Полная версия
Just Dare Me...
STEPHANIE BOND
Just Dare Me…
Many thanks to my editor, Brenda Chin,
for taking me on more than
one fun outdoor adventure!
And thanks to rugged outdoorsmen and
friends Steve Grantham and Phillip Giese
for giving me tips on various equipment.
Also, thanks to my dad for including me
in his paddling trips while I was growing up,
and for teaching me an appreciation
and respect for the outdoors.
Finally, this story is set in the gorgeous
Amicalola Falls area in the north Georgia
mountains. And although I’ve taken liberties
with the trail names and topography, I highly
recommend the area for hikers of all levels.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Coming Next Month
1
“SO WHO DO YOU think she slept with to get that promotion?”
Gabrielle Flannery tore her gaze away from the striking blonde in the front of the room, for whom the entire department had gathered for a send-off on a Friday afternoon, and frowned at her coworker, Tori. “Courtney has always been nice to me—and to you.”
Tori snorted. “Yeah, because we catered to her like the servants we are.”
Gabrielle shook her head at her friend and strained for a better view of the cake-cutting from where they stood behind a ficus tree in the crowded conference room. “Well, I, for one, am happy that Courtney is moving on to better things,” she said, keeping her voice lowered.
“Yeah,” Tori muttered. “A six-figure salary, a gargantuan expense account, a new company car and a corner office. Score another one for the cool kids, while we dweebs are still batting zero.”
Gabrielle shifted uncomfortably at being included in the dweeb reference. “You’re being unkind, Tori. We each contribute to the bottom line of this firm, we each have our own accounts.” Her pulse picked up a notch as devilishly handsome Dell Kingston stepped up to say a few parting words about Courtney.
“Right,” Tori said behind her hand. “Don’t you think it’s strange that all the high-profile, exciting products like sex-enhancement drugs and European cars go to people like Courtney Rodgers and Dell Kingston, and people like us get stuck with toilet paper and dog food?”
Gabrielle craned for a better view, although admittedly, the rugged profile of Dell Kingston was of more interest than the decorated sheet cake. “They have seniority,” she murmured absently.
Tori scoffed. “Both of them came in two lousy weeks before we did, Gabrielle, and their careers are light years ahead of ours. Look at us,” she said, swatting at a branch. “They’re in the spotlight, and we’re standing in a tree, spectators to their success.”
Gabrielle bit into her lip, watching Courtney and Dell, the Barbie and Ken of Noble Marketing of Atlanta, smiling at each other as if they shared an intimate secret.
“Now that Courtney is leaving, Dell’s going to be a free man,” Tori whispered in Gabrielle’s ear in a singsongy voice.
“Stop it.” But a flush heated Gabrielle’s neck and face—she wished she’d never shared her huge crush on Dell with Tori, and was glad she hadn’t shared the true extent of her feelings for him. As if Dell Kingston would ever be interested in her, except as the butt of a joke. The man teased her mercilessly about her red hair and freckles, often assuming an outrageous Irish accent for good measure.
“May I have your attention, please?” Dell asked, bestowing his trademark grin on the group assembled.
The room grew quiet, and Gabrielle could feel every cell in her body straining toward him. The man was absolutely magnetic, with big, brown eyes that tied her tongue in knots.
He turned toward the beautiful Courtney. “We’re gathered here today in the presence of these witnesses,” he began, then stopped. “No, wait—that’s only in my dreams.”
Everyone groaned, then laughed as Courtney punched him lightly in the arm.
Gabrielle joined in the laughter halfheartedly, but inside, she succumbed to a pang of envy toward Courtney Rodgers—a tall, golden-haired, voluptuous beauty queen with a distinguished Southern pedigree. She’d used all of those assets to achieve her status as a top-notch manager of some of the firm’s most prestigious accounts and parlayed them into a promotion to the New York office.
Although it was hard to fault the woman. Courtney put in long hours at Noble.
Then Gabrielle sighed inwardly—but not as many hours as she and Tori had put in.
