The Girl He Needs (8 page)

Of course, he has virtually no online presence other than his LinkedIn profile and a reference to him being an adjunct professor at Emery Riddle University. His résumé is impressive. But hell, not as impressive as watching him swim the ocean. If I was the creepy stalker type, I’d have stolen a picture of him on my phone, but I’m not, so I’m stuck trying to visualize how his shorts clung to his muscular thighs when he walked back up the beach toward me. He looked powerful, a total alpha male whose domination would be a welcome gift, and I wasn’t the only one watching him. He’s the sort of guy who could take care of a girl during a zombie apocalypse. There’s a depth to his eyes that tells me he’s lived and seen things, and flesh eaters wouldn’t faze him a bit. He’s a survivor and I find that makes me antsy to put my hands on him.

“What’s going on here, out there?” he asks sharply, waving to the outer office.

“I’m the new administrative assistant.” I tuck my hands behind my back and meet his gaze.

“The hell you say.” Bracing one hand against the wall, he runs the other through his hair. “I wish Mark would’ve run this by me.” He says the last bit to himself.

“Well, it was run by the owner, so I’d guess that’s sufficient enough.” I try not to take his reaction personally.

“I don’t like it,” he says, as he surveys the newly organized shelves.

“You don’t like being organized or you don’t like me?” Honestly, at this moment I’m betting it could go either way. McRae at the beach is not the same as the one I’m staring at.

“I don’t like being out of the loop.” He tries to frown down at me. “Have you ever worked in aviation before?”

“No.”

“How do you know if you’ve done all this correctly? Maybe you’ve wasted your time. Then I’ll have to fix it all and I’m pressed for time.” He gestures to the shelves.

Ah, so that’s the real problem.

“Don’t be such a douche. I’ve had”—I glance at my watch—“nearly seven hours of uninterrupted time to work on this. You’d have gotten this far, too. Rest assured, it’s done to a standard even you would find acceptable. It’s not that hard to file gas receipts with gas receipts and flight logs with flight logs. Funny enough, I’m pretty good with the alphabet and sequencing items numerically. I can also read and reason.” I shrug as though it’s a crazy notion. “You could say hi, you know.”

His brow is furrowed and he opens his mouth as if he’s going to say more on the subject but instead pauses and the crease between his eyes relaxes.

“Hi,” he says with a smile. “Small world.”

“Isn’t it?” I grin back.

His smile is so genuine I can’t help make my own wider.

“Looks like you’re settling in. I admit I’m surprised by that,” he says.

I like McRae. I like the fact that he doesn’t always stare at my chest and talks to me like he talks to everyone else. Often men come at me with one objective, to get me out of my clothes, and I’m OK with that. I have hormones, too. But don’t talk to me as if I’m too stupid to know the agenda.

“Really?” I ask softly. “Why are you surprised?”

He shrugs. “I suppose I
assumed
you’d find Daytona a little too sleepy.” The way he emphasizes assumed is more a jab at him than me.

“I find Daytona to be just right. Odd how our paths keep crossing.”

He nods. “Yeah, the bar, the neighborhood—”

“And now here.” I laugh, touch his arm, and almost jerk back as sparks tickle my fingers. Goodness, he emits testosterone. There’s something seductive about a man in charge who isn’t waving his cock around to prove it’s big.

“So you plan on staying in the area for a while? I kinda figured you traveled around, preferring not to be pinned down anywhere.”

“Oh yeah? Why so?”

“Well, at the hotel your badge said you were from Washington. You sound like you’re from up North, not the Pacific Northwest.” He gives me a skeptical look. “And you moved down here with what...four bags? Strikes me as someone living on the fly.”

“More like someone just trying to experience life before I settle down.”

“I get that.” He nods, briefly lost in thought.

“So you’re the GM
and
the flight instructor?” That explains why this place is in the state it’s in. The owner is distracted with everything outside of his business and this guy’s carrying the load of two jobs. Maybe more.

“Yeah.” He rubs his palms over his eyes and stretches his shoulders back before he returns to brace himself against the wall. “I contract with other schools as well. Or I use to until this grew.”

