DEFIANT (A WESTERN BAD BOY ROMANCE) (9 page)

I
need
Katie's help on this one.

There's another investor conference tonight, and I just got word that some of the big national news outlets are going to be there. I’ve got to make a speech, and I can't fuck it up.

The problem is, Katie's not answering her phone. It's so out of character, I can't help but wonder if something is wrong. I've got to see her, even if it's just to know she's okay. I'm running late, but her hotel is on the way. It’ll take only five minutes to drop in.

I leave the truck idling and run up the stairs to the third floor landing. There it is: 307.

I knock and wait, looking out over the parking lot this chilly winter morning.

The dead bolt slides back and the door opens.

But it’s not her! Where did this douche come from? Clearly not from around here.

Right away I don't like him. He's got a set of hips that belong on a woman, and a shifty expression behind his $700 eyeglasses. I bet he doesn't like me either judging by the irritated way he purses his lips as he sizes me up.

"Who the hell are you?" I growl.

The guy is shirtless, white and flabby, standing there in Katie’s doorway like he owns the fucking place. Is she sleeping with this guy? Just the thought makes my chest rumble.

"I'm her fiancée."

"
Noah? Who is it?
" Katie calls from inside. Then she appears, wearing a baggy sweatshirt with matching sweatpants. She stops and opens her mouth to talk, blushing red hot in about two seconds flat. She couldn't look any more flustered before she slips in between her fucking fiancée and me.

"Um, excuse us for a moment. He's my boss."

She steps out, the door clicking shut behind her.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she hisses, arms wrapping around herself to protect her from the frosty air. She's so pissed. I can tell she wants to slap me. "I live here! You can't just show up at my room out of the blue! That's completely inappropriate. Not to mention you just happened to appear at the worst
fucking
time possible!"

"Well, I tried to call, but you weren't answering your phone. And it looks like you conveniently hid the fact that
you are engaged
when you slept with me! No wonder I keep getting such mixed signals. And here I was hoping you were just crazy." I'm more than irritated. And I'm done with this whole thing, done with her. I turn to leave.

"Go screw yourself," she snaps. "You have
no
right to put me down."

I stop and turn. How could she
possibly
think she's justified?

"Not that it's any of your business," she finally says, "but Noah and I are on a break."

"Some break,” I say insolently. “Anyway, when you’re done doing whatever you’re doing, stop by the office. I have a task for you.”

And then I walk away.

I
t's
hard to write a speech for someone when you're mad at them.

There's yet another town council meeting in Coal Butte tomorrow, and I have to type up some words for Clif to say on short notice. I try to concentrate, but I can't. Dammit. Clif doesn't control me. What gives him the right to be so mad? He barely even knows me; and he certainly doesn’t know a thing about my past.

I don't owe Clif an explanation for anything in my life. He can go screw himself if he thinks otherwise. I didn’t lie to him about being engaged—first, the subject never came up—second, we weren’t engaged! We were taking a break! And besides, he’s sleeping around with anything that walks. What gives him the right to throw it my face like that? Must hurt his fragile little ego that I’m not knocking down his door like the rest of his conquests. Our little fling was only supposed to be
one night
—what part of
one night
doesn’t the blockhead understand?

I close my laptop, unable to concentrate any longer. No, Clif doesn't control me. We slept together, once, and he doesn't know a thing about me. Except now he probably thinks I'm some kind of cheap floozy. Not that I should care what he thinks. I mean, look at him. He's obviously got a track record a mile long. It's all over the Internet for anyone and everyone to see.

I actually groan out loud when I open my computer again. I can hear Clif's voice inside my head speaking every syllable as I reread his speech.
Good enough
, I think, before printing it.

I step out of my office to go review it with him. But he's not in. Of course not—why would he be at work in the middle of the day? The slacker is probably out on the slopes.

I head downstairs, thinking perhaps he went to grab a bite to eat. I wander pass the shops in the ground floor of the building. I pause when someone familiar catches my eye.

Speaking of track records.

Through a dress shop window I see Coralie talking to a saleswoman. She's all dangling jewelry and hippie frills today, tying a bright silk shawl around her throat. She looks exquisite, a real eye catcher.

"Katie!" she waves enthusiastically.

"Hi, Coralie," I wave back.

She walks out to greet me with a happy smile. But when her eyes dart down to the shiny diamond engagement ring on my finger she is deflated.

"Oh? Are you?" Her eyes are pure misery and staring straight through me. "He’s only going to hurt you, you know?" She cries and runs off.

"Coralie! Wait!"

But she’s already gone.

"
J
ust one more question
, and then we'll have to wrap this up," I say to the scrum of reporters, concerned citizens, and city councilmembers.

Thank God this latest town council meeting is almost over! How many of these worthless shit shows are they going to hold? At least under Katie's guidance I know I've made a stellar, convincing case. There is no way Caddis Flats will fail now.

An hour later, after a lot of schmoozing and glad-handing, and I'm out the door and into the cool, fresh air outside. It's a relief to sink into the rear seat of the waiting Suburban where I’m safely out of the limelight and alone with my thoughts.

Poor Katie's still inside, though, talking to the press. Doesn’t matter though, she’s remarkably good at it—I’d rather have her in there than me—she’s ten times more persuasive.

Ah Katie….

Yes, I'm still attracted to her; more and more every day.

And I'm hurt. Never thought I’d say that.

I know I'm a fool. I shouldn't have been surprised that she's involved with someone else. But still, she could have at least told me.

I don't want to believe in my old modus operandi anymore: love 'em and leave 'em. No, I want to believe in the way Katie makes me feel. She makes me want to be a better man, a better person.

But now...I don’t know. I don’t know about anything anymore.

Hell, love is a lie! Get a grip on yourself, Clif!