“Seriously,” Dell continued, comfortable at the center of attention, “we’re all going to miss Courtney and we wish her only the best in her new adventure. Oh, and just so everyone knows—I have dibs on the CEG account.”
Everyone laughed at Dell’s good-natured arrogance.
“That account should be yours,” Tori whispered.
The CEG account—Cutting Edge Gear, a hot outdoor equipment account with an even hotter celebrity spokesman. The highlight of Gabrielle’s career had been acting as Courtney’s unofficial assistant on the account, hoping that someday she’d get to meet Nick Ocean, the movie-star spokesman. With Courtney leaving, Gabrielle had secretly entertained fantasies of their boss, Bruce Noble, offering her the account…but, of course, Dell would get it.
Dell said a few final words about Courtney and everyone applauded.
Courtney, who wasn’t just leaving for a new job, but embarking on a new adventure, Gabrielle mused. For some people, every move they made seemed more exciting, more exotic than that of the average person.
The average dweeb.
Dell gave Courtney a hug, leaving his arm slung around her shoulders. Gabrielle leaned forward, wondering how people reached that magical place where the world seemed to fall at their feet. She wished she was fearless, exuded charm, had the nerve to go after what she wanted. How lucky the woman was to orbit in Dell’s galaxy…to have him touching her…
Suddenly the potted tree in front of Gabrielle moved. No, she realized with horrific clarity—she was falling! Hugging the tree, she and the ficus both pitched forward and landed hard on the floor, soil spilling up her long skirt. Gasps sounded all around her, then laughter traveled around the room. Gabrielle rolled onto her back and closed her eyes, praying that everyone would ignore her—as usual—and that the festivities would continue.
“Gabrielle, for heaven’s sake, your skirt is up to your shoulders,” Tori hissed. “Mr. Noble is staring at you. Get up!”
The laughter gained momentum, although it sounded as if people were trying to muffle it with their hands. She lay there, eyes closed, limbs unresponsive, willing a blood clot to take her.
“Are you trying to upstage me?” a low voice murmured.
Gabrielle’s eyes opened to see Dell Kingston leaning over her, his rich, chocolate-brown eyes full of mirth.
“No,” she croaked.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
He reached down and pulled her to her feet. “Nothing to see here, folks,” he said in a fake authoritative voice. “Move it along to the cake table, please.”
Gabrielle’s face flamed in humiliation as people filed past them. Mr. Noble squinted at her as if trying to recall her name. She brushed soil from her tan-colored tweed jacket. Her long matching skirt had fared worse, bearing dark, wet smears. Contrasted with the bright blue silk suit that Courtney wore, her own scratchy suit seemed worse than frumpy, and completely inappropriate for the summer heat.
“You sure you’re okay?” Dell said, a smile curling his gorgeous mouth.
She nodded, mortified to have created such a spectacle. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he said with a laugh, then leaned in and murmured, “That’s a nice pair of legs you’ve been hiding, Gabby.”
Her mouth tightened—she hated that nickname. But a little thrill bolted through her at his compliment.
“Dell,” Courtney called, “I need some help over here.”
“Coming,” he said, then he reached forward and touched his finger to the tip of Gabrielle’s nose, coming away with a smudge of dirt. “Watch out for those attack trees.”
Her throat convulsed at his close proximity. His features were strong and masculine, his short, dark hair sexily rumpled. His teeth were white against his bronze skin. His spicy cologne teased her nose. She couldn’t have spoken if she tried.
So instead, she turned and fled for the exit.
DELL KINGSTON quirked a smile as he watched the slender redhead escape from the room—the woman was certainly good at disappearing. And she was a bit of a klutz, he thought wryly, remembering the times he’d rescued her from an overflowing coffeepot, a copier machine that had gone on the offense and an avalanche of binders in the supply room. He righted the unfortunate tree, leaving mounds of dirt on the carpet.
He enjoyed teasing Gabby Flannery because she was so quick to blush, and didn’t lash back like most of the women in the department. It was obvious that she was crushing on him, and he smiled at the thought of little Gabby lying awake at night fantasizing about him.
