Destroy (A Standalone Romance Novel)

DESTROY

By
Claire Adams

This
book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are
products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not
to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual
events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Copyright
© 2015 Claire Adams

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Chapter
1

Practically running into
the washroom on my way to the departure lounge, I noticed the last sink along
the row begging me to rush in front of it. I let go of my carrying case, parked
it against the wall, and took my make-up bag out of my purse. Before getting on
with the job, I had to take my anorak off. There was a blizzard out there and I
didn’t want to freeze on the way from the parking lot. Besides, Nebraska—where
I was going that day—is not a place where you leave your coat home in the winter.
I passed my fingers through my hair. It still felt soft and silky to the touch.
Having long, auburn hair is truly a chore. But there was no way I would let just
anyone with a pair of scissors near it. My hairdresser knew exactly what to do.
“A trim is all I want. And please don’t try anything else,” I usually told him.
I spent too much time and effort getting it to look half-decent for some guy to
try satisfying his artistic impulses with it.

As I looked at my
reflection in the mirror above the sink, I no longer wondered why people near
the check-in counter were trying not to look at me. Fluorescent lights are not
friendly on one’s features. They’re horrid.
Look
at that. I’ve tried covering it up, but it’s still there, staring back at me.
It’s
like that bruise wanted to remind me how I got it. And I didn’t bump into a
door either.

As I was examining the
colorful damage around my eye, a woman came in. I wished she hadn’t. But let’s
face it; airport washrooms are no place for privacy. Of course, she came to
wash her hands at the sink beside mine. She pumped a blob of soap into the
palms of her hands and threw a glance at my face from the corner of her eye.
While I was applying some more foundation around the edge of my eyelid, she
stared at me through the mirror. I knew she wanted to say something, but
probably didn’t know how to broach the subject of my, I hoped, not-so-obvious
black eye.

“That’s a doozy you got
there, girl,” she finally told me, as I was trying to flick some mascara on my
eyelashes.
 

I smiled and returned to
my repair job. What could I have said? “Oh yeah, and if I could get the rest of
my face re-done, too, I think you’d approve,” or some such idiotic remark. Truth
be told, I was in no mood for a joke of any kind. Aside from the fact that I
was looking awful, that eye and cheek of mine hurt like hell.

Here I was, on my way to
spend some time with my family before starting my internship, and I looked as
if I had just had a three-round bout with Joe Frazier. I could already hear my
dad. “Oh my dear child, what have you done to yourself?” As if I had run into
someone’s fist for the heck of it. As for Mom, she’d probably giggle–she does
that a lot–and tell me that it’s okay. “No one is going to notice it. I’ll dim
the lights when we sit down for dinner.” Always the practical one, my mother.

“You know, dear,” my
washroom mate went on saying, “I’d stay well away from
what
ever
gave you that shiner, if I were you. Make-up is too expensive as it
is to be spent liberally on damages like these.”

“Thanks,” I replied,
closing my make-up case after brushing my hair once again. “And I can assure
you, I have no intention of having another tête-à-tête with that mule.”

Laughing, the elegant but
chatty woman, turned away and walked out, and I followed after I slipped into
my anorak again. My carry-on luggage was the only thing I packed. The flight
from New York City to Omaha, Nebraska was already expensive enough without
having to pay for excess luggage. As a Christmas gift to the thousands upon
thousands of holiday travelers, the airlines take great pleasure in jacking up
the fares on every possible flight. A fare that usually runs you into a couple of
hundred dollars suddenly triples. And then there are the endless delays, the
unnecessary stopovers, the stale cookies, and the awful coffee they serve on
board these days, to “make your trip more enjoyable”.

Grumpy as ever, and still
trying to hide my eye behind a strand of hair, I rolled my carry-on to the
departure lounge. Since all of the seats were taken, I went to stand beside the
window, looking out at the aircrafts making their way from the runway to the
terminal through the storm. Then it dawned on me. If this blizzard did not quit
soon, we would be staying in this lounge for a few more hours. No doubt of it. As
I took a book out of my bag, for some odd reason my eyes fell on this hunk of a
guy. He was looking at me, looking at him. If I had a paper bag to slip over my
head at that moment, I would have done so. Talk about bad luck. Here I was,
coming face to face with one of the most wonderful human specimens God had
generously put on this earth, and I was looking like…the dirt beneath my feet,
I was sure.

He had his shoulder
leaning against the glass pane and kept staring at me. I rummaged through my bag,
making sure that my hair would cover the damaged part of my face, and pretended
to ignore his gaze. But how long could I do that? I raised my head and threw a
furtive glance in his direction. I could not stay there. I had to find another
spot. Maybe he wouldn’t follow me. At least I could turn away.

Book in hand, purse strap
over my shoulder, I grabbed my carryon case and rolled it away behind me in
quest of another spot where I could hide from this gorgeous hunk’s piercing
gaze. I felt his eyes on my butt all the way to the opposite wall. When I
turned, he was there, within touching distance of my luggage. He had followed
me. Incredible! The very day I wanted to hide from everyone, I had a guy on my
tail who didn’t want to give up. Maybe trying to hide my black eye had been a
mistake. The moment he would have seen it, he would have run away—wouldn’t he
have? Now that he was standing in front of me, I made sure to show my face and
return his gaze. He smiled.
Good Grief!
Is that all he’s going to do? Just smile? What’s the matter with this guy; is
he blind?

I was about to turn
around to return to the window, when he said, “The name is Jeff Aldridge.”