My mind flashes back to the beach and it’s as if I have x-ray vision as I imagine his muscles rippling under his clothes.

“Well, now you have me here to help. I aim to please.” It’s a simple line that has no secondary meaning until I look from his green eyes and a muscle in his jaw jumps.

Drawn from my current reality, I go to a fantasy place where we take off all our clothes and try to steam up this little space to the point where it rains inside. He stands there all cocksure and large, his strong arms corded with muscles. Even his large black aviator’s watch turns me on. His white T-shirt stretches tightly across his chest, hinting at what I know is underneath.

“So, ah, you want to show me what you’re doing here? I mean, about all this.” He pushes off the wall and gestures to the reorganized storage area.

“Sure, and if you have a minute I’d like to schedule some time with you to go over the books. There’re some things I don’t understand.”

“There are lots of things I don’t seem to understand,” he mumbles and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Well, let me show you.” I turn back on the ladder. Using everything I have in reserve to not go primal and jump him, I channel the energy into showing him how I’ve organized the old files and stored them overhead. Inside the cabinet, easily obtained, are all the current records needed at a moment’s notice. I’ve also inventoried the office supplies and am keeping a running list on the computer stationed at my desk as well as a purchasing calendar. No more running out of fuel while I’m in charge.

“Wow, I don’t think this company has ever been this organized. What about the mess out there?” He points to the outer offices before he steps back and gestures for me to precede him. The space is small enough that I have to turn sideways to get past him. When I do, our fronts brush against each other and I place my hands on his biceps.

“Excuse me,” I say. Even in heels, my head reaches only slightly above his collarbone, and when I look at him, I see McRae in a whole new light. Perhaps he won’t need as much priming as I first thought.

Maybe it’s because I’m satisfied from all of today’s organization or because I really like this town. Maybe it’s how studly he looks in the flight gear or that he looks driven. Whatever the reason, I want him not because he’s cut from the cloth of gods, but because there’s loneliness in him I identify with. How his smile doesn’t always reach his eyes or that he thinks happiness can be found in a sweater-set-and-pearl-wearing socialite who’s likely been conditioned to climb the social ladder. A lifestyle like that never brought me happiness, and McRae is disillusioned if he thinks it will bring some to him. He’s got too much depth for the vapidness of pageantry.

He stares down at me and his green eyes wander to my piercing. His lips twitch. The sound of his vibrating phone breaks whatever was passing between us.

Rolling my eyes, I move out into the main office and see why he was so shocked when he first arrived. The place looks ransacked. Paper is everywhere, boxes thrown around the floor with recycling or shredding flowing out of them. I turn to make a joke about the mess but he’s totally engrossed in his phone, thumbs flying madly across the screen.

“Holy crap. I’ve never seen a phone be so busy as yours. Any of that business I can help with?” It’s annoying as hell. I want to snatch the phone from his hand and stomp on the screen. He’d definitely thank me later. Once he got past the shock and withdrawal.

“It’s mostly all business. We’ve always been short on office staff, so I sent all the calls to my phone as well as the emails. Some of it’s from my job at the University.”

“All the calls?” That explains why the office phone is so quiet.

“Yeah, students, other schools looking for instructors, you name it.”

“Give me your phone.” Palm out, I wait. After he hands it over—reluctantly I might add—I repress the urge to smash it, instead set about loading some apps. “I’ve put everything on an online calendar and can send you daily emails with the following day’s schedule. I’ve also set up reminders about when orders need to be completed. Like jet fuel.” I give him a knowing smile and hand back his phone.

He scans the screen. “It all looks good, I’ll give you that,” he says and I catch his eyes darting away from me.

I pick up the office phone. “What’s the code to stop forwarding the calls? It’s my one mission to make that thing shut up.” I nod to his phone that, coincidentally, hums with vibrations.

He types in the code and for a moment it’s blissfully quiet. I take advantage of that silence and send all the calls to voice mail, as it’s quitting time soon.

“This calendar is really nice,” he says, the app open on his phone.

Stepping close, I tap some empty space highlighted green. “There’s some free time on Thursdays that’s not accounted for. Anything I can put into that time?”

