AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I take another deep breath and feel myself relaxing slightly (which is to say, I’ve moved from full-on terror to my original state of ‘I hate this with a passion, get me off this thing.’) My mind searches for something to think about other than death, and the conversation we were having just before my life flashed before my eyes comes back to me. Swallowing hard, I say, “So, what exactly makes you so qualified that no one else could’ve come in your place?”
“What’s that?” she asks, giving me a blank look.
“Earlier. You said you were the only one who had the qualifications to come on the trip. Remember? You were a little put out that I suggested you were only sent because you’re attractive.”
“Wouldn’t you be insulted if I said that to you?” she asks.
“If you said I was attractive?” I say with a smirk. “I honestly don’t think that would bother me all that much.”
“You didn’t say I was attractive,” she says, taking a big breath. “You said I was only here because I’m attractive, which negates my intellect, education, and skills and reduces me to some sort of … Playboy pin up.”
“Playboy pin up? That’s not what I said. Not even close,” I tell her, trying not to imagine her in one of those poses with red lips and very little covering her. Too late. “Obviously I know you’re smart. You wouldn’t have gotten through school if you weren’t.”
“Damn right, I’m smart.”
“But look around. All the foundation’s projects—every single one—sent a young, relatively attractive female. Except the Ghostbusters, but that’s just because they’ve got a total sausage fest going on over there.”
She snort laughs, but then quickly recovers, and when she talks, she’s all business. “I can assure you my looks have nothing to do with me being here.”
“So? Tell me then. Why you? Are you the genius with the highest IQ on the team or something?”
“Not exactly,” she says, glancing out the window, then back at me. “It’s less to do with my IQ and more to do with my … umm … vaccinations.”
I pause for a second, sure I heard her wrong. “Come again?”
Swiping her tongue over her front teeth, she says, “I was the only one who had all the necessary travel vaccinations to go into the jungle.”
My mouth drops, then I burst out laughing. She turns to face the other way while I try to get my laughter under control. “The only one … bahahaha!”
“I’m not sure why you find that so funny,” she quips.
“It’s because you were so haughty about it.” I raise my voice so I sound vaguely like her. “I’m the only one with the necessary qualifications.”
“That is a qualification.”
Okay, this is definitely working. I’ve completely forgotten where I am. Well, almost. “No, it’s not. A qualification is something like a skill or an attribute that allows you to do a job. It’s not a shot in the arm.”
“That’s not true. It’s any condition that must be met in order to qualify you for something. Take the presidency. One of the qualifications is that you must have been born in the United States, which is neither a skill nor an attribute. It’s just … luck.”
Damn. She’s got me there. I stare down at her, thoroughly enjoying the smug look on her face. “All right, Ms. Fox. I concede on one condition.”
“Which is?”
“That you admit you were trying to make it sound as though you had some personal attribute that led your boss to choose you.”
She glares at me for a second, and damned if she’s not actually really beautiful with that look on her face. “And why exactly do you think I care if you concede?”
“Because it means you win,” I tell her.
“I already won. I proved my point. I don’t need you to concede. Besides, that wasn’t about winning. It was about accuracy. Your definition of the word ‘qualification’ was too narrow and required expanding, which I was able to do with my example,” she says, reminding me very much of a stern English teacher I had in high school. “You know I’m right, so there’s no need to agree to your condition.”
I sit quietly for a minute while I consider her words. She’s smart. Really fucking smart. A force to be reckoned with. To be honest, I’m not sure I can keep up with her mentally, which is not something I’ve encountered often. This is all horribly inconvenient because I’m not supposed to enjoy sparring with someone who hates me the way she does. Oh, and I hate right back because … nasty and all that. What the hell. This is fun. “I don’t believe you. I think that was about winning.”
“I know my own mind, Mr. Sterling. Certainly better than someone who met me less than an hour ago. It was not about winning. It was about accuracy.”
I’m tempted to tell her to call me Ty, but there’s some weird part of me that enjoys hearing her call me Mr. Sterling. Besides, I should keep it professional. That would definitely be the smart thing to do. The last thing I need is to get all confused about a woman. That’s a road I’m never going down, but if I did, it certainly wouldn’t be right now. In fact, I should shut this conversation down. Only no part of me wants to. “Admit it. It was a little bit about winning.”
“Why on earth would you think that?”