It was sweet, really.
Although there was nothing sweet about the expanse of killer legs her tumble had exposed, or his gut-clenching reaction. He wondered idly what other secrets the flame-haired wallflower was hiding beneath those Puritan suits she wore, and just how daring the woman might be…in the right hands.
“Dell,” Courtney sang, her voice lilting higher.
“Coming,” he repeated, forcing his mind back to the happy occasion of Courtney’s departure.
They’d passed some good times between the sheets, but otherwise he and the buxom blonde were woefully incompatible. Her leaving was a win-win situation—she was moving up to the company’s Manhattan office, and he would have the coveted CEG account. With Courtney gone, no one else stood in his way. Gabby certainly didn’t present a threat—with the encouragement of a well-placed wink or two, she’d pass along everything she’d learned about CEG from working on the fringes of the account…and perhaps would fall into the role of his unofficial assistant.
Then his mind flashed back to the image of Gabby Flannery lying on the floor, her long, lean legs parted, and he pushed his tongue into his cheek. With Courtney gone, he’d also need to find a new…pastime.
And suddenly the idea of a blushing, tongue-tied, useful redhead in his bed was tremendously appealing.
2
GABRIELLE JOGGED to her cubicle, furious with herself for creating a scene that would make her the laughingstock of the office, yet again.
Tori was right—she was a dweeb.
“Hey, Gabrielle,” her friend called behind her. “Wait up!”
But Gabrielle marched into her cube, and grabbed her briefcase and purse. If she left now, she wouldn’t have to stand on the elevator with her coworkers.
“It wasn’t that bad,” Tori said, then she lost the battle and a burst of laughter filtered through her fingers. “Okay, that was hilarious, stealing Courtney’s thunder.”
Gabrielle expelled a frustrated sigh. “Tori, I didn’t do it on purpose!”
“That’s not the way I’m going to tell it,” Tori said with a grin.
Gabrielle swung her purse strap to her shoulder. “I’m going home.”
“But it’s Friday,” Tori pouted. “We’re supposed to volunteer usher at the Fox Theater.”
Them and every senior citizen in midtown—God, this was her social life. “Not tonight. I’ll call you sometime this weekend.”
Tori clasped her arm. “Are you okay? I mean, it’s not like you haven’t made a fool out of yourself before—” Then she stopped, her eyes wide. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
Gabrielle blinked back moisture and looked down at her stained, outdated suit, replaying the mortifying incident in the conference room and, worse, her stuttering and sputtering around Dell, who always made her feel inept and unattractive. A few months from turning thirty, and in the face of pressure, she regressed to the gawky teenager who had been the punch line of every joke in high school. Lying on the floor with potting soil up her skirt and all her coworkers laughing, she had seen her career pass before her eyes. She would never be in the league of Dell Kingston or Courtney Rodgers. Once a dweeb, always a dweeb.
“Have fun at the Fox, Tori.”
She headed toward the elevator, her shoulders hunched, her hands in her pockets.
“Gabrielle!” Tori called behind her. “Don’t be like that!”
She stared straight ahead as she rode down in the elevator, then walked outside into the summer heat shimmering off the sidewalks in downtown Atlanta. But her friend’s words looped in her head as she waited at the Marta stop for the bus that would take her to the station a few blocks from her cramped midtown apartment. Don’t be like that…don’t dream big…don’t be offended when people overlook you…underestimate you…ignore you.
In the muggy July temperatures, she was miserable in her dirty, wooly suit. When the bus lurched to a halt, she climbed on with other work-weary passengers. Predictably, within a few minutes, the bus was trapped in Friday gridlock traffic.
The traffic, she thought wryly, was symbolic of her career—at a complete standstill.
She loved the field of work she’d chosen, and believed that Noble was one of the industry’s best firms, but she’d had higher hopes for her career. Noble had always been a firm she could see herself retiring from…but she had horrible visions of herself thirty years from now, still a junior account exec, still standing behind the plants at staff gatherings.