He shakes his head. “That’s my time. I don’t work for Mark then, so you can’t schedule me for anything.”

“OK. Very mysterious.” I wag my brows.

“Same for my time at the college. My office hours there are not flexible. I’ve a chance to land a full time teaching job if I apply for my Ph.D.”

“How can you possibly manage all that with all this?” For added emphasis, I push over a pile of papers and let them slide across the table, stopping when they collide with the next pile.

“I just will,” he says with a shrug. “I don’t have to take the position, but it’s a great contingency plan.”

“And here I thought this place was your lifeblood.”

“It is.”

“Then why would you need a contingency plan?” I toss that zinger out, not expecting an answer.

We stand in silence for four beats.

“How’s your brother?” I ask, conceding the point to McRae. I used to have contingency plans for my contingency plans.

“Fine. Busy with school.”

“What’s happened with Mel?” I sit on the corner of the desk and start swinging my foot, glad I painted my nails a fire red last night. He licks his top lip and clasps his hands in front of his crotch.

“Mark and I got a lawyer involved right away like you suggested. Mark was pretty resistant at first. But we’ve managed to contain it. Thanks for the advice.”

“My pleasure.”

“Hey,” Zach calls as he comes into the room. “You two doing all right in here? I guess you’ve met already, but I thought I’d come to see if everything was going well.” He stands in the doorway, his hands tucked in his back pocket, his eyes bouncing between us.

“Yeah, we’re good,” I tell him while McRae steps back.

“You two aren’t fighting or anything, right?”

“Why would you think that?” I ask.

“Because I feel like I interrupted something.” Zach shrugs.

“No, it’s all good.” McRae tells him.

“You’re Smitty, aren’t you?” I ask, putting together the pieces of the phone call from our trip down.

The kid ducks his head and says, “Yeah, that’s what all the guys call me. You can too if you want.” When he looks at me, I can tell how much he really wants me to call him Zach.

“That’s OK. I’ll stick with Zach.”

“Good,” he says with a nod. “I mean, good that y’all ain’t fighting. I’m heading out then.” He points to the door and gives us a wave as he leaves the office.

“Your Smitty is your best employee,” I tell McRae over my shoulder.

“I reckon he is,” he says.

Having exhausted all aspects of polite conversation, with the exception of the weather, I resort to fidgeting with the ancient computer I found on the desk I’ve claimed.

“I’ll be in my office if you need me.” He gestures to the smallest of the three offices.

“OK.” I bite my lip and stare down at the word QWERTY.

Holy hell, if we keep dancing around all this sexual tension, one of us is going to become unhinged. Likely me.

I arrive early to work, excited to spend the morning organizing the papers in the main office. I can see it coming together. By the end of the day, I’ll have most of the office set to make everyday operations more seamless. Then I’ll tackle the books, set up some spreadsheets, and map out how everything is restructured so McRae won’t get his panties all bunched up and complain about being out of the loop.

Staying busy keeps my mind off the limited communication I’ve had from Will. I’ve dreamt of hiring a computer hacker to search the Florida driver’s license system for him, but I don’t have the money or access to a hacker. Nor do I want to spend time in jail for a felony. I have no leads. No idea what he could be doing for a living. Apparently he never finished his family-mandated law degree, as his name doesn’t pop up on any school website nor has he taken the bar exam.

Pushing aside my anxiety regarding my brother, I force myself to focus on what I can control, the organization of this office and my desires for McRae. At least I hope I can control that. Good luck if he shows up today looking all Top Gun.

I carry the files of past accounts receivable and payable to the storage room and tuck them into a box, label it correctly, and rest it on the top of the filing cabinet so I can climb the stepladder and store the box overhead. I sense McRae come into the room before I hear him, so I turn and smile. He looks like he’s just landed a badass fighter plane and my pulse sprints off on a mad race.

“You’re early.” I wasn’t expecting him for another hour.

“Yeah, my student cancelled. He’s home with the flu. You need any help?” He nods with his head toward the box I just pushed on the shelf.

I climb down a rung and lean against the ladder, resting my hip on a step and look up at him. I can’t stop smiling. “No, I’m all done in here.”