Desperately Seeking Epic Read online

  “You’re going to get us sued one day, ya know?”

  “Nah,” he laughs. “It’s all in good fun.”

  “Let me at least get their credit cards before you come out.”

  He lifts his sparkly blue eyes to meet my gaze, his stare filled with mirth, and winks. He lives for these three days a month when I allow him to be a prankster. The corner of his mouth lifts in a slight smirk. “Of course.”

  Heading out front, I flip the OPEN sign and unlock the front door. Sipping my coffee, I check to make sure the waiver forms are on the clipboards and plenty of pens are in the cup in the center of the table. The doorbell jingles and Larry and Bowman walk in, both laughing.

  “Morning, boss,” Larry calls.

  “Morning, Clara,” Bowman follows.

  “Morning, guys. Heads-up, Marcus is in the back prepping, so you better make yourselves scarce or he’ll get pissed.”

  “Oh, shit,” Bowman chuckles. “It’s the fifteenth.”

  Bowman and Larry are former military, both paratroopers during their time in service. They’re my most reliable and highly trained jumpers. They’re not cheap either, but aside from their experience they’re both extremely attractive and my female clientele flock to them like flies on shit. Larry is your classic Tom Cruise, with dark hair and eyes, and Bowman is a blue-eyed stud with a knee weakening smile. Since word of mouth is my best advertisement, I pay their hefty commission and they flirt their asses off with anything with breasts.

  “How many today?” Larry asks as they pass by me.

  “Twenty-five.”

  “Yes,” Bowman coos. “Perfect day for jumping, too.”

  Ten minutes later, our first two jumpers come in; a big guy and a tiny brunette. It’s always a mystery on who Marcus will pick in these situations. I never know because there’s really no rhyme or reason to his choosing.

  “Bradley?” I question.

  “That’s me,” the big guy responds.

  I run through the formal greeting with them and hand them all their waivers to fill out and sign, basically stating they can’t sue us if they get hurt, and their families can’t sue us if anything happens to them. After I offer them coffee, Bradley hands me his credit card to pay for their jumps. As I turn to leave them to their paperwork while I run his card, the door jingles, causing me to turn back.

  My heart drops to the floor and I suck in a deep breath as memories from what seem like a lifetime ago crash over me.

  I don’t do happily ever after.

  He’s here.

  Paul has come home.

  “I don’t understand,” I repeated for the thousandth time. “He’s leaving me his business?”

  Mr. Mateo leaned back as he removed his glasses and tossed them on the desk. “Half his business. The other half he’s leaving to his nephew. Paul, Mr. Falco’s nephew,” he explained, “is interested in buying out your half.”

  “It’s a skydiving business?” I questioned. He’d already told me this, repeatedly, but for some reason I couldn’t quite wrap my head around it. The fact I was even sitting in this office was mind-boggling, let alone apparently inheriting a skydiving business. The anxiety was enough to choke me. My hands were knotted in my lap, my knuckles white from squeezing so hard.

  “That’s correct, Ms. Bateman. A prominent one in the area, at that. Mr. Falco was a great business man.”

  “How wonderful for him,” I sneered, clenching my hands tighter. I hated myself for even being there. Did Dennis Falco really believe by leaving me half of his business he would somehow be absolved from the horrible thing he did? Did he think I would just forgive him?

  Mr. Mateo sat up, his fancy leather desk chair squeaking as he shifted his weight, and opened the folder in front of him. After slipping his glasses back on, he grabbed an envelope and slid it across the desk to me. “He asked that you get this letter.”

  A letter? What could this man have to say to me? I’m sorry for what I did? I’m sorry I ruined your life? I stared at the legal-sized envelope, debating whether or not I should leave it. Wouldn’t that be the ultimate middle finger to Dennis Falco? Then Mr. Mateo grabbed what looked like a brochure and placed it beside the envelope. Hesitantly, I picked up the brochure and read over it.

  The brochure was covered with pictures of what appeared to be clients on their jumps, with pictures taken while in the air. Opening it, in the center was a photo of a tan-complexioned man, Italian maybe, with big brown eyes and the most beautiful smile I’d ever seen. He looked like he had a thousand teeth all perfectly placed. He’d definitely had braces at some point in his life—teeth were a specialty of mine. And he had the cutest dimples—as if he wasn’t already gorgeous enough.

  Above his picture in bold lettering was: MEET EPIC, STUNTMAN EXTRODINAIRE.

  “That’s Paul James. He’s your partner,” Mr. Mateo volunteered.

  “They call him ‘Epic’?”

  “He was a movie stuntman until he got injured. That was a few years ago. He’s a bit of a draw for the business.”

  Moving my gaze back to the envelope, I continued debating whether I should take it or not. “Does his nephew know about this? About him leaving me half?”

  “He knows half of the business was left to someone, but not who.”

  “This is . . . surreal,” I managed.

  Mr. Mateo gave a sad smile. “The business is very hands-on. Mr. Falco jumped almost every day until he got too bad off to. His nephew, Paul, also jumps every day. While the business is successful and profitable, your half would only sell for forty or fifty thousand judging by the numbers I’ve been provided.”

  “How long do I have?”

  “Thirty days. In thirty days if you have not taken possession it will be sold to Paul and you’ll be paid the value of your half. I hate to cut this meeting short, but I have an appointment across town, but here’s my card.” He slid the tiny card beside the envelope and stood. “If you have any questions, please feel free to contact me.”

  Numbness blanketed me as I grabbed the envelope and card and slipped them in my purse. The man who killed my parents, robbed me of a beautiful childhood with my mother and father, left me half of his skydiving business. This is the kind of shit you just can’t make up.

