Free Dangerous Race by Dee J. Adams

realize we won’t be next to each other. The suites are on different floors.”
    “Nice,” Kim said. Coming from a family of eight girls, she loved her privacy and didn’t care how she got it. That and she was known for bringing home the occasional possible future husband. Kim constantly assured her it was just as easy to fall in love with a rich man as a poor man. Her goal in life was to be some lucky SOB’s trophy wife.
    “Well, at least now I won’t have to listen to the headboard bang against the wall if you find Mr. Right.”
    Kim’s eyes widened as if she’d been grievously hurt. “Hey, did you just dish me?”
    Chelsea could’ve cried, but instead she leaned her head forward and sighed. Kim’s play on words reminded her of the current slogan sweeping the country. Six months ago, she’d scrambled to come up with a campaign for a new satellite dish company. The rap singer hired to pitch the product had taken control of everything. Including publicly trashing every idea she’d come up with. In a flash of frustration, in front of the execs, the agents, managers and various entourage of said rap star, and thinking she’d lost the account anyway, she’d faced the poor excuse for a singer head-on. “Did you just dish me?” she’d asked. She’d cringed inwardly at the slip of her tongue and prayed no one noticed. “Dish” kind of sounded like “diss.” The silence that followed had nearly been the death of her. And then a roar of celebration as the whole place went wild at the clear, but unintentional, discovery of the slogan. However, Master Funky J., or Mister Stinky Guy, as she referred to him, had walked out in a snit and taken the account with him.
    Three months later her slogan was everywhere and she had a lawsuit draining what was left of her funds. The rapper was going to do for the satellite dish what Jordan did for sneakers, Foreman for grills and Levi for jeans. He was going to be huge. So was the satellite dish.
    She’d lost a fortune.
    Chelsea shook her head, still angry at the whole futile situation. “I can’t believe you just said that.”
    “I know, but I couldn’t resist the opening,” Kim replied. “Besides, it’s yours and you’ll get the credit for it eventually.”
    “Before or after I’m living on the streets?”
    “That’s not going to happen, remember? If you—”
    “No. I already told you no.” The express elevator arrived and they both got in.
    “Yes, but sometimes ‘no’ means ‘yes.’” The doors closed.
    “Oh my God,” Chelsea said, her eyes wide. “I cannot believe you said that too. You’re starting to sound like the last guy you dated.” In the quest for a rich husband, Kim had dated some very questionable characters.
    Kim looked offended. “Hey, Simon would have been fine if he hadn’t been married.”
    Chelsea’s eyes grew even wider. “Kim, I’m beginning to think you need some serious therapy.” The doors opened and Kim rolled her bag out on the seventeenth floor. Chelsea still had two more floors to go. “I’m going to make some calls and see if I can get a lead on Tracey, but I’ll pick you up for dinner at six o’clock,” Chelsea said, holding back the elevator door. Maybe by then the knot in her stomach would hurt less.
    “Wear something special,” Kim told her. “Let’s make the most of the trip. You need to get laid. Posthaste. You need to loosen up. I promise if you do that, you’ll have a new outlook on life and you’ll see that I’m right about this whole business proposal.”
    “That is the one of the lamest bits of reasoning you’ve ever had,” Chelsea said. She moved back and the doors closed. On the other hand…she’d worked hard to get her company off the ground, and even harder to keep it above water the last year. Maybe Kim’s plan had merit. The time had come to break the rules in battle.
     
    The shrill telephone ring brought Matthew Rivers out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist.