The Elite: The Complete Series of Boomer and Player (With Bonus) (70 page)

“Don’t get so snarky, Dad. You’re the one who told me about it in the first place, ya know,” I reminded him, my tone pointed, but not disrespectful.

“Yes, and if I recall, you’re exact words were “that’s what you get when you marry your mistress.””

Okay. Not my finest hour.

Nearly three years ago, my father had married his secretary, whom he had been seeing for a couple of years before that. My mom and him had been divorced for years, so Kelli wasn’t technically his mistress, but to me, it felt that way. Especially since Kelli was only a few years older than me, a good two decades younger than my father. Naturally, she wanted to start a family of her own, and had been putting the pressure on my father to give her a baby for the past couple of years.

“All right, all right. I’m sorry.” I sagged down and leaned on my elbows, braced against the counter. “It’s not that I don’t care, or want to know, but it’s just…hard…to imagine you having a baby.”

“I understand. As of right now, there’s nothing to report. We have our hands full between the two businesses and dealing with Alesha’s theatrics.”

“Which, I’m sure is a ringing endorsement to have more kids…” I mumbled.

“I’ll text you the flight details and send some money to your account,” my dad said, the rising sound of other voices in the background growing louder. I could hear Kelli’s voice, but not clearly enough to make out what she was saying. “Listen, noodle, I gotta go.”

“Bye dad.” I clicked off the call and stared down at the phone in my hands.

It was going to be a long ass summer.

* * * *

The next week and a half passed in the blink of an eye, and I was on my way out of town, making the drive to
Stallion Bay International
to collect Alesha. My dad had texted me the flight details and transferred five grand to my bank account. He said it was to cover expenses—food, extra utilities, and some extras to make sure Alesha got her weekly allowance. I knew it was my payoff—hushmoney—for taking Alesha off their hands for the next three months. The last two years, they’d gone to Greece for the summer. Kelli had family in the area and my dad managed to work at the Athens office of the chain of banks he was employed with as some kind of big whig number cruncher.

I’d never even been invited.

Not that I would have accepted even if I was. A couple of years ago, I woke up from a series of bad decisions and finally got my shit together. I opened the
The
Siren
on the shores of the lovely central California’s town, Holiday Cove and threw myself whole heartedly into making my little business thrive. I worked by myself, as my part timer had abandoned me when she went off to college and I hadn’t gotten around to hiring and training another one. The long days didn’t bother me. The shop was my life. I worked seven days a week, from six until four, and usually a couple of hours on both ends of business hours, as I indulged my control freak bent by preparing nearly everything in the shop from scratch.

As I drove up the coast, I gave myself a mental pep talk, in an effort to drown out the haunting memories of the summer before when Alesha had come to stay with me for the first time. She had just turned seventeen, making her eleven years younger than me, and had spent the majority of her life being the star of the show as daddy’s little girl. By the time she’d come around, I was already in junior high and hadn’t been very interested in her once the initial excitement faded over having a baby in the house. Then, I was a senior year when our parents split up. She was only five when our mom took off with her loser boyfriend and in the aftermath of the divorce, our dad had gone a little overboard trying to make things perfect for Alesha. I’d taken advantage of his distraction and spent the last couple of years of high school screwing around.

Dad’s world revolved around Alesha and catering to her every whim right up until he met Kelli. When his attention shifted to his new girlfriend, Alesha was knocked down a peg on the totem pole, right in time for her to enter high school, and she’d reacted in a series of self-destructive behaviors. Each one less pleasant than the one before.

I blew out a breath and shook my head. I loved my dad to pieces, and didn’t even blame him for wanting to get remarried and find happiness and love after my mom’s betrayal of their marriage, but the way he’d done it—and the timing—sucked.

And now, I’d spend the next three months co-habiting—and babysitting—the result of his life choices.

“All you have to do is keep her alive and out of jail,” I reminded myself, navigating to a marked parking space at the airport. “It’ll be easy peasy. No problem.”

Right.