Oh
what the heck?
“Hi! Heather. Heather Williams,” I replied
awkwardly, extending a hand for him to shake.

His smile broadened into
a grin as he grabbed my hand and gave it a firm and honest shake. “Nice meeting
you, Heather Williams.” He stepped over my carrying case and came to plant
himself beside me. He looked down at my book. “Stephen King, eh? Are you a fan
of his?”

“I like to read a
suspense novel when I have to sit on a flight for several hours. So, yes, he
comes with me every time I fly home.” I paused to look into his enticing brown
eyes. I had been so preoccupied with my own looks, I forgot to look at him. I mean,
“
really
look” at the guy. His tanned face attested of
some days spent on a beach somewhere, probably not in New York unless he liked
getting under a sunlamp at the nearest spa. “What about you? What sort of
reading do you do, if any?”

He chuckled. He knew I
was mocking him. “I don’t have much time to read anything, but when I do, I
like something complex and full of intrigue. Something like Robert Ludlum’s
Parsifal Mosaic.
”

I had to admit, Mr.
Aldridge was no jock and if he was, he certainly had good taste in masculine
literature. “That’s nice,” I said demurely. I had read a couple of Ludlum’s
books, but they’re more a guy type of stories.

He laughed. “You’ve not
read it, have you?”

“No. Stephen King is as
far as I go when it comes to suspense. But, don’t get me wrong, I do like to
read.”

“What about movies?”

“What is this?” I
blurted, giggling. “Are we on a match-making show of some sort and there are
some candid cameras hidden somewhere?”

This time, he tried to
hide his laughter, but didn’t succeed. “No, Ms. Williams, there are no hidden
cameras, no hidden microphones anywhere. It’s just me trying to find a pretext
to sit beside you in the plane so we could watch a movie together.”

“And you think I want to
sit beside you?” I frowned, trying to hide my anticipation.

“Of course I do. You look
like you could use some company…”

“What about the nice guy
who’s meeting me here in a few minutes?”

“I guess I’ll retreat
politely when or
if
he shows up.”

“Okay, okay, you win,” I
said quickly enough not to sound as keen as I was to get to know this guy a
little better. He looked
delectable
–more
than a little ravishing, in fact–and I needed someone to keep me from thinking
about my bruised cheek.

“Good!” He was visibly
all together pleased and relieved somehow. “So, what kind of movies are we
watching?”

“Have you seen
Selma
yet?”

“Oh, is that the story of
Martin Luther King’s campaign to secure equal voting rights during a march from
Selma to Montgomery in ’65?”

I stared. This guy was
getting more amazing by the minute. I nodded.

“No, not yet,” he
replied, plunging his hands in his jeans pockets. “But judging from the
reviews, I think that would be a good pick, except it might not be available on
this flight yet.”

I sighed. “You’re right.
We pay top price for lousy seats, lousy food–if any–and three-year old movies,
I forgot.”

We were about to choose
another topic of conversation when, as if on cue, the voice of the flight
attendant at the desk came over the PA system.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we
are terribly sorry, but we’ve just been told that all flights out of New York
are grounded for the night. Again, we are sorry for the inconvenience.” A wave
of grumbled disapprovals passed over the departure lounge.

“I have to phone my
parents,” I said to Jeff, taking my phone out of my bag.

“And I’ll have to get a
room for the night. It’s too long of a drive for me to go home.”

I nodded my
understanding. We each had to deal with the unexpected news. However, Jeff was
not alone in trying to find a hotel room. I was, too, as were thousands of
stranded passengers in the airport.

I tried every hotel I
could think of, but none had even a broom closet or a couch for me to spend the
night in a modicum of comfort.

My prospects were grim. I
was going to have to spend the night on the floor of the airport’s lounge,
along with hundreds of other people.

When I looked up, Jeff
smiled at me. Truly, there was nothing to smile about. This situation was
deplorable as far as I was concerned. Why was he smiling anyway?

“Have you found a room?”
he asked, knowing very well that I hadn’t.

I shook my head and
looked at the carpet beneath my feet, which was going to be my bedding for the
night.

“Alright then,” he said,
as I raised my gaze to him. “I’ll ask you, but feel free to say no. Okay?” I
nodded, searching his face for a sign, something telling me that I could trust
the man. “I found a room, a suite actually, and if you want we could share it.
What do you say?”

“No, Jeff. I’m sorry. I
can’t,” I blurted, quite embarrassed. “I can’t. I mean I can’t accept because I
can’t possibly pay for half of a suite in a New York hotel.”

“And who said, I wanted
to share the cost with you?”

“If you don’t I would
feel like I owe you something. And that’s not on either,” I flared. “Sorry. I
just can’t accept the offer.”

“And what if I sign a
contract with you stipulating that you owe me nothing, zero, nil, nada, naught,
zilch....” He peered into my eyes. “Come on, what do you say?”

Honestly, I didn’t know
what to do. I looked down at the carpet again. “Oh alright, but I take the
couch, and please don’t start arguing!”

“Feisty, aren’t we?” he
joked, taking my carryon case from my hand and leading the way down the hall
toward the exit.

Chapter
2

Before going anywhere, I
had to get my ticket validated for the morning flight. Jeff did, too. We both
made our way to the airline counter, smiling at each other awkwardly. Since all
that was required was a date stamp and a new boarding pass, the horde of
disgruntled passengers was soon disseminated in various directions throughout
the airport.