Wish Upon a Star (6 page)

“No!” she yelled as she snatched her bag off the seat and ran to the front amidst the surprised murmurs of her schoolmates and the bus driver’s protests.

“He can’t do this to me again. Not today,” she murmured under her breath.

The bus slowed to a stop and the doors slid open. Jasmine burst from the bus, ran past a large vehicle parked at her curb and rushed into the house. She pushed her slender frame past a man laden with boxes squeezing through her front door. She stumbled up the stairs in her panic. She caught her toe on the top step and careened towards her doorway. She slowed her forward momentum by grabbing the door frame with both hands. She surveyed her room in horror.

“Get out of my room!” Jasmine shrieked, startling the greasy man standing by her antique dresser, holding a pair of purple striped underwear in one hand and a box in the other. He stared at her with his mouth agape and eyes wide.

“Are you deaf? Get out!” she reiterated, stomping over to him.

She grabbed her underwear, threw it in the box and pointed to the door.

“But I . . .” the man said.

“Leave!” Jasmine yelled, interrupting him.

“Whatever,” he said, shrugging and walking towards the exit shaking his head.

He walked too slowly for Jasmine’s liking.  She followed him and used the door to push him out of the room faster. Her fury welled up inside her. Jasmine opened the door then slammed it shut several times. She paced the floor, willing everyone near to burst into flames. She grabbed a stuffed animal and threw it at the door with a guttural yell.  The small lamb bleated a pitiful cry as it impacted and fell.

Jasmine surveyed the room. Her closet doors hung open, revealing empty hangers and partially filled boxes. A drawer sat on top of her antique cherry wood dresser where the man had laid it. She could see scratch marks under the drawer from where the man pushed it across the top of her lovingly refinished furniture without care for keeping her property nice. She clenched her fists. She had fixed the scratches from the last careless movers only two months ago. She would have to do it again.

Jasmine’s messy military-issue twin bed appeared untouched. Her various music posters still observed passively from the walls, too cool to intervene on her behalf. The mover she interrupted had barely started in her room. Jasmine breathed a sigh of relief as she realized she had arrived home just in time to prevent most of the damage.

She reached into a pocket of her jeans and fumbled for her cellphone. Tears blurred her vision as she jammed a finger on its buttons. She tapped her toe as the phone rang.

“Hello?” said a male voice on the other end.

“Dad, what the heck?” Jasmine wailed, throwing her free hand in the air. It was a wasted gesture considering her father couldn’t see her but it was a good thing he couldn’t. That sort of behavior landed her in trouble.

“Jasmine?”
 he asked with a hollow voice. As she walked over to the window, Jasmine realized that he had put her on speaker phone.

“Why are there movers here?” she inquired, pushing aside the white curtains then gazed down at the men carrying boxes and furniture out of the house and into the truck parked by the curb.

“Jasmine, I only have a minute. Something came up and we need to move immediately,” he explained. His distracted tone and papers rustling in the background communicated clearly to Jasmine that she didn’t warrant his full attention.

“How hard is it to call me?
A text maybe? How about an e-mail?”  She flipped her brown hair over her shoulder.

“Calm down. I didn’t have time to give you an update,” Dad elaborated.

“Why are we moving again?” she whined, sagging onto the bed and wishing for a different life.

“Jasmine, this is classified. You know I can’t talk about it,” Dad rescinded, hiding behind bureaucracy to avoid offering an explanation for his negligence.

“Whatever Dad,” Jasmine huffed as she flopped onto her back.

“Young lady, fix your tone immediately. We will discuss this when you arrive,” Dad shot, switching into his voice of unquestionable authority.

“Where? Where are you?” Jasmine pried, sitting up, trained to respond like a good soldier although she despised her own reaction. She was pressing her luck.

“
Omaha. Look, I have a meeting. I’ll see you at Offutt Air Force Base. A car will be by to pick you up at o-eight-hundred,” Dad said coldly then hung up the phone. 

The click in her ear startled Jasmine and she looked at the screen on the phone in disbelief. The words Call Ended flashed thereupon, mocking her. Dad’s brisk responses had thwarted her righteous anger again. Even though Jasmine’s dad was the one who was in the wrong, she would end up having to apologize. A subordinate was not allowed to question a commanding officer.

Jasmine braced herself against the tears seeking escape her brown eyes. She refused to cry. She closed her eyes as her world closed in on her. Her chest ached. She struggled to continue breathing, forcing the air in and out in gasps. She understood why someone would want to die after suffering a broken heart. Anyone would want to escape the pain and loneliness she lived everyday.

Jasmine collapsed on her bed, stared at the swirls in her ceiling continued to deny her tears the exodus they sought. She rolled into a ball on her side and willed herself to fall asleep so she could escape into a dream where people who loved her would surround her in warm embraces. 

Sleep refused to come. She sat up and reached for her only friend. The old Martin acoustic guitar stood in its stand, stoically waiting for Jasmine’s gentle fingers. Jasmine nestled the guitar to her body and slowly strummed several minor chords. Switching to an E chord, she began to sing.

“Happy birthday to me . . . Happy birthday to me . . .”