I shoved it all to the side, silently sent out some prayer that Alesha had grown up since her last visit, and got out of my Honda and started towards the front entrance of the airport. Since it was the middle of the day, the airport was fairly empty. I checked the arrivals board, confirming the flight number on my phone, and saw that everything was running smoothly. I went deeper into the airport and stopped outside the security checkpoint and took a spot by a coffee cart to wait. According to the real-time flight information on my phone, I had about twenty minutes before her flight would land.

The sweet, seductive scent of a Costa Rican blend wafted over to me. I turned towards the smell and gave the coffee cart a once over. I’d always been a caffeine junkie, but since opening my own coffee shop I’d turned into a full blown coffee snob. The cart looked clean. A glance at the steamer wand showed no residue. And best of all there wasn’t a line. A quick cup of coffee would be the perfect distraction to keep myself from obsessing over the myriad of worst-case scenarios that were still flickering through my brain. I dug my burlap and lace wallet from the depths of my favorite crossover bag, it was a handmade piece I’d found at a weekend artisan markets months ago, and made my way over. The barista working the coffee stand was propped against the corner, her hip resting on the cart while she scanned through her phone.

Apparently it had been a slow morning.

I smiled to myself, wondering what that would be like. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a slow day. The only reason I’d been able to escape to the airport was because Cindy, the lady who ran the gift shop next door had offered to watch the shop for a couple of hours. Cindy wasn’t an experienced barista, but I’d taught her the basics, and had been prepping my regulars – which was almost my entire clientele – that they were to take it easy on her when she filled in for me. I approached the coffee cart and cleared my throat to get the attention of the zoned out teenager standing on the other side. At my prompt, she turned, pocketed her phone, and offered me a smile. “Sorry about that.”

I waved. “No worries. Can I get a medium house blend? Costa Rican, right?”

The girl nodded. I gave a smug smile of congratulations to myself, for identifying the blend only by scent.

Then quickly reminded myself that I needed to get a life outside the walls of
The Siren
.

Moments later, coffee in hand, I wandered across the aisle and lowered myself into a vinyl chair. The minutes ticked by and I started getting antsy once a burst of people started walking by, luggage and rolling suitcases in tow. I stood up from my seat and popped up onto my tippy-toes, straining to see through the crowd. No sign of Alesha. Knowing our dad, he would have put her in first class, and as the crowd thinned, my heart rate spiked. Where is she?

I fired off a couple of text messages, trying to keep from sounding like a paranoid lunatic. Maybe she’d just gone to the restroom. Alesha was a full on girly-girl who compulsively checked her hairstyle, makeup, and took more selfies in a day than anyone should be allowed to take in a lifetime. It wasn’t far-fetched that she had found a mirror in which to primp. I rolled my eyes at the idea and checked my phone.

Nothing.

I tapped my finger impatiently against the glass screen, trying to resist the urge to dial her number. I’d give her five more minutes before going full on bossy big sister.

Those five minutes evaporated and then another five after that.

“That’s it…” I hissed under my breath. I dialed her number and listened to it ring all the way through to her voicemail system. Dammit, Alesha, where are you?

My hands were tied. I could call my dad but there wasn’t much he’d be able to do to help me either. He was likely at his office, back to work, considering his part done, he’d put her on the plane. No, I shook my head. I was on my own.

After another searching glance in a three sixty spin, I went to the customer service desk for the airline she was flying.

There were a few people ahead of me in line, but things moved quickly, and within a few minutes I was standing in front of a polished woman in a dark blue pantsuit. I collapsed against the counter. “Hi, this is probably a strange request but I was wondering if there was any way you could track and make sure that a passenger was on a flight?”

The agent behind the counter raised an eyebrow, probably wondering if I was some kind of psychopath stalker. I was fairly used to this reaction. My pink hair and nose piercing were usually what got people a little guarded. I’d recently gone from having a bleached out pixie cut to long, blonde waves, thanks to the help of some pretty killer extensions. In the process of getting the hairpieces put in, I spotted a gorgeous hair model in one of the hair style brochures, and insisted that some of my newly added locks be dyed a faint pink and put in as highlights against the bleached blonde strands. The result was gorgeous and made me feel like a punk rock princess. Sadly, not everyone was a fan. And watching the woman’s expression across from me, I had the feeling she was not.

