Rachel Gets Reckless

By amber marler

It started on an airplane….nothing as sordid as the mile high club but far more intimate.  On an international flight, in a darkened first class cabin two lost souls met, shared a meal, some conversation and an unexpected attraction.  Rachel Sorrel was a woman with her act together, the consummate Chick in Charge of a large software company.  Her life revolved around making money and fulfilling her ambitions, she failed however to consider the work/play equilibrium into her very busy schedule.  When she met Greg on the plane she only knew him as the good looking guy that thought naps should factor on one's daily agenda and not the renowned rock star that made tabloid fodder on a regular basis.  Without biases or preconceived notions they got to know each other while crossing the Atlantic Ocean and found something irresistible that neither wanted to deny.  The timing was all wrong, Rachel was closing a tricky business deal and Greg was on a comeback tour after a stint in rehab.  Their lifestyles were in conflict, Greg was a media darling with a parchment for scandal where Rachel only wanted respectability.  Against the odds, against their common sense, they took a risk on each other and got seriously reckless. 
Excerpt:
                "So who are you Mr. Gregory McDowe?" She asked her voice turning husky when he nuzzled his cheek against her hand.
    "You already know." He replied slowly drawing her closer into his embrace. 
    "No, I don't", she whispered back. "I know a stranger who shared a bag of Doritos with me on the plane.  I don't know the person who has a welcoming committee of a hundred women nor who has the ability to send these women into a feeding frenzy. So who are you?"
    "Does it matter?" he asked running his hands down her tapered back.
    Rachel shook her head, because she didn't know if it mattered.  Embarking on a logical conversation certainly didn't matter when his mouth was this close to hers.  Yet something in her made her persist.
    "Are you an athlete?  Movie star? Author? General stud-muffin?"
    "No," he replied lowering his mouth to nibble on her bottom lip, "I'm just a man."
    "Then you must be one hell of a man."
    Greg grinned, "I try." Then lowered his head to live up to his assertion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: amber marler
• Release date: Nov 2, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393046110

Book preview

RACHEL GETS RECKLESS

Copyright @2012 by Amber Marler

All rights reserved.

This work is fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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 1

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Sitting in the San Francisco International airport, Greg stretched his arms out over the raft of chairs on either side of him and contemplated the chaos of airport traffic.  This speculation had nothing to do with planes, but rather with the travelers who cruised the wide airport aisles in search of restrooms, restaurants, and missing relatives.  In his naiveté, Greg had once thought that the most amazing people resided in Los Angeles.  Now he knew that they inhabited airports.

Scurrying past him at a furious rate were all walks of life.  They came from different countries, held different ambitions, lived different lifestyles and carried different luggage.  But they had one purpose, one goal that united them together: the determination to catch the next damn flight that was headed toward their destination.  They had Greg’s sympathy as he watched the stream of humanity pass by the plated glass window of the VIP lounge, especially the man who just had his knee clipped by a rolling bag. Air travel was becoming a nightmare; the hassle of airline price rigging, cranky or drunk travelers, and not to mention the threat of terrorist activity, had changed the once civilized art of traveling into something savage.  Greg hated flying and normally would never board a flight without consuming a substantial amount of alcohol.  Today he was flying sober.

The loud speaker, conveniently located above Greg’s chair, vibrated to life, demanding that all first class passengers board flight 1276 immediately.  Greg watched, with casual nonchalance, as the passengers slowly trickled out of the lounge to board the plane.  He was determined to play it cool.  Slyly, he glanced at the businessman sitting next to him, who was calmly reading a newspaper. He struggled for equal aplomb.  Being casual and aloof seemed to be the best disguise to conceal his trepidation of boarding the flight.  Twitching your fingers nervously or holding your head in your hands in despair like Greg was currently doing did not reflect a confident air travel etiquette.  Before boarding a plane, passengers definitely need to have faith that they are going to reach their destination successfully.

Lifting his head Greg gave himself an internal pep-talk.  People fly airplanes every day, so of course they are safe.  Four hundred people had just boarded the 747 he would to be taking to London, so surely they thought air travel was safe. 