As the relatively short drive extended longer and longer, she looked for something to take her mind off the troublesome thoughts about herself. On the seat next to her lay a copy of U.S. Weekly Review. She picked it up and leafed through the bent pages, stopping on an article titled Adrenaline Rush—Change Your Mind, Change Your Life. Intrigued, she started reading the article that asserted most people encountered some sort of plateau in their life, and the only way to get things moving was to harness the mind’s energy and take a risk.
In your mind’s eye, picture what it is that you want, then ask yourself, if you go for it, what’s the worst thing that could happen? You can recover from anything short of death, and if you fail, you probably won’t be worse off. But if you rally your talents and your inner strength, chances are you won’t fail; in fact, you are likely to succeed beyond your wildest dreams.
Gabrielle sat up straighter in her seat, her chest suffused with the strange, prickly feeling that the magazine article was written especially for her. Change your mind, change your life, take a risk.
When was the last time she’d experienced an adrenaline rush? In the evenings, she either worked late or brought work home, which had ceased to be exciting years ago. On weekends she did her volunteer stint at the Fox Theater, which required wearing a red-and-black outfit and showing people to their seats in exchange for sitting in an empty seat or on the stairs to watch the shows for free. She hadn’t dated since…a long time ago. The only special people in her life were Tori, who could be a bit of a downer, and McGee, who wasn’t even a person, but her pet bulldog.
She sighed, conceding that the only adrenal activity she’d experienced lately was when she passed Dell Kingston in the hallway, or the times he had saved her from some bumbling mess she’d gotten herself into.
God, how pathetic that the most exciting thing in her life was a reaction to someone else—someone who barely acknowledged her existence. Other women her age, like Courtney, were creating excitement in their lives by proactively stepping out of their comfort zone and trying something new.
It was time she took control of her life, she decided, lifting her chin.
Then she bit into her lip—but how?
She scanned the article again. In your mind’s eye, picture what it is that you want, then ask yourself, if you go for it, what’s the worst thing that could happen?
What did she want? she asked herself. What would make her happy? To be noticed…to be recognized…to be given the opportunity to showcase her brains and her talents…
She wanted the CEG account.
The bus stopped and the doors opened at the midtown station. Gabrielle stuffed the magazine in her bag and disembarked, her mind clicking. “I want the CEG account,” she said aloud, testing the words on her tongue.
But you heard Dell…he has designs on the CEG account…of course Bruce Noble will give it to him, her subconscious whispered. It was crazy to think that the boss would hand over one of the firm’s most lucrative accounts to her, especially after witnessing her spectacle today.
On the other hand, with Courtney leaving, she was the person who was most acquainted with CEG and its products—she had worked with the product engineers to understand the specs of each piece of outdoor equipment and helped to create brochures to highlight the premium features that CEG wanted to stress to consumers.
She climbed the stairs to her fourth-floor one-bedroom apartment. Hadn’t she walked up and down these very stairs for hours to test CEG hiking boots so she could better understand how they functioned?
She unlocked the door to her apartment, smiling and crouching down to hug McGee and rub his little, flat face. After promising him a walk as soon as she changed, she glanced around her crowded apartment with a frown.
And hadn’t she dedicated much of her and McGee’s living space to CEG products—tents, backpacks, rappelling equipment and camping gear?
With McGee at her heels, she raised her hands and grabbed onto a metal T-bar, then lifted her feet to ride a cabled zip line down the hall—another CEG product—to her bedroom. She put her feet down and set her purse and briefcase on the end of the cluttered bed, unused for the past three months because she’d been testing the comfort of a CEG tent pitched in the living room.
A sigh escaped her as she glanced at the clothes piled on the bed. And hadn’t she given up most of her closet space to CEG workout clothes and running gear?
She didn’t spend the weekends defying death, like Dell Kingston was purported to have done with his rock climbing and acrobatic rappelling and triathlons. But she’d analyzed the products, studied the specs and knew the limitations. She’d bet that she knew at least as much about CEG products as Dell did.
“I want the CEG account,” she repeated, this time with more force.
