Possessive Best Friend

Lora stands. “I’ll see what I can do, Mr. Ashman. In the meantime, leave us alone, please.”

“Make some guarantees, and then we’ll see what I can do.”

She turns and leaves the room.

I stare at my dad. “You’ve gone too far,” I say. “I don’t even know you anymore.”

“Sorry, son,” he says. “But some things are bigger than you.”

I stand up. “When this is over, don’t bother calling me that again.”

“Calling you what?” He tilts his head and frowns.

“Son.”

I turn and leave his office. Lora’s waiting for me out front.

“What do we do now?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “He wants to be mayor, but…”

“That won’t ever happen,” she says. “Even if that’s something my family could do, I wouldn’t let them.”

I nod once. “I agree.”

“So what’s our other option?”

“We get that permit,” I say. “And once we have it, we go forward with our plan.”

“Your father won’t like it.”

“Good.” I take her hand. “Let him be mad.”

She grins at me and kisses my cheek. “Good for you. I don’t think I’d have the balls to stand up to my family.”

“You have the biggest balls I know, girl.” I take her hand and pull her along. “Come on. Let’s figure this out.”19LoraThere are benefits to being rich.

One of them is a private jet.

We don’t use it often. Private jets are expensive to operate and horrible for the environment. My mother does care about that sort of thing, even if it is only because of her reputation and for no other reason.

But this is an emergency. When I explain to my mother what our problem is and what I want to do about it, she agrees to let me borrow the plane, on the condition that we will be discreet.

Problem is, there’s nothing discreet about a private jet.

We board the aircraft and sit down on enormous, plush seats. Dean laughs as he sinks down deep into the leather. “This is insane,” he says. “Seriously, this is way too insane.”

“I know,” I say, grinning. “I’ve only ever been on this once before.”

“Really?”

“Mother isn’t generous with the plane. We normally fly commercial.”

“First class, I assume.”

“Well, of course.” I make a face. “We’re Lofthouses, after all.”

He laughs at that. The attendant we hired for the trip comes over, offers us drinks, and the pilot taxis not long later. Soon, we’re in the air, hurtling through the sky.

“This is insane,” Dean says to me, looking out the window. “Do you know how many times I’ve left Loftville? I mean, aside from going to school.”

“I don’t know,” I admit.

“Zero.”

“Come on, that’s not true. You want on vacation, right?”

“Not once. My dad never took time off, never wanted to go anywhere that wasn’t local. Just the way things were for me, growing up.”

“You’re in for such a treat then,” I say with a laugh.

“Just being up here in this plane is a treat.” He sighs and stretches his legs.

The trip out isn’t bad. It takes a few hours to get from Loftville out to Tampa, Florida. We land on a private airstrip and the pilot parks the plane in a hangar. “Two days,” I say to them. “And then we’re back up.”

“Sounds like a plan,” the pilot says.

Dean and I get off the plane, find a taxi, and take it into town. It drops us off at the hotel I booked. We check in, get the room, and get settled.

“Not bad,” Dean says, nodding.

“It’s not a private plane, but it’ll do.” The room is a suite with a large bedroom and a small living room area. There’s a fully stocked bar, a large television, and a comfortable couch. It’s not a five-star hotel, but it’s nice enough.

“So, where to from here?” he asks me.

That’s the big question. I managed to track Leo Archer to Tampa, Florida. He was surprisingly easy to find and apparently very active on Instagram.

“Now I send him a message and see if he’ll meet with us.” I take out my phone and find his profile. “Hey, look. He went fishing today.” I show Dean the picture of Leo holding up a couple of little fish and grinning. The location says Tampa, Florida.

“Good for him.” Dean frowns a little. “Think he’ll help?”

“I have no clue,” I say. “Uncle Ron thinks he’s a crook. But Uncle Ron is an asshole, so it’s hard to say.”

Dean just nods and sits back on the couch.

I draft out a message, make a few changes, and then stare at it for a long moment. This is important, what I say to him now could change everything. “Ready?” I ask.

“Ready,” Dean says.

I hit send. The message goes through.

We sit there and wait, staring at the phone.

It’s dead quiet in the room.

Nothing moves. I barely breathe. Dean’s tension is obvious.

It buzzes. I jump. “Oh, shit,” I say. “Sorry, false alarm. Just a text from Delia.”