Page 40 of Fumble

Chapter Twelve

FAITH

San Francisco has beena comedy of errors, ailments, and fights, but as we board the plane for Seattle, I’m reluctant to leave it all behind. Hunter canceled three days of appearances, and I’ve had him all to myself. Since he conceded victory on our initial wager, he seems more laidback. He still won’t let me get him off, which is extremely frustrating, but I’m biding my time. I know this isn’t easy for him. He wants to do the right thing. I also know he’s enjoying every second of the slow, sensual torture he inflicts on me.

Since my live O-show, it’s been strictly PG, above the waistline action. I think my black and blue va-jay-jay is somewhat to blame. I want to rut against him like a wild spider monkey, but the minute I come up for air, his gentlemanly tendencies kick in, and I’m back to tonsil tennis.

Like a sappy YA romance, I’m caught up in the excitement of talking with him for hours on end. Listening to him regale me with stories of his friend, Cooper, I get the impression that if I introduced him to Zoey, it would turn into a blooper reel from Weekend at Bernie’s, and a small part of me really wants to spend a weekend with both of them!

I’m traveling incognito with the rest of the staff today, and yes, as predicted, flying coach now sucks. The luck of the draw has me seated next to Malcolm. Fuck my life.

“You feeling better? Quite a scare you gave everyone, especially Hunter.”

“I’m fine. Sorry I was such an inconvenience to the team.”

“No offense, but I’m wondering why Hunter saw fit to cancel everything on account of you being ill. If I were sick, he wouldn’t bat an eyelid. He certainly wouldn’t rearrange everyone else on my behalf.” I’m not sure where he’s going with this. He’s already told me to stay away from Vaughn.

“No offense, but if you were a friend of my father, then I’m sure Hunter would give a rat’s ass about you. My dad is pretty intimidating at the best of times.” I know I shouldn’t have said it, but everything about him gets under my skin. He’s the worst type of sleazy little man with an obvious Napoleon complex.

“That’s right. You’re the nepotism hire,” he says with an evil grin.

“So, that means my competence is somehow negated? Nepotism only gets your foot in the door. What you do when you get there is what counts. Am I not doing a good job? By all means, tell me what I need to do to measure up to your standards.”

“You should mind your tongue, little girl. I’ll have you out the door so fast your head will spin.” There’s a sting in his tone.

“What is it that threatens you? That I’m a Fairchild or that Hunter gives a damn?”

“We all know what Hunter cares about most. You’re just another willing cunt for him to fuck.” My blood is boiling, and there’s nowhere for me to escape.

I rifle through my purse, searching for my AirPods. Nothing says this conversation is over quite like drowning someone out to the dulcet tones of The Weeknd.

Closing my eyes, I attempt to calm myself. Malcolm rests his hand on my arm.

“Did I offend your tender sensibilities?”

“Why? Did you mean it in a nice way when you implied that I’m whoring my way into Vaughn’s good graces?”

“I never said that.”

“Like hell, you didn’t. Please tell me how I misconstrued that I’m nothing more than a willing cunt. Attractive young woman is doing a good job, so that must mean she’s using her ass to get ahead, right?”

“You misunderstand me. I’m simply looking out for you. You don’t want to be just another notch on the bedpost, do you? Pretty young thing like you.” I turn up the volume, my pulse racing.

“We’re not talking about this anymore. Men like you are always the same.” That gets his hackles up.

“Men like me?”

“The man standing in the shadow of greatness.” He looks shocked. “So close you can almost taste it, but it’s never going to be you.”

His fingers trail the top of my leg before grabbing between my thighs. I try to push him away, but he’s too strong, holding me in place as his mouth dips to my ear.

“If I want it, I’ll fucking take it, little girl. Don’t cross me again, or you’ll be sorry.” Letting go of me as if nothing happened, he reaches for a magazine, flipping through the pages with a repugnant self-satisfied grin.

I can’t catch my breath, the contents of my stomach fighting to get out. Choking it down, I attempt to steady myself before unbuckling my belt and heading for the safety of the cabin restroom.

Squeezing my eyes tightly shut, I attempt to block out everything else, focusing on the hum of the engine, the thought of Hunter’s protective embrace. He’d lose his shit if he caught wind of this. Thankfully, he’s safely tucked up in first-class, oblivious. My phone keeps pinging, and I can see that it’s him, but I’m not going to risk answering right now. I’m not sure I could form a coherent sentence. I can hear a line of angry passengers waiting to use the restroom, but I’m barely holding it together, tears streaming down my face.

When an attendant finally knocks on the door to ask if I’m all right, I manage to choke out an unwavering truth.

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