voice sounds young.

  “Yeah, you’re on speaker, Smitty, so watch your mouth.”

  “I’m sorry I called, but we’ve a problem here.”

  “What kind of problem? Can’t Becky handle it? She needs to learn how to deal with administrative issues.”

  I look at the book in my lap, pretend to read, and provide some semblance of respecting his privacy.

  “That’s one of the problems. Becky just up and quit. Walked out and—”

  “What! She did what? She was just texting me with questions. She’s only been with us for two weeks. What could have gone wrong?” He sighs heavily, pushing his hands against the steering wheel. His knuckles whiten.

  “Yeah, she got called into Mark’s office; when she came out she cleaned off her desk and left.”

  “You sure he didn’t he fire her?” He bangs his hand against the steering wheel.

  “No from what I could hear, he just chewed her out. But we’ve got other problems.”

  “Like what?” McRae’s tone is clipped.

  My attention is drawn to his jaw and the popping of muscle that tells me he’s clenching and unclenching his teeth.

  Hell with reading, I totally tune into this drama.

  Chapter 2

  “What other problems do we have?” The car accelerates and the energy in the truck shifts from curiosity to urgency, and the budding sexual tension gives way to anxiety. I close my book.

  “That pilot the boss hired didn’t show up today,” the kid, Smitty, whispers.

  Static comes across the line and for a second I wonder if the connection is lost until it sounds as if the phone is being fumbled. Muffled voices break through, and McRae groans. I’m sure he’s figured out what’s about to rain down on him.

  “Brinn?” a man says, clearly holding the phone too close. Brinn’s name sounds garbled.

  Vann looks at me over his shoulder and mouths, “His boss.”

  “Dammit. What the fuck is going on here? You said you could handle this business. If you want any part of it, you’ll figure this out ASAP. How am I supposed to sell part of it to you when shit like this happens? Don’t fuck anything else up. You understand me? You are zero for two.” The words reverberate off the walls of the truck and blend together.

  The rate of twitching in McRae’s jaw increases. I wonder if he counts to ten to calm himself or if his ability to yield easily comes naturally.

  “Listen...” McRae says.

  I admire that his voice is more resigned than pleading, as one might expect in an ass-chewing situation. The fumbling sound returns and the kid comes back on the line.

  “It’s me,” Smitty says. “Just a second.” There’s a pause. “Ok, he’s gone.” Smitty breathes a sigh into the phone.

  McRae glances at me in the mirror, and I’m unable to look away. I know I should but I just can’t, and it has nothing to do with those avocado-colored eyes.

  His glance darts back to the road and he continues the conversation.

  “We have Becky quitting and the pilot not showing up? Do you happen to know why not?”

  “I called him, and he said no one provided any information after the big boss called and offered the job,” Smitty squeaks.

  “Motherfu— Is that all, Smitty?”

  “Well, I guess it’s a good thing the pilot didn’t show up because no fuel’s been delivered yet and we don’t have enough for the lessons schedule today. Not that there’ll be any lessons, so there’s that.”

  McRae groans. He leans back into the driver’s seat and tries to loosen the tension by shrugging his shoulders, but just as soon as he lets them relax, they tighten back up and the vein in his neck pops back out. Poor sap. If only he’d recognize there’s a different way to live. I give a silent thanks to whatever higher power or universal force helped me see the light when I did. Maybe this guy will catch a break too.

  The conversation continues as the miles speed by. “Did you call the fuel company?”

  “I did, they said nothing’s been scheduled and they won’t be able to get to us for another two days. I’m guessing you want me to start calling the students and canceling their appointments.”

  “That sounds about right. Thanks, I appreciate you stepping up.” McRae thumps his hand against the steering wheel in frustration. At least he doesn’t take it out on the messenger.

  “Brinn.” The timid voice comes across the speakers, and I sit up. The bottom is about to drop out, and I can’t help but bear witness.

  “Judas Priest, what now?” McRae growls.

  “Mel walked off the job. Said something about calling his union.”

  I tap Vann’s shoulder and he mouths, “Mechanic.” With a nod, I sit back and wait. There’s no purpose in hiding my interest. I can smell potential legal issues a mile away, an inherited trait, and this train wreck is an ambulance chaser’s wet dream.

  “Is that it or did the building burn down, too?” McRae’s grip on the steering wheel is so tight I wouldn’t be surprised if he ripped the wheel off the column and threw it out the window.

  “Nope, that’s it. Anything special you want me to do?”

  “Nah, just finish canceling the appointments. We should be there in about two hours.”

  “Roger that, boss.” He disconnects the call.

  Wow. Boss. Of what, I’m not sure. Today it must suck to be him.