But really what do any of those people know? Greg thought cynically. Probably less than ten percent of these passengers know the mechanics behind how an airplane that weighs thousands of pounds magically lifts off the ground and flies.  Less than 20 percent know that the 747 plane was designed back in 1964 and is therefore decades old technology. For God’s sake didn’t people smoke weed back in ‘64?  That could have definitely affected design integrity.

Flying to the general public was a mystery, a phenomenon, an adventure for which Greg definitely needed alcohol in him before embarking upon.  Reluctantly, he moved from his position by the window and stoically approached the boarding gate.  Eyeing the almost empty gate wearily, he managed to calmly stroll aboard the aircraft while pretending that he wasn’t a man in fear for his very existence.  Quickly settling himself, Greg wondered that if boarding a plane without being inebriated had felt like a personal triumph, maybe he needed more challenges in his life.

Taking a look around, he noted that the plane was packed for the ten-hour flight to London’s Heathrow airport.  He stretched, a smile crossing his face as his hand appreciated the feel of leather on the empty first class seat next to him.  Greg loved sitting in first class;  he enjoyed the attention, the great food, and the extra movies.  Then, there was the matter of legroom.  At the height of 6’4", Greg demanded a lot of it and he had booked an extra seat so he could stretch out and gain some privacy for the long flight.

Soon a pretty flight attendant stopped by to take his drink order. Greg piously ordered a Coke and the attendant moved on sending Greg a questioning glance over her shoulder.  The look made him nervous.  It had been a long time since he’d traveled without the protection of an entourage.  In fact, the independence of boarding the flight alone had been foreign to him for several years now.  This flight was an exception.  Greg felt it was best to face internal fears without an audience.

Shrugging off the exposed feeling, Greg noted that he didn’t look like your typical first-class passenger.  Taking into account his scruffy jeans, tousled hair, and army boots, he was surprised the flight attendant didn’t check his ticket stub to ensure he was in the correct class.

Wearing sunglasses probably didn’t help ease her suspicions either.  Greg frowned.  He had forgotten how first impressions affected people.  The folks he knew usually formed their impressions of him long before they met. As the plane engines began to hum and the smell of burning jet fuel infiltrated the cabin, Greg was distracted from the rather disturbing thought that he looked like a 32-year-old hoodlum.

One more passenger sneaked aboard the flight before they closed the plane door.  To distract himself, Greg focused on the delinquent traveler from behind his sunglasses observing that this was a woman who knew how to make a first impression.

Standing at 5’9" in flats, she strolled calmly down the aisle, head up and shoulders back, radiating self-confidence.  Behind her an airline stewardess fluttered to assist the young woman with her topcoat and the stowing of her purse in the overhead compartment. The executive opted to keep her briefcase and laptop computer at her side. Briefly, Greg wondered if anyone told her about the two carry-on luggage limit.  But when he met the direct stare of her blue eyes, he decided not to mention it either. Opening her briefcase, she pulled out a neat file and began to peruse its contents.  He’d bet money that the laptop computer would come out soon after takeoff, and in the course of a few minutes, the two first-class seats would be transformed into a miniature executive office.

It vaguely disgusted Greg. He was a firm believer in praying through air travel, and the executive’s industriousness was a little disturbing.  Yet she was intriguing.  Maybe it was her thick auburn hair that made a man forget he preferred blondes, or perhaps it was the outstanding pair of legs she had neatly tucked under her.  And, had he actually seen her stow her purse in preference to a briefcase?

Excuse me?  Mr. McDowe? The too-sweet voice of the flight attendant interrupted his thoughts.

Beneath the dark sunglasses Greg eyes became guarded.  But he didn’t deny her presumption, Yes?

Gregory McDowe!? I can’t believe it’s you! the flight attendant beamed. I’m a big fan!

I’m glad, he replied softly and sincerely.  Is there something you need?

Oh, yes, I’m sorry, She hesitated. We have a bit of a problem Greg ....ah I mean, Mr. McDowe.  This flight is overbooked and the airline was wondering if you would mind giving up your extra seat to another passenger.  You will be reimbursed of course.