McGee barked his enthusiastic agreement.
She slowly undressed, peeling her sticky blouse from her body, and bypassed her dry cleaner’s bag in favor of the trash can for her soiled, dated suit. She pulled on shorts and a T-shirt, using her hand to smooth down the loose bits of hair that stuck up from her French braid. Good grief, the stuff was like an unruly scouring pad.
If you go for it, what’s the worst thing that could happen?
She’d be humiliated and have to slink back to her cubicle and be satisfied with her feminine hygiene and hemorrhoid cream accounts. Although, would it really be any more humiliating to be turned down by Bruce Noble than wrestling with a tree in front of the entire department—and losing?
No, she decided. But would she be able to talk to Bruce Noble without lapsing into a babbling fool? She glanced at the discarded suit, which McGee was sniffing suspiciously. And if she were going to step into Courtney’s shoes, she had to step up her wardrobe a notch. Or three.
Gabrielle reached into the back of her closet and removed a pale green suit that her mother had given her for her birthday. Fiona Flannery was a flamboyant redhead who was always pushing her daughter to play up her unusual coloring, frequently sending makeup and beauty products and clothes that Gabrielle hadn’t had the nerve to use or wear.
She held the suit in front of her and stared at her reflection in the closet door mirror. The fabric was soft and clingy, the color set off her green eyes. The jacket was fitted and flirty, the skirt was short—well above the knee.
Remembering Dell’s comment about her long, albino legs, her cheeks warmed. He’d only been teasing her, of course, trying to get a rise out of her. But it was fun to think that maybe the flash in his decadent eyes had been a tiny bit of male appreciation.
Then she smirked at her reflection. If Dell got wind of her vying for the CEG account, would he feel threatened…or would he laugh?
What’s the worst that can happen?
She could always go back to being invisible.
She put a leash on McGee and pulled the magazine out of her bag to take on their walk. McGee was the dearest dog ever created, but he moved his squatty little self like a sleepy snail—a turn around the block gave her plenty of time to reread the “Adrenaline Rush” article for tips on how to begin working toward her goal.
To prepare for an uncomfortable situation, visualize the scene, how you want it to unfold, how you will respond to resistance. Write a script, and practice what you’ll say until you can speak with authority.
Visualize…practice…
She closed her eyes and with great effort, banished the vision of her walking into Bruce Noble’s office Monday morning, her knees quaking, her voice leaving her. Instead, she visualized walking into his office Monday morning, declining his offer to sit, calling him “Bruce,” and telling him that she wanted—no, that she deserved—the CEG account.
But each time she visualized Bruce’s face, he looked incredulous, skeptical and stupefied at her request.
But when she returned to her apartment, now carrying McGee because he couldn’t maneuver the stairs, an idea popped into her head. She rifled through her briefcase, and pulled out the company’s full-color annual report. Inside was a picture of Bruce Noble, his face nearly life-size…and smiling. She tore out the photo and pasted it onto a piece of cardboard, then cut along the outline of his face. Then she fastened the cardboard face to the front of a ball cap.
“McGee, come here, sweetie.”
He lumbered over and stood patiently while she settled the cap onto his meaty head.
“Perfect,” she said, then stepped back to stare at Bruce Noble’s smiling face. “Mr. Noble, I want the CEG account.”
McGee barked, his jowls bouncing, not unlike her boss’s.
“Why?” She picked up the green suit and held it against her. “Because I’ve assisted on the account for two years—I know the products, I wrote most of the literature, and…”
McGee barked, as if prompting her.
She pulled the clasp from her braid and ran her fingers through her long hair, releasing it into all its furious glory. “And I deserve this chance…Bruce. I’ve given this firm six years of my life, and I’m good at my job. Just as good at Dell Kingston. And I’m tired of being overlooked…by everyone.”
The memory of Dell’s mocking smile as he’d pulled her to her feet flooded her with stinging humiliation all over again. He’d teased her, dismissed her, just like the others.
But Monday morning, she thought determinedly, she would be noticed…for all the right reasons.
3