  “I told you that you were taking on too much.” Vann snaps the laptop cover closed and smiles smugly at his brother.

  McRae punches him in the arm, causing Vann to flinch and rub the spot on his bicep that took the impact.

  One simple interaction—a sentence from one sibling to another—and I’m left feeling a loneliness I’ve managed to push aside for the last two years. I was never close with Stuart but Will... I drop my eyes to my lap and remember how Will made everything wrong in my life right. It was Will who covered my back and got me through those terrible middle school years, who made me feel normal and not like a grade-skipping freak who had no business existing, much less messing up the grading curve.

  The sound of a phone being dialed grabs my attention. Pushing aside the constant ache for what I’d lost seven years ago when Will left, I wait, dare I say excitedly, for the dumpster-fire drama happening before me to continue.

 
The call goes straight to an answering machine and at the beep, McRae starts in. “Mel, it’s Brinn. I just heard from the office that you walked out. I’d like to talk to you about it. I don’t think there’s anything that requires union involvement. I know you’ve been unhappy with the work schedule and—”

  “Hello,” Mel says over the line.

  “Mel, it’s Brinn.”

  “Yeah, I know. Listen. There’s nothing you can say that’ll make me change my mind. I’m gonna file a grievance.”

  “For what?”

  “My list is endless. Work place conditions, heck, it’s almost like harassment.” Except he says harassment like hair-s-ment.

  “Harassment?” McRae looks at me in disbelief, as if I have any clue whether that statement’s valid or not.

  “My wages are a disgrace; my last performance evaluation was a farce—”

  “None of that’s harassment, Mel.”

  “But it’s discrimination. Against an old man who’s close to retirement. You’re trying to chase me out instead of doing the right thing.”

  “How so?”

  “Giving me grief about my doctor appointments. Asking me if I thought the work would be too much when you brought in the other pilot. For what it’s worth, I ain’t nobody’s Pops and I’m offended y’all call me that. I asked you to stop.”

  “Now listen here, Mel. This is bullshit and you know it. Don’t be a dumbass.”

  It’s clear McRae’s about to get on a good roll and light into this clown, but before he can continue I lunge across the console, reach across his shoulder, and disconnect the call.

  “What in the hell? Why did you do that?” He twists in his seat, his glare swinging between the road and me.

  “You were saying way too much. You need to shut up and involve the company lawyer, quick.” I sit back in my seat and pull the seatbelt across my body before producing a notebook from my purse. Funny, mother wasn’t lying when she said geometry wouldn’t come in handy with my day-to-day life, but my Yale law degree would. Score one point for demanding, cold-hearted mother and zero for wayward, disappointing daughter.

  “I don’t see how this is any of your business,” he shouts, before looking back at the road.

  “You’re right, it’s not.” He watches me in the mirror and I meet his gaze. Usually the winner of all stare downs, I relent, instead concentrating on what I want to get on the paper, only looking up briefly when the truck shifts into the other lane and bears down on an exit. He’s totally going to ditch me.

  “There’s no company lawyer. Wouldn’t getting one make things worse with Mel?” Vann asks as he turns and I feel his attention on me.

  Writing furiously, I answer without looking up. “Mel already has a lawyer. I’d say things have already taken a turn for the worse.”

  “How could you possibly know that?” McRae asks.

  I know he’s bright. I know he’s running a company, maybe second in command, and it has gone to shit on him in only a handful of minutes, probably because of his intransigent and controlling nature. Getting him to see what I’ve figure out takes one level stare, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror. I can almost picture the gears in his head working. It takes a second, but he puts it together.

  “He was recording the call.” His eyes shift back to the road but he leans toward the wheel and rakes a hand down his face before giving a weary sigh.

  “How do you know he was recording?” Vann asks. I let McRae answer.

  “He let the answering machine pick up first. Jeez, what did I say?” He mumbles the last part to himself.

  “How does any of this make sense?” Vann asks.

  I lean forward coming to rest between the two front seats. “If he’s documented that he’s asked repeatedly to not be called Pops without success, that’s harassment. If your performance evals reflect the time off he’s taken as negative to his job performance and he’s got clear medical issues, that’s a case for discrimination.”

  “I knew you were spreading things too thin,” Vann says before shifting closer to the door. Apparently, a whack to the arm is a small price to pay to get in another I-told-you-so dig. He turns to me. “I told him hiring old friends who needed a good job didn’t mean they were gonna do a good job. You’d think after two other failures with a personal assistant, my brother would get smart.”

  I hand McRae my notes.

  “What’s this?” He glances between the paper and the road.

  “That’s everything you said. You’ll need to show it to your lawyer.”

