Page 309 of Off Limits: The Firsts

One looks like a flag. Another is black and white like a cow’s spots. One has a K in bright blue on it.

But there is no watermelon. Nothing red with black seeds.

No cry for help disguised as secret spy code.

I’m there for no more than a minute before I turn on my heel and head back to the cruiser.

“Everything okay?” Nate asks as I slide behind the wheel, his voice full of concern.

“Yep. Everything is okay.”

For now.

Slimy bastard.

I can still feel his hands on my shoulders and smell his obnoxious cologne. I can still see the snake oil behind the lunch he brought with him to Blue Skies to conveniently offer to share. I can still hear the implied threat that if I don’t acquiesce to the prick, then my loan might not be approved.

Or funded.

Or maybe if I dated a sturdy man of industry such as himself, the lenders would look favorably upon his stability and be more willing to bargain.

I’m well aware this is all total bullshit. He’s out of his mind if he thinks I don’t see that he’s most likely holding back my loan from approval to string me along. To try to extort a date from me before he tells me if I’ve been approved or not. I’ve provided the correct documentation—a business plan, financial statements, an audit of the company—and yet I’m still dependent on him.

Dependent but not desperate.

No date. No way.

I may be a nomad in his eyes, but this nomad is smarter than he gives me credit for.

And then, of course, his departure was followed up by a phone call from the owners. Their weekly questions about our latest sales figures that segued into why I don’t have the loan yet. That was followed by the casual mention—threat—that regardless of how hard I work for them currently, if the sixty-day escrow falls through, they already have backup buyers in place just in case. Oh, and naturally, the backup buyers are offering a higher buying price, which I find to be total bullshit. But if I call their bluff and don’t play their game, too, do I risk losing out on my dream?

I slam around the training room, moving chairs back in place, resetting slideshows, wiping off the dry erase boards. Anything to calm my temper and rid the room of the slime Chris’s presence left behind.

Everything about me is itching to put my gear on and jump.

“You okay?” Leo asks from where he stands outside the doorway. More than aware of my mood and prepared for a running start should my temper flare.

“Yeah. I’m fine. I’m just . . .” I stop talking, the frustrated tears threatening to make their presence known when I don’t want them to.

“He’s a prick, Em.”

“Yeah, I know. I just wish I could tell him what I really think of him, but I can’t risk the loan.”

“My mom used to tell me never to wrestle with pigs. You both get dirty and the pig really likes it.”

“Smart woman.”

“Just know we all see it and admire you for dealing with him. It shows just how much you want Blue Skies to be yours.”

“Thanks.” I nod but avert my eyes, hoping it will prevent the sting of tears.

“You know Sully is taking one more flight up in an hour, right?”

He has my attention, which I’m sure was his hope. He knows me well enough to know that a jump is just about the only thing that will make me feel better. I’ve been so bogged down with loan stuff and instructing clients, that I need the release . . .

“He is?”

“Yeah. A fun run for some of the crew to get rid of some of the mid-week all-we-do-is-instruct-and-not-jump blues.”