Greg’s glance flicked briefly behind the attendant where an elderly couple stood anxiously, hoping they wouldn’t be booted off the plane.

Are they going to sit in each other’s lap? he asked dryly.

The flight attendant laughed brightly and got lipstick on her teeth in the process, Oh no, I was going to ask the same of Miss Sorrel, over there.

Greg’s eyes followed the stewardess’s gesture and landed on the executive.  She was still engrossed in her paperwork, and she still fascinated him.  Standing, he smiled at the elderly couple and said, I wouldn’t want to break you two up.  Enjoy the seats.

With the flight attendant in tow, Greg sauntered over to seat 4A, enjoying the view of its occupant.  The feeling however, was not mutual; it took three Excuse me’s to break through the executive’s concentration and all they got for the effort was a distracted, Hmmm?

The flight attendant was getting nervous, and Greg couldn’t really blame her.  The executive had a certain aura of power that would intimidate Attila the Hun.  Regaining her composure, the attendant explained the situation while Greg patiently held up the two seats on either side of the aisle.

Blue eyes finally blinked up from the documents, transfixing both of them with her stare, Pardon?

Greg sighed while the attendant stuttered through her speech once again.  By this time he would have thought she had the darn thing memorized. But when the stewardess floundered into incomprehension, Greg interrupted.

Sorrel, we need to play musical seats.  The plane is overbooked, I just donated my seats to the elderly and you’re donating yours to me.

A frown appeared immediately between the executive’s eyes, I don’t know.  I need the room to work—that’s why I booked the extra space.

That statement had the flight attendant agitatedly wringing her hands, for she knew the importance of both of these passengers.  Greg and the executive ignored her.

Despite his sunglasses, the irritation Greg felt was written all over his face. He leaned over and spoke softly, Look, Ma and Pa Kettle over there are going to miss their trip to Europe.  The one they’ve been saving up for for the last twenty years.  They’re going to miss it if you can’t take it upon yourself to move over a bit.

The executive’s chin had come up at the word Look and one eyebrow followed, giving Greg the distinct impression that this young lady was rarely told what to do.  Yet, instead of the angry put-down he expected, she must have seen the sense in his argument, for all she said was Have a seat.

Greg complied and the flight attendant made her long awaited escape.  Now that the seating arrangements had been settled, the plane taxied from the gate and proceeded down the runway.  Greg tensed at the sudden movement.  The flight attendant was soon back offering cocktails and safety procedures. Greg paid careful attention to the last and desperately tried to ignore the temptation of the first.

As the plane accelerated, so did his trepidation. His skin tightened over his face as every logical part of his brain screamed that there was nothing to fear, while an equally logical part told him there was no way in hell this hunk of steel should be air-bound.  Then, they were flying.  As the plane leveled off, the tension in his body drained.  Glancing over to his companion, he noted the executive hadn’t even lifted her head during the whole ordeal.  Greg immediately concluded that she wasn’t human.

The next hour went by uneventfully.  As he predicted, the executive pulled out her laptop shortly after takeoff and was hard at work.  A stack of her files now occupied his fold-down tray while her computer was located on hers.  She hadn’t asked to use the tray and he hadn’t argued about it since it didn’t bother him. For some reason he didn’t think she meant to be intentionally rude, it was just that she was so focused on her work that civility was insignificant.  When dinner rolled around, Greg refused for the both of them since their tray tables were already occupied, and the executive was in another world.

She fascinated him, from the mind-boggling fiscal report she was working on to the way she kept pushing her hair back though it wanted to fall over one eye.  He liked the scooped-neck silk blouse she wore; it tempted him more than any clingy, low-cut blouse ever would.  When she moved, he watched the silk slide over her skin; when she breathed, it tightened in the nicest places then released softly over others. 

Another hour passed.  He noticed the nervous tick in her leg and the way she kept trying to rub a headache away between her eyes.  At eight o’clock she reluctantly closed up the office. Greg had noticed the light was fading on her computer screen—the battery on its last dregs of power. As the light faded, her headache intensified as the pain and the dark circles beneath her eyes were now clearly visible.

