Taking the Heat (Jackson: Girls' Night Out 3)

“I know,” she breathed. Unfortunately, the spots were completely gone now and she could see Gerald’s stern face perfectly. He was only forty-five, but there was something in his posture that always reminded Veronica of her dad. Some arrogant, implacable way he held himself. She wished she hadn’t cornered herself in the office. There was no escape from his disappointment now.

“But this is going to work out differently, I think.”

She was already nodding, conceding her awfulness.

Gerald grunted, but she couldn’t decipher the noise. “Anyway, Thursday nights are fairly slow this time of year, and the place was almost full tonight. The owner is damn happy. I think we can make this a great summer tie-in for the paper. Hell, maybe we can even take it to a bigger location during ski season, though I’d much rather increase permanent circulation than just get a temporary bump in advertising rates. But hell, why not go for it all?”

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“Every Thursday. Locals’ Advice Night with Dear Veronica. One hundred bucks a pop for you, paid as a bonus. Are you in?”

Are you in? He asked the question so casually. Almost as an aside, a formality. Of course she was in, because the paper wanted her to do it and she always said yes.

Veronica stared at him.

“Hey,” Gerald said, snapping his fingers. “Are you in? The manager wants to announce it before everyone leaves.”

She nodded, meaning that she understood what the manager wanted, but Gerald took it as an agreement. “Great. I’ll let him know. Good job out there.” And then he was gone, and Veronica had to come back and do this all over again next week.

The black spots swarmed again, descending on her like flies on a carcass. Could you die of regret and terror and stage fright? Veronica lowered her head to the desk and let the coolness of the fake wood seep into her face.

She’d succeeded and become a disaster in one fell swoop. The same fucking magic trick she’d been pulling off her entire life. But there was no running from it now. Jackson was home. She had nowhere else to go. She’d have to keep this charade going for a long while. And it had only felt as if everyone was watching before. Now they really were.

CHAPTER THREE

GABE STRETCHED OUT on the sun-warmed surface of the rock and let his sore muscles absorb the heat. The sky was a pale, pure blue above him and the breeze dried his sweat. His fingertips ached from bracing himself in a vertical crack after a misstep, but even that was perfect. He closed his eyes and melted into the mountain.

“Water?” his climbing partner asked.

Gabe opened his hand and felt a bottle hit his palm. “Thanks.”

“You’re out of shape, man.”

“Fuck you,” Gabe said, opening one eye just so he could glare at Benton. “You try living in Cincinnati and see how rusty your climbing skills get.”

“We’ll work on it,” Benton said.

“Hell, yeah, we will,” Gabe sighed. “Sunday?”

“You got it. Are you up for climbing Exum?”

Gabe sat up and stretched his left arm. “Jesus Christ, what is that? Eight hundred feet?”

“Sure, but it’s six pitches. And I’ll lo

wer you down if you get too tired.”

“You’re an arrogant ass, you know that?”

Benton grinned. “That’s why you love me.”

“I don’t think that’s it,” Gabe muttered. “Hell, I’m not even sure I love you.”

“Don’t tell me you’re just using me as a route leader?”

Gabe shrugged. “You come at the right price. Free.”

“Yet again, I’m just a cheap piece of ass.” Benton adjusted the tie holding back his dreadlocks and slipped on the shades that Gabe’s sister had once said made him look just like Lenny Kravitz. He tipped his head toward the cliff edge. “Ready?” he asked.