Not Quite Enough (Not Quite #3)(61)
Author: Catherine Bybee

“No, not Trent. The lawyers. Kept calling him my lover. Said I’d purposely agreed to go to Jamaica for a free plane ride to the island. Acted as if I needed a f**king booty call.”

Katie laughed.

Monica glared at her. “It’s not funny.”

“It will be when they find out who Trent Fairchild is.”

Monica dipped her spoon in the double Dutch chocolate and asked, “What do you mean who he is?”

“A Fairchild.”

Maybe it was the wine, but she wasn’t following Katie’s line of thought. “I don’t get it.”

“Fairchild Charters… Fairchild Vacations.” Katie dropped her spoon. “You don’t know who he is?”

“Well, of course I know who he is. He owns the helicopter tours on the island. But he’s not going to be booking tours there anytime soon.” She sipped more wine.

“Oh, bless your heart, you have no idea who he really is.”

“I do, and stop with that bless your heart crap. I may not be from the South but even I know that’s your way of calling me an idiot.”

“If the shoe fits.”

Monica tossed a pillow at her friend. “I liked it better when you were trying hard not to have an accent and southern roots.”

“I can’t help it. Dean’s family is so down home. When we all get to drinking and shooting the shit, the South in me just comes out. I’ll blame the wine.” Katie’s cheeks were rosy with wine and the twang in her voice became more apparent.

“Well, my southern belle, why don’t you tell me why I’m an idiot.”

Katie set her glass on the table, but only to add more liquid to the glass. “I think we need popcorn.”

“Katie!”

She stood and followed Katie into the kitchen as she pulled out the microwave variety of uncooked kernels, removed the plastic wrap, and tossed it in to cook. Where’s your tablet?”

“Charging on my desk.”

“Well go get it and look up Fairchild Charters.”

Monica grabbed her Kindle Fire and accessed the Internet. She typed in Fairchild Charters and the website popped up. At first glance, she thought she typed in the wrong IP address. Then she looked closer. The page was sleek and featured a rotating banner of jets available to charter. Monica dropped in the chair at the kitchen counter and clicked through a few pages. When she found the About Us page there was one group shot, and then three individual pictures of the co-owners. Jason Fairchild, Owner & CEO Fairchild Charters & Fairchild Vacation Tours, Glen Fairchild, Owner & CFO Fairchild Charters, and Trent Fairchild, Owner & CFO of Fairchild Vacation Tours.

She blinked. The picture of Trent and his brothers had been taken on a sunny tarmac in front of the largest private jet Monica had ever seen. The Fairchild men were all the same height, with bright smiles and sunglasses hiding what Monica knew were laughing eyes. What a hunk of trouble they must have been in school. She thought of the story Trent told her about hijacking his father’s chopper.

The individual pictures had the guys wearing those hats that pilots were fond of. Jason, the oldest brother according to the bio, lived close to their headquarters and ran the company. Glen, the middle son from what Monica could tell, looked like a player of the highest order. His smirk in the photo reminded her of Trent. He ran the financials and coordinated the jet charter end of the company. Monica found her mouth hanging open when she noticed the number of locations their planes flew out of. Then there was Trent. He had his jacket tossed over his shoulder as he posed for the picture in front of a huge helicopter. His smile played on her hot buttons and reminded her of his smooth voice and unforgettable kiss.

“He’s rich,” she all but whispered to her tablet as she clicked around to learn more about him.

“Ah, yeah! Daddy’s worked with the Fairchilds for years.”

Monica glanced at Katie. “You know them?”

“Never met ’em.” Katie retrieved Monica’s glass and set it in front of her. “My dad knew their dad.”

“Before he died?”

“Yeah.”

Another link took her to island tours. There she found a more recent picture of Trent wearing the clothes she associated with him. Shorts, a company pullover short-sleeved shirt, and flip-flops. “How come he didn’t tell me he was all this?”

Katie leaned against the counter and set the bowl of popcorn between them. “Guys brag about stuff like that to get laid.”

Monica stared at the picture of Trent. “He didn’t need to brag to get laid.”

The room grew quiet and when she glanced at Katie, her friend studied her with sad eyes. “Was it great?”

“Trent?”

“Yeah, Trent.” The bless your heart was implied.

She allowed the silly grin to spread. “I didn’t know sex could be like that. Where you feel it from head to toe and so many ricochets in the middle you know it can’t be real. Then you open your eyes and he’s still there, smiling… feeling it too.”

“Sounds perfect.”

If it was so perfect then why did he run off? “Then the walls collapse, you almost die, and he runs off at the first hurdle. Must not have been so perfect for him.” She tipped her glass again.

“Asshole!” Katie yelled.

“Fucktard!”

Katie giggled. “Fucktard is such a funny word.”

Monica drove the melancholy away with alternating sugary and salty bites. Katie cursed Trent with one breath, then poked a little more and sighed into the warm parts of their story, until Monica was certain Katie could write a book on the romance that wasn’t.

They polished off nearly three bottles of wine by the time Monica made it to bed. She had no problem falling asleep with her fuzzy brain.

Seeing Trent again led to dreams so real Monica could smell them in her sleep. When she revisited the moment the rocks fell on her, she looked over and saw Trent lying lifeless under the rubble. She woke screaming his name. Her heart raced from too much wine and too many memories. She flipped over, desperate to chase away the dark.

Katie ran into her room and Monica lost it.

The tears she’d been pushing back all night fell.

Jessie no sooner met Monica’s doorstep than Katie whisked her away after leaving a note on Monica’s fridge saying she went for a walk.

“She’s asleep?”

“Finally fell off a couple of hours ago. Oh, Jessie, it’s worse than I thought.”