With an efficiency Greg had never experienced himself, she organized her files and stowed everything under the seat in front of her.  Stretching to relieve the stiffness in her shoulders, she sat back against her seat and closed her eyes against the harsh overhead lights.

Here, Greg offered handing her his sunglasses, take these. They’ll be turning the lights off soon.

She looked at him with a start, a reluctant smile slowly transforming her features, God, I thought you were blind!

Greg laughed, sliding the pair of sunglasses on her face before replying, No, I can see very well.

She looked at him curiously, Do I know you from somewhere?

Greg hedged, I don’t think so.

The executive sighed, relaxing again, Thank goodness, for a minute there I thought you might be a movie star or something.

He smiled over her relief, and asked, Why is that?

They’re the only breed of the human species that would wear sunglasses on an airplane, she pointed out dryly.

Greg nodded, acknowledging her statement for its truth but also knowing there is another career class she should include with those movie stars.

You don’t consider sitting next to a movie star an appealing situation? he asked.

I would I suppose. But I haven’t seen a movie in ..... well, in this decade, so I probably wouldn’t recognize him or her anyway.

And no doubt cause insufferable damage to his ego, Greg concluded.  For the first time in his life he found himself easily relating to a Hollywood movie star.

So why the tough guy act? she wanted to know.

Tough guy?

Sure, all you need is a box of cigarettes rolled up your sleeve and all the Sandra Dees will be lusting after you.

What’s your name? he asked quietly.

Rachel, Rachel Sorrel.

Damn.

You don’t like my name? she asked dryly.

I was hoping it was Sandra Dee.

Oh, Rachel said surprised.  She then frowned in concentration. Is she the chick that makes frozen desserts?

Greg shook his head amazed, he never thought a woman like this would have the word ‘chick’ in her vocabulary, much less partake in the frozen dessert section of the local grocer.

No that’s Sarah Lee.

Rachel laughed, That’s right, great cheesecake. Do they feed us any time soon?

No, they already served dinner, he paused before adding, We both missed it.

Oh, you did too?

Greg shrugged, With all your stuff spread out there wasn’t much room for dining.

Oh. What’s your name tough guy? It was more of a demand than a question.

Greg.

Last name, she snapped, sounding very much like a corporate executive.

He hesitated then replied, Gregory McDowe.

The sunglasses slid down her nose so that she was staring directly into his dark green eyes. Well Gregory McDowe, why didn’t you tell me to move over, like you did before?

Greg lowered his eyes, in a manner that made women’s hearts flutter and simply replied, I liked watching you.

Eyebrows flew up at that, sliding the glasses further down as she asked, Was I doing anything interesting?

Nope.

So, Rachel paused evaluating the situation, you let me hog all the room, blockade you into your seat, deny you a meal and probably a bathroom break because you liked watching me? The sarcasm was evident in her voice and Greg was trying hard not to laugh.  Suddenly, with a bit of dramatic flare, Rachel pulled off the sunglasses, letting him feel the full weight of her stare. Are you a kinky man, Gregory McDowe?

His shout of laughter brought a reluctant smile to her face, the deep sound was fresh and healthy.  Not cynical and cold like so many of the businessmen she knew.

Rachel, we’d better find you something to eat. I think your weakened condition has affected your reasoning.

How so? she asked looking highly offended.

You just accused me of being kinky when all I was doing was appreciating the beauty of an interesting woman.

Rachel, despite her proclivity for debate, had a hard time refuting the logic in his claim.  What woman in her right mind would argue with the quality of her beauty anyway?

Flattery is the drink of kings, McDowe, it eventually leads to their downfall. Wait here and I’ll bring back the drink of executives and, she added with a smile, tough guys.

Greg watched her slim figure depart down the aisle. She was younger than he thought, probably in her late twenties but a very serious late twenty-year-old.  Within a few minutes she was walking back jauntily and looking pretty groovy in his shades, carrying a pint of milk in each hand.  Greg didn’t dare laugh—for Rachel was looking very pleased with herself.