I leaned in and gave her a friendly smile. “See, the thing is, my baby sister is flying in today. Here is her flight information,” I flipped my phone around to show her the displayed information. “I’ve been waiting and she hasn’t gotten off the plane yet. She is a little bit of a wild card, and I’m afraid that maybe she didn’t make it on the plane to begin with.”

The customer service agents alternated her glance her cool glance from the phone in my hand to my pink hair and then back again. “I can run a search.”

“Thank you so much.” I found it helpful to be as polished and professional as possible—especially when dealing with people who had already assigned me some kind of label based on my appearance.

Moments later, the agent confirmed that Alesha had indeed been on the plane. I wasn’t sure if this was good news or bad news. At my conflicted expression, the agent offered a suggestion, “I can’t let you past the security checkpoints to look for her, but if you’d like I can make an announcement over the PA system to have her report to the customer service desk.”

I wanted to leap over the counter and hug her. “That would be amazing!”

After the announcement went out across the airport, I stepped aside to let the next person in line take my place at the counter. I kept my eyes trained on the gates where Alesha should have been coming from and waited. Half a minute later I spotted her making a beeline for the customer service desk. It had only been nine months since I put her on a plane, back to Phoenix, after her previous summer’s stay. But her appearance had changed quite dramatically in that span of time. Last summer her honey blonde hair had been waist length, free flowing and wild. Now, it was chopped off, up to her jawline in an angular bob that was flat-iron straight. Her sense of fashion had taken a dramatic turn as well. What had been ripped jeans and crop top tanks were now replaced by sharp black cigarette pants, a fitted top, and a three-quarter length black blazer that matched the pants.

I didn’t have too much time to psychoanalyze the sudden change because my eye went from her to the middle aged man that had an arm draped over her shoulders.

“Fuck.” I stiffened and crossed my arms tightly. I needed to brace myself for whatever bullshit was about to happen.

When Alesha spotted me at the counter, her steps noticeably slowed, and the man attached to her whispered something in her ear, a look of concern on his face.

I marched the ten paces to close the gap. “Where the hell have you been? Your plane landed almost an hour ago,” I demanded, shifting my angry narrowed eyes from her to her companion. “And who the hell are you?”

The man untangled himself from Alesha and extended a hand in my direction. I ignored it and his smarmy smile drooped. “You must be Carly. My name is Jake Fisher. Alesha and I met on the plane.” He glanced adoringly at Alesha. How was it that in a three-hour flight she’d managed to sucker this man into thinking there was some kind of relationship potential?

“Charming.” I uncrossed my arms and instead planted my fists on my hips.

“She mentioned you’d be here to pick her up.” He smiled like he still didn’t have a clue that I was not in a good mood.

He shifted his smile to Alesha, who was somewhere between amused and panicked as she stared at me. Jake continued, “We’d love for you to come out with us. There’s a little cantina up the road from here. Best margarita you’ll ever have. I told Alesha that she just has to try it.”

If I hadn’t been so furious, I might’ve laughed at his complete and utter obliviousness.

I smiled sweetly at him. “Well, unless you’re planning on meeting up in another three years, I’m afraid those margaritas will have to wait. I don’t know what my sister has told you, Jake, but she’s seventeen years old. So, I’d suggest you move along and go have that margarita, alone.”

Alesha narrowed her eyes at me and gave a haughty sigh. Her game was officially over. Beside her, Jake leaped away from her as though she’d suddenly lit on fire, his expression shifting in a colorful array from obliviousness to confusion to sheer horror. He took one more long look at Alesha, darted his gaze back to me, mumbled something about it all being a big misunderstanding, and took off in the opposite direction so fast that the wheels of his rolling suitcase lifted off the ground and slapped into the back of his ankles. I heard him grunt at the impact but he didn’t slow down or stop.