Read Online Miss Adventure by Geralyn Corcillo - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Geralyn Corcillo
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with no lightning.”
I feel like I black out while staying conscious, if that’s possible. Did he say choppy waves ? And… no lightning ?
Sudden sweat beads my spine. I will myself not to shiver as I picture the reality of what he does on a daily basis. Of what he did this morning while I was blow-drying my hair. I try to breathe, feeling all gummy-like in my limbs and ready to slide off the couch. He was in the turbulent ocean where he could have been drowned by a riptide or electrocuted by an unexpected flash of lightning or eaten by a shark or sucked to the bottom by the tentacles of a giant squid—good God! What have I gotten myself into?
Jack flicks the switch of a coffee maker sitting on the windowsill. “Lisa? You okay?”
“Um, how do you know a certain rainy day won’t have lightning?” I make my voice sound all interested and chirpy.
“Generally, if I don’t see any.”
Maybe I really am an idiot. And I'm making it really obvious. He's going to fire me if I don't shape up.
“Hang on.” He goes to the outer office and gets the surfboard, so I race to be helpful and pull the door open wider for him. As Jack and the board brush past me, I feel something move through my hair. A jellyfish!
“Aaaah!” I scream. “ Get it off! Get it off! Get it off!”
I hop up and down and shake and shake and shake my hands.
Jack shoves the surfboard aside and steps toward me.
“Stand still.”
But it’s crawling down my collar! “Eew eew eew eew eew!” I hop back and rip off my jacket. “Get it off get it off get it off!”
Jack rips my jacket out of my hands and throws it across the room, saving me from the slime.
“Jesus!” he rasps in a gruff whisper.
“What was it? Is it in my hair?”
“Seaweed,” he says, sifting a hand through my hair. “You’re clear.”
I breathe and blow like I’m having a baby. Thank God. I’m safe.
It’s then that I realize I’m standing there in my bra. And not a chic, sexy black one that matches my skirt, either. Not even a nice silky one with flowers or wide satin straps. I’d like to be wearing a bra like any of those, but I haven’t done laundry in a while, what with securing my apartment, going to Connecticut, and becoming an undercover idiot. Plus I hate chores.
So, today, I’m down to wearing The Beige One from the very back of my underwear drawer. You know—that way un-sexy tannish-nude color that you only ever see as a functional underwear color. Bras that your great aunt can buy in a box come in this color and so do girdles.
I look up at Jack to see if he’s noticed, but he’s not even looking at me. He’s looking right past me.
“Excuse me,” someone says behind me.
I whip around toward the door. But with Jack standing so close, the turn is more like a sweetheart move that tucks us closer together. Jack is half dressed—no belt, no shoes, shirt all disheveled. And I’m in my nude-colored bra, with my jacket flung across the couch.
In the doorway, a young man wearing a pencil-thin tie looks like he’s smirking.
“I was scared of the seaweed!” I blurt.
He just looks at me and blinks.
“Alan, what is it?” Jack’s voice pulses with complete control, and he doesn’t move. Like there’s nothing irregular at all about this fix. Of course, he’s not the one caught wearing mom-colored underwear.
“The team from Sawyer called again,” Alan explains with dispatch. “They're insisting on a meeting.”
I cannot believe it. They’re conducting business right over my head, as if I’m not even here. Like the woman in the ugly bra doesn’t matter. Then again, their ignoring me in my un-sexy undies is probably a good thing.
“I'll deal with them later.”
“Right.” Alan scoots away, leaving us alone.
As Jack pulls back to button his cuffs, he gives me a once over.
“What?” I demand.
“Interesting,” Jack muses. “Your first reaction to intense fear is to strip.” He nods thoughtfully. “Good to
I feel like I black out while staying conscious, if that’s possible. Did he say choppy waves ? And… no lightning ?
Sudden sweat beads my spine. I will myself not to shiver as I picture the reality of what he does on a daily basis. Of what he did this morning while I was blow-drying my hair. I try to breathe, feeling all gummy-like in my limbs and ready to slide off the couch. He was in the turbulent ocean where he could have been drowned by a riptide or electrocuted by an unexpected flash of lightning or eaten by a shark or sucked to the bottom by the tentacles of a giant squid—good God! What have I gotten myself into?
Jack flicks the switch of a coffee maker sitting on the windowsill. “Lisa? You okay?”
“Um, how do you know a certain rainy day won’t have lightning?” I make my voice sound all interested and chirpy.
“Generally, if I don’t see any.”
Maybe I really am an idiot. And I'm making it really obvious. He's going to fire me if I don't shape up.
“Hang on.” He goes to the outer office and gets the surfboard, so I race to be helpful and pull the door open wider for him. As Jack and the board brush past me, I feel something move through my hair. A jellyfish!
“Aaaah!” I scream. “ Get it off! Get it off! Get it off!”
I hop up and down and shake and shake and shake my hands.
Jack shoves the surfboard aside and steps toward me.
“Stand still.”
But it’s crawling down my collar! “Eew eew eew eew eew!” I hop back and rip off my jacket. “Get it off get it off get it off!”
Jack rips my jacket out of my hands and throws it across the room, saving me from the slime.
“Jesus!” he rasps in a gruff whisper.
“What was it? Is it in my hair?”
“Seaweed,” he says, sifting a hand through my hair. “You’re clear.”
I breathe and blow like I’m having a baby. Thank God. I’m safe.
It’s then that I realize I’m standing there in my bra. And not a chic, sexy black one that matches my skirt, either. Not even a nice silky one with flowers or wide satin straps. I’d like to be wearing a bra like any of those, but I haven’t done laundry in a while, what with securing my apartment, going to Connecticut, and becoming an undercover idiot. Plus I hate chores.
So, today, I’m down to wearing The Beige One from the very back of my underwear drawer. You know—that way un-sexy tannish-nude color that you only ever see as a functional underwear color. Bras that your great aunt can buy in a box come in this color and so do girdles.
I look up at Jack to see if he’s noticed, but he’s not even looking at me. He’s looking right past me.
“Excuse me,” someone says behind me.
I whip around toward the door. But with Jack standing so close, the turn is more like a sweetheart move that tucks us closer together. Jack is half dressed—no belt, no shoes, shirt all disheveled. And I’m in my nude-colored bra, with my jacket flung across the couch.
In the doorway, a young man wearing a pencil-thin tie looks like he’s smirking.
“I was scared of the seaweed!” I blurt.
He just looks at me and blinks.
“Alan, what is it?” Jack’s voice pulses with complete control, and he doesn’t move. Like there’s nothing irregular at all about this fix. Of course, he’s not the one caught wearing mom-colored underwear.
“The team from Sawyer called again,” Alan explains with dispatch. “They're insisting on a meeting.”
I cannot believe it. They’re conducting business right over my head, as if I’m not even here. Like the woman in the ugly bra doesn’t matter. Then again, their ignoring me in my un-sexy undies is probably a good thing.
“I'll deal with them later.”
“Right.” Alan scoots away, leaving us alone.
As Jack pulls back to button his cuffs, he gives me a once over.
“What?” I demand.
“Interesting,” Jack muses. “Your first reaction to intense fear is to strip.” He nods thoughtfully. “Good to
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