Settling herself, Rachel pulled out her briefcase and unfolded a slightly smashed paper bag.  She looked over at Greg, who was watching her with undisguised interest, and slyly asked, Want to know what’s in here?

Greg shook his head.  She looked like she was ten years old and sharing the secrets of her toy box. I’d rather know what the hell else you’ve got in that briefcase.

Classified.  She stated as she searched though the paper bag pulling out a truly decadent looking brownie and dangling it in front of Greg.

Hmmm, is that the kind with cream cheese in it? he asked, already feeling his mouth salivate.

Yeah, here’s a bag of Doritos—uh-oh they expire tomorrow. Now that’s a scary thought, have you ever eaten an expired Doritio? Rachel didn’t wait for an answer, just shrugged her shoulders and said, Oh well we’ll eat them anyway. Tossing the bag over with the brownie onto his tray table.

What else? Greg asked eagerly, already hoarding the stash in front of him.

Hey, here’s one of those cheese and cracker snack things. Where’s the stick to spread the cheese? They forgot the cheese stick! How inconsiderate! Rachel turned abruptly towards Greg pointing an accusing finger, Quality, McDowe, is the foundation of industry.

He rolled his eyes and held out his hand, That’s good to know, now give me the crackers.

Well, we’ve got sugar, fat, soon-to-expire preservatives and now we can both have beef jerky breath! she exclaimed, playing a brief drum solo with her meat sticks before adding them to the rest of their buffet.

A glance over at their first class neighbors left Greg with the impression that they hadn’t appreciated the solo. He smiled at the couple murmuring an excuse, She’s a little overworked.

The man nodded understandingly, while his companion frowned, observing Rachel who was strategically trying to cut the brownie in half.

You’re upsetting the natives, he whispered.

Typical of someone used to power, Rachel only shrugged. They’ll deal.  Anyway, you’re the one who looks like a gang member.

So, at least I’m not acting like Phil Collins with hair.

Who?

Greg groaned, Never mind.  God, this brownie is great.  Did you make them?

Rachel gave a rather unexecutive snort. Surely, you jest. I do not cook, I don’t even attempt it anymore.  My doctor has assured me that my high blood pressure will go down significantly if I strictly avoid all domestic endeavors.

It can’t be that bad, Greg chuckled.

The last time I cooked, I came home from work starving only to find a box of baking soda, an unidentifiable intelligent life form and a jar of tomato sauce in the frig.  So, after I subjected the tomato sauce to the sniff-and-hope-it-doesn’t-dissolve-your-nasal-hairs test, I declared it edible and decided to make pasta.  But that meant I had to wait ten minutes for the noodles to cook, denying me the instant gratification I usually demand of my meals. Finally it’s cooked, and I’m draining the noodles over the sink when the phone rings, startling me. Which in turn startles the pot in my hand, which startles the noodles right down the drain.  Boy was I honked off!  My secretary was on the phone and she diligently listened to me rant and rave, then had the gall to offer the advice, Practice, Rachel, you must practice. My lawyer called me soon after and proposed the rinse-and-eat-it anyway theory. But by that time I’d already ordered out for pizza.  The next day I arranged for a catering service to stock my kitchen with microwaveable stuff.  It’s one of my best decisions yet.

Greg shook his head, I wouldn’t say that.  You’re still eating beef jerky sticks.

Rachel laughed, Well, my secretary Missy put this together for me as a high-calorie snack for one of my previous business trips.  She has a thing about me eating three meals a day.

Did you get fed on that flight then?

Rachel looked sheepish. No, I missed the on-board dinner and forgot about the snack.

Greg thought Missy had a right to be concerned. Did Missy make this brownie?

Yes, she’s a terrific cook.

Married?

Rachel laughed, No, but you’ll have to wait your turn if you want to ask.  There are thousands of men after my assistant.

And she’s still not married? he asked incredulously.

A slight frown crossed Rachel’s face, They always want her to give up her career; well not her career, just her work with me.  She doesn’t want to.

"What do you