Page 13 of Upshot

“Well, when you put it like that. Maybe. Just a little,” I answer.

“A little? I’d shoot them in the face if someone did that to me.”

“Mmm, you seem more like someone who likes to stab people. Get in there nice and close,” Peter chimes in. Geneva gives him a death stare.

“Look, I know it's weird. I’m just going to go for an overnight. I just need to see her to get her out of my head. She’s got this hold on me I can’t seem to brush off,” I say.

“And, maybe he’ll get a second-night stand,” Peter adds.

“You’re not helping,” I say.

“Oh come on. Geneva, how often does your brother get to land someone who looks like that?” He points toward the banner.

“You’re an asshole. My brother can get laid by women twice that hot,” Geneva growls back. As much as I appreciate the support from my sister, this seems like it’s heading somewhere I don’t want to go.

“Well, I’m going to leave you two to argue about my bedability. I’ve got a plane to catch.” I slide my suit jacket back on and walk to the door.

“That’s not a word,” Geneva says. I shrug. She does like to get the last word in.

“No kidding, Webster.” I hear Peter tease her. They continue to bicker as I walk through the outer office.

“The plane is waiting for you,” Bernadette says when I reach her desk.

“Perfect. I’ll be back at the end of next week. There are a couple of properties I want to look at in Dallas. I’ll let you know for sure how soon I’ll need the plane sent back.” I walk to the elevator and press the button to go down.

“Rand?” I look up to find Bernadette walking toward me. “Be careful. Let me know if you need absolutely anything.” I smile and step back into the elevator when it opens.

I know everyone thinks I’ve completely lost it. It’s hard to explain why I need to do this. I guess Peter is right when he says I’m not a one-and-done guy.

The car is waiting for me when I get outside. At this time of day, the traffic to the airport shouldn’t be too bad. I pull my phone out the second we pull into the street.

The plane has to be back in California tonight. So, I’m being dropped in Austin in a couple of hours. I’ll drive over to Dansboro Crossing, speak to Brontë, and then, based on what happens there, drive on to Dallas. If I decide to stay a night in Dansboro Crossing, I can always delay my meetings a day.

Randolph Properties owns a sleek little Bombardier Challenger 3500 for these types of excursions. Of course, I didn’t inform the powers that be (my father) that I was making a slight detour. All he needs to know is I’m meeting with several real estate agents about available properties in Dallas.

The plane is too small to warrant an attendant, so I make my drink and settle into one of the leather chairs. Hopefully the alcohol will take the edge off the nerves already firing. I don’t even know what I’ll say to her when I see her. I guess I have a couple of hours to come up with something. Unfortunately, I’m just tired enough that I fall asleep the moment we hit cruising altitude.

The next thing I know, I’m being jostled awake as our tires touch down in Austin. I have a few minutes to gather my composure while we taxi up to the private terminal. The engines shut down, and the pilot steps out from behind the curtain. He lowers the stairs and turns to smile at me.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Yeah. As ready as I’ll ever be.” I climb down the steps. Our other pilot hands me my bag.

“There’s a rental car waiting for you out the front door,” he says.

“Thanks.” I walk through the automatic doors and veer straight toward the restroom. I’ve been in this suit long enough for today. Stepping into a stall, I trade it for a pair of jeans and a button-down shirt. Much better.

The car is right where the pilot said it would be. I throw my suitcase in the trunk and point it toward the west. I’ve never been to this part of Texas. I’m surprised as I wind through the hills at just how pretty it is. New York must have felt like another planet for Brontë.

The map said it was only two hours from the airport, but it didn’t take into account how many times I’d get lost. By the time I manage to stumble into Dansboro Crossing, I’m starving.

Lunchtime has already come and gone. The downtown area seems to have a couple of places to grab something. I pull into a parking space across from one of the nicest looking town squares I’ve ever seen.

Stepping out of my rental, I stretch the kinks out of my back. My attention is captured by a group of small kids and mothers gathered around a woman with a book. Something about her looks vaguely familiar. My eyes scan the block. It’s full of quaint shops, a stunning courthouse, and a pizza place that has my name all over it.

Sliding into a booth by the windows, I stare out at the street. I’m not sure what I was expecting this small town to be, but I’m glad it’s more Norman Rockwell than Children of the Corn. Don’t laugh, I’m completely out of my element here.

My pizza is hot, greasy, and perfect. I inhale half of it before reminding myself that I am fed well. I don’t have to consume it all in one sitting. I throw a handful of cash on the table and walk to the register to pay out. The same friendly woman who waited on me steps up to the register.

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