  After I left Mr. Mateo’s office I headed back to my hotel room, feeling completely deflated. I’d only arrived in Virginia the day before and I already hated it. It was eighty-five degrees when I landed and that day it was forty-two. My allergies were going nuts, and it felt like someone had dropkicked me in the face.

  After shedding my dress pants and heels, I slid on my favorite sweats and lay on my bed. I looked at my cell and sighed. No new messages. Kurt must’ve had another hectic day, but I dialed him up anyway, knowing he’d probably be interested to hear what the lawyer had to tell me.

  “Babe,” Kurt answered.

  “Hi,” I squeaked, surprised he answered on the first ring.

  “How’d it go today?”

  “Well,” I sighed. “Apparently I’m the proud half owner of a skydiving business.”

  Silence.

  “Kurt? You there?”

  “Skydiving?” he questioned.

  I rolled to my side and let out a longer sigh. I seemed to be doing a lot of that lately. “Yes. He left me half of a skydiving business.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted, letting my gaze flick to my purse. “I’m guessing it’s his way of saying he’s sorry.” I paused as I glanced again at my purse, where the letter Mr. Mateo gave me remained. “He left me a letter.”

  “What does it say?”

  “I haven’t opened it yet. I’m not sure I want to.”

  “Babe,” Kurt said his pet name for me, his underlined pity prevalent in his tone. “Are you okay?”

  Licking my lips, I inhaled deeply and nodded yes a few times before answering. I know he couldn’t see me, but I guess I was confirming it with myself first. I am okay. I will be okay.

  �
�Yeah. It’s just . . . hard, I guess.”

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there. Things have been so hectic at work.”

  “I know,” I assured him, even though I really wished he would’ve come with me. “I’m okay. I have to decide what to do within thirty days or they’ll automatically sell my half and give me the money.”

  I finished telling Kurt what the attorney said. I also told him about this so-called man they called Epic, too. “What are you going to do?” he asked.

  “Is it wrong I’d like to sell it and burn the money?”

  He chuckled, the sound deep and comforting, warming my heart. “I think we could come up with a better use for that money. Even if you only donate it to charity or something.”

  I bit my lip, wondering if I should say what I’d really like to do with the money. The last time I brought it up Kurt seemed panicked at the thought. “We could use it to have a baby.”

  “Clara,” he groaned. “We’ve discussed this a million times.” I rolled my eyes with his words.

  “It was just an idea,” I piped back, my annoyance clearly obvious.

  “Clara . . . I just can’t go through that again right now. Now’s just not the time.”

  “We only tried for a year. The doctor said seeing a fertility specialist would help.”

  “I can’t go back to the robot sex. You were so single-minded and it literally became mandatory sex only when you were ovulating. There was no . . . passion. I can’t take you living in depression every time your period comes. I’m sorry. I know I sound like a dick, but with the way things have been between us, I just think . . . maybe we need to wait. Or . . . maybe we’re not meant to have a baby.”

  In that moment, my eyes burned with tears. My body failed me. It couldn’t do the one thing that women are meant to do. And when it couldn’t, I went nuts trying to make it happen, and nearly lost my marriage in the process. Sex wasn’t about intimacy or being close—it was to get pregnant. I took my temperature every morning. I made him promise not to masturbate around my ovulation cycle. And I’d forced him to wear regular boxers instead of boxer briefs. Even the acupuncture was a fail. Finally, after a year with no success, when my doctor said we should see a specialist, Kurt lost it. In my obsession I had forgotten him—how to love him and make him feel wanted.

  “I thought we were doing better,” I added after a beat. When he came to me and told me he was miserable, that he loved me but couldn’t take the stress of it anymore, I’d backed down. I begrudgingly put trying to have a baby aside to save my marriage. We went to counseling and we worked hard to rekindle our sex life together. I thought with time and a better mind-set—a healthier mind-set—maybe we could try again after some time. But he just wouldn’t come to the table.

  “We are,” he concurred, “but I think we need more time.”

  “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.

  “Señora,” 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 han
d . . . what the hell?

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

  School your features. School your features. My instructor? As in this man, who was significantly smaller than me, would be the one I’m strapped to when I jumped out of the airplane? My heartbeat increased tenfold.

  “Now, I tell you this,” he continued, speaking in broken English in his thick accent, “I the best jumper you ever meet.”

  Oh my God. He’s serious. I’m supposed to jump out of a plane with him? Shit.

  My mouth opened to protest, but what were the right words? How could I get out of this without completely offending him? Don’t you think you’re a little small for me? didn’t quite sound like it would go over well.

  “Now, you come stand here.” He pointed at the space in front of him where he now stood in the center of the room. Reluctantly, I obeyed as I racked my brain for a way out. Stomachache? Yeah, I could say the nerves got to me . . . that should work.

  “Sir, I think maybe I’m not ready for this. I’m terrified of heights and I’m not feeling well all of a sudden. Maybe I’ll come another day.”

  “Ohhhh,” he uttered with a deep chuckle as he pried my coat from my hands and tossed it on the table behind him. “You be okay, I promise. Marcello never lose his jumper yet.”

  “But—”

  “No buts.” He wagged his stubby little finger at me. “Today, we live!” he exclaimed. “Now, put this on.” He tossed something at me and after I shook it out, I realized it was a jumpsuit for me. “Go on,” Marcello insisted.

  My brain was yelling, “Flee,” yet my body kept going along with everything, unable to stop myself. I got one leg in over my shoe, then the other until I managed to put my arms in. “Here, let me help you,” Marcello called out as he grabbed a bar stool from the corner and dragged it over, setting it in front of me. Awkwardly, he attempted to climb up, until finally, exasperated with the effort, he flopped down on the seat and looked at me.