  He shoots me fleeting glances. As if he can’t wrap his mind around the fact that I may have just done him a solid. I don’t want to be annoyed, but I am. It’s something I’ve become all too familiar with, this impatience with people underestimating me. They see what they want to. Having an overly large chest doesn’t help my plight, either.

  “Uh, so... I owe you something more than a thank you, but I can’t even think of a way to repay you,” he says. His drawl is as subtle as his brother’s and charming. He gives me what looks like a shy smile. Or one that shows he isn’t familiar with accepting help.

  “We can call it even. Giving me this ride...so...thank you.” Our eyes meet and we smile at each other. I get the impression from the way he shifts awkwardly in his seat that he doesn’t like being in debt to anyone, either.

  I can’t stop myself from asking and change my attention to baby brother. “What did you mean, Vann, about hiring friends?” I wonder about McRae’s intentions. The picture being painted is one of a genuinely nice guy. But I’ve yet to come across one in my travels, and I need assurance that my sense of people’s character hasn’t taken a sudden cliff dive. That the road isn’t making me too jaded and cynical. I could have stayed home and achieved that with far more comfort and luxury.

  Vann turns to look at me, and I glance at the eyes watching me in the mirror. McRae does an eye roll before looking back at the road.

  “Brinn has this idea that he can help some friends from the old neighborhood. Friends who are capable of working but don’t. What my brother doesn’t understand is not everyone is as driven to change their lives as he is. They think they’re getting a free ride but this guy”—he cocks a thumb to his brother—“makes a workaholic look lazy and a taskmaster gentle.”

  McRae chuckles and shakes his head.

  If I ask the next obvious question, I will be prying for sure and I’ll forever know things about these brothers I’m not sure I want to know. I’m not looking to play twenty questions and divulge anything more about my life. So I keep it simple. “Oh, I see.”

  Perception of his character—intact. It’s a relief to know McRae may be the worse businessman ever but at least he has a bleeding heart to balance it out. Oh, how my father would cringe at the thought.

  “What are you hoping to find in Florida?” McRae asks, glancing between the road and his ever-chiming cell phone. Business never stops for him.

  It’s an odd question. Usually people want to know what brings someone to a destination.

  I want to find my brother. I want to know why he cut me from his life. I want to know why I can’t connect with people, why leaving is so easy. I want to know what it is I want. But what do I say to this stranger?

  I hesitate before deciding on my fondest wish. “I’m reconnecting with my brother.” If I say it enough maybe it will come true.

  “So where can I take ya? I have to swing by Daytona Beach first and check in with the shop, but after that I can take you anywhere. It’s the least I can do.” I’m pulled in by his soft southern drawl and the way he says “ah” for I.

  “Actually, Daytona Beach is perfect. No need to take me anywhere else. Just drop me off at a motel that’s close to food and shopping. I need to get a charger for my phone.”

  “The Sleep Inn in Ormond Beach is perfect,” Vann tells us.

  “We should be in town in thirty minutes,” McRae says over his shoulder. “Are yo
u sure you want a motel? It really isn’t any trouble to take you anywhere. To your brother’s or something?”

  I recognize his need to provide. He’s a control freak, just like my father, like my mother for that matter. He wants to manage me, either to ensure he’s done the right thing or because I’m a loose end to him. The difference between this guy and my father is that if I were to end up dead in my hotel room, McRae would probably feel he shouldered some of the responsibility, even if he never saw me again. My father would never go that far.

  “No, thank you. The Sleep Inn will be fine.”

  “There’s a Walmart across the street and lots of food,” Vann says.

  “Perfect,” I say and smile. I’m starving.

  As we’re pulling into the motel parking lot, I take in the convenience of its location. I can easily get by without a car for a while as I try to get organized. I know I have to watch my budget, but I’ve done a good job of being frugal over the last two years. Selling off my BMW Coupe when I set out on this journey was the smartest move I made, hands down. I’ve been able to find enough work along the way to avoid dipping into my emergency funds, and I want to keep that momentum going.

  McRae idles for a minute before he turns off the engine. His eyes flick to the clock on the dash and then to me. I’m sure he’s anxious to get to his business.

  “I don’t feel right leaving you here,” he says.

  I’m already pushing open the truck door. I reach for my rolling suitcase and toss it out of the truck. Both Vann and McRae leap out and come to stand by my door. Vann takes my suitcase and pulls up the handle. McRae reaches out and takes my tote, yoga mat, and purse. He offers me a hand to help me out of the truck, but I slide out on my own.

  I smile at the brothers as I take my bags. “I’m fine. This is perfect.”

  “Here’s my business card. It has my cell number on it. Don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything.” McRae passes me the small stiff card. I give it a quick glance, taking in the blue tones he used, but purposefully don’t look at the information. I don’t want my brain to store any of it.