Love is worthless: let Clif Jackson count the ways.

First, I've never met a man who was truly, happily married. So many men will gladly hand over control of their own lives just for stability and a steady supply of pussy. That's choosing the lesser of two evils. It's not happiness, no matter what you tell yourself. Exhibit A: all the men who cheat the first chance they get.

Second, before I met Katie, I never desired the fog of a woman's charms taking over my mind—I got money to make and runs to shred; a guy’s got to stay rigidly focused for those sorts of activities. It is way too easy to fall in ‘love’ with a beautiful woman,
especially
when the attraction is only skin deep. And that just messes with your head.

The way men let women manipulate them for a smile or a blowjob makes me sick. I see it every day in Jackson with the trophy wives and mistresses. The richer I got, the more beautiful the women who chased me became. I never went to college, but I've watched enough crap on Discovery Channel to know it's just biology: the smaller, weaker sex looking for a provider and using her colorful plumage to get the best one possible. And that's the sad truth.

Third. Speaking of biology... Love is just a bunch of chemicals interacting in your head. Equating that to a cosmic force, something that comes from God...just fucking stupid. The first time I fell in love it was obvious that after a year she and I were totally incompatible. We sure as hell weren't soul mates—and by ‘soul mates’ I mean the way I felt when I took her from behind on the beach—yeah, like an out-of-body-experience—the only way to describe it. Was it supernatural? Of course not—it was Biology compelling us to reproduce, right at her 21-year-old peak of hotness and fertility. I was so romantic back then, all I thought I needed was her and the ocean. Yeah, I went through an embarrassing hippy phase, too.

Fourth. Everywhere I've gone, I've learned that people are ultimately self-serving, looking out for
numero uno
. When women finally settle down, it's always for self-serving reasons. But they always say it's for
‘love.
’ In reality, the biological clock is ticking, and she just wants to find somebody before she gets too old. Her mother is probably bearing down on her for grandkids; all her friends are getting married, and she's afraid of being ostracized or worse, talked about. So all of a sudden it's ‘love’ again, when the stars above throw her the best man she thinks she’ll be able to land.

And half the time, the poor bugger is getting old himself. The young ones at the bar won't even look at him anymore, and the older ones...too scary. Long, lonely decades without steady pussy if he doesn't commit. That's the crux. And besides, you're supposed to be a respectable member of society, not someone who can't find a woman, a loser.

Then comes the nightmares that results from love: kids, everyone getting fat and lazy because they’ve now procreated and don’t need to look good anymore, the weekend excursions to giant stores full of crap you don't want, alcoholism, paying for college, ungrateful kids, drug abuse, a mortgage, jacking off at work. Oh, and divorce. Your kids, the one upshot, aren't yours anymore. Isn't that the fucking American Dream?

The door opens suddenly, snapping me awake from my philosophizing.

Katie piles in, looking rosy from the cold. "Been waiting long?" She’s got a cute smile on her little rose-petal lips.

Oh, hell. She's so beautiful. The best woman I've ever met. I love her every imperfection. Damn her for being so perfect.

She'll never know I love her. We’ve more or less stopped talking to each other.

I
'm
on the phone with my father as I look out my hotel window at another blue-sky Wyoming morning. My suitcase is packed, sitting near the door.

"I love you too, Daddy. I'll see you soon."

He's doing really well. And even better, I've got a couple days off to see him.

I'm on the way to the airport when Vince calls.

"We have to fly to Coal Butte again. I talked to a couple members of the town council this morning, and it looks like the deciding vote is one cranky old fart, a Ms. Esther Simone."

"Uh, okay. When?”

“Right now. Plane is waiting.”

I bite my lip. I'd been looking forward to seeing my father. "Sure. No problem. Be there in a few."

At least I’m already on my way to the airport; better than getting the news upon touching down in San Francisco.

An hour later I'm still waiting at the airport with Clif and Vince as Vince explains the situation. Esther Simone is a long-time Coal Butte resident. She's rich and eccentric. And before she signs off on Caddis Flats and the rest of the development project, she wants an explanation...from the air. Vince has agreed to take her up in a helicopter and point out the exact ways her beloved valley is going to change.

On the one hand, I know that this is my job. On the other, her request is ridiculous, and I can't believe I'm going to miss my father just to please Her Spoiled Highness’s whim.

I huddle in my jacket on the tarmac next to Clif while we wait for the company jet, which is apparently undergoing yet more service. I'm still angry with him. It's stupid that I care so much about his opinion, but for whatever reason it bothers me that he was hurt by me not telling him about Noah.

Rrrgh! It’s freezing! Why is it taking so long with the plane?

Vince’s phone rings. He nods and mumbles while listening to what is being said to him. It’s a short call, and soon he’s telling us, "That was the mechanic. The plane can’t be flown today. Our fastest option is to charter a helicopter straight out of Jackson. The pilot says he'll refuel in Coal Butte, and we can take Esther up straight away when we get there."

Ten minutes later an improbably tiny helicopter with a bubble canopy approaches the airport.

"We're flying in
that
thing?" I ask incredulously.

“Yup,” replies Vince.

And just my luck, I'm crammed in the back with Clif. Ugh, if only I wasn't so mad at him.

Clif leans over to say something over the noise of the engine, and I don't even bother trying to hear him.

I want to explain about Noah, how we took a break because of his career, and how he'd come back to tell me he wanted more time. But at the same time, I
really
don't think I need to—it’s none of his business. There's no reason for me to be the courteous one, not after his behavior the other day.

Clif leans over again, his mouth moving. I still can't hear a word he’s saying. "What?!" I yell.

"Are you going to answer me, or just keep pretending you can't hear me?" he yells back.

I shake my head and look out the window. Whatever. I know he's inquiring about Noah, and this just isn’t the time. And besides, Vince is here.