Jasmine’s sixteenth birthday passed in tears and boxes.  

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***

Chapter One

Brinker pushed away from his massive desk and rose from the dark leather executive chair. Stretching to his full imposing height he walked to his built-in bar, flexing his muscles as though they were tight.

Kelly allowed her eyes to follow. He hadn't lost any of his granite toning from his days on the gridiron. She appreciated Brinker's interesting packaging with its many promises, although he was too easy to read: one of her easiest reads since she started her career.

Nice packaging, nonetheless
. In his case, though, the contents didn't stand up to the asking price.

A dark brown lock fell across his brow as he tipped a glass at her. "
Wanna drink?"

She dragged her gaze from his wavy tress to glare into his large, hazel eyes. He shrugged and turned to pour from a crystal bottle.

Yeah, he's going to need the artificial boost,
Kelly thought with pity for his crutch.

Beside him, a glass case running the width of the wall held mementos of his days gone by. Even though the shelves showcased large football awards, he kept his favorite trophies in a little black book. He looked into the mirrored case, spotted his reflection and ran his fingers through his perfect hair. His vanity disgusted Kelly. He turned to face her, a smile in place.

Brinker waved his glass. "Charlotte was impressed, so what's the big deal?"

It had been an easy enough meeting, Kelly remembered; the older woman had seemed receptive to him. But then again, this was easy to assume since all women were. The memory cleared. No, the woman had been politely interested. "You think our new client,
Mrs
. Deblichek, was
impressed
with your innuendos?"

He flashed a thousand-watt smile. "Of course she was
, they all are."

Kelly slowly shook her head in disbelief. "You're the most conceited man I've ever known."

"That's because I'm the best."

She snorted. "You're not even fifth on the rung."

He drew near. "I'm better than you think." Brinker's eyes narrowed, but Kelly saw the blaze and felt the boiling vibes rolling off his ego. Any more obvious and he would have growled.

Then I would have to slap his nose and tell him
"bad dog”.
Kelly fought back a grin.

His advances, as of late, had grown
more blatant. An underling told Kelly how Brinker boasted that he would tame Kelly and put her in his bed where she belonged. He’d as much chance of that as buying Husker season football tickets on a home game day. The tattle amused her even though she didn't believe the young whelp at first. She took the time to observe and saw how her indifference stimulated Brinker. She conceded to the thought that she’d become a well-needed challenge for the spoiled child. His good looks didn't interest her though. She needed more substance than he could provide.

She sighed, holding her ground. She wouldn't let him push her into something she would definitely regret later. She would in no way run to his arms, and she certainly wouldn't run from him.

He studied Kelly for a moment before reaching out to run his fingers along her arm. Kelly knew the move. He did it with all the women. Narrowing her eyes, she stared him down and he withdrew his hand. Smart move on his part.

He was taking too much of her time and it irritated her. "Just because you have most of the women drooling over you doesn't make you the best."

"It gives me an advantage." He grinned as he took a swig.

"It gives you a reputation, that's all." Kelly's frustration boiled up, threatening to expose itself.

"It's well earned." His eyebrows twitched and Kelly rolled her eyes. "But it's not the only reputation I have," he countered.

Shifting to her back foot Kelly crossed her arms over her chest.
"Oh yeah, your glory days. You can't sit on your laurels forever, Brinker, they grow thorns."

He lifted his chin and pulled his shoulders back. "The guys appreciated it at the Anderson meeting. It was my entertaining the two partners with my
glory days
that got us that account."

Her voice rose. "It was hard work and thorough preparation that got us the Anderson account." Kelly reined back her irritation.

"That's not what the guys said." He smirked and took another sip.

The memory of how he’d dazzled the two nerdy men with his football stories and how all the bosses congratulated only him grated her nerves. But she kept her emotions in check that time.
Taggert, in particular, had oozed all over Brinker. The older CEO barely acknowledging three months of hard work, of which Brinker did none. At least a dozen talented people worked sixty hour weeks to get ready for this presentation, only to be overshadowed by Taggert’s pompous golf buddy. She still rankled at the thought. Top management's coddling of Brinker was the real problem. She would have to do something about their interference.

She focused on Brinker.
"Yeah, the good ole boys." Brinker dropped his face to hers and his grin briefly disappeared. "At this moment you're their favorite toy, but that won't last forever. It won't be long before they find a new shiny plaything to dangle in front of other clients. Then you'll gather dust on a shelf." She flicked her fingers dismissively.

She watched as he schooled his face, propping up a smile that then twisted into a lopsided grimace. He had potential. Too bad he took the easy path, which gave him no points with Kelly.

Something diverted her from his internal struggle. What caught her eye? Ah, sheen dewed on his perfect features. She had him and they both knew it.

It was getting late and after having to yell at him for half an hour, she was bored. Coming back to his stupid stunt with a new client and his woeful
lack of preparation, she jabbed her finger into his hard chest, backing him against his prized trophy case. Stretching to her full height she glared into his widening eyes. Physically she didn't come close to his mammoth height but she didn't need to. They both knew she was better than him.

"If you can't pull your weight in my department, I'll get someone who can."