Chapter 27
Jett had been awfully quiet. Something Trask wasn’t used to.
Normally, the gregarious woman was the life of the party; happy, full of anecdotes, engaging. Tonight, even though the mood was jovial at the restaurant after such a successful grand opening, her characteristic, over-the-top participation was lacking.
Trask wondered if she was sick.
“Are you feeling okay?” he broached, leaning in to ask her privately, in case it was something like…women troubles.
She gave a start, as if she’d been so deep in her own head, she hadn’t noticed him moving closer.
“Uh, fine,” she answered in a lackluster way, stirring the ice cubes in the drink she’d barely touched.
Now, Trask was really concerned.
Jett might be scattered, but she never disassociated.
Making an executive call, he tossed down the napkin he’d just used to wipe pizza from his mouth, and stood up.
Speaking of pizza, it was normally Jett’s favorite, but she’d barely nibbled one slice.
“I think it’s time for us to call it a night,” Trask told the assemblage.
“Right behind you, bro.” Spence gave a wide yawn, stretched, and brought his arm down purposely over Tabitha’s shoulder.
Right. Tired. Trask wished he’d have that problem tonight. He’d bet every amount of money that Spence and Tabbi would be getting busy, but he had a feeling, by Jett’s appearance, that sex wasn’t going to be on the agenda.
His brother mock-yawned again. “It’s been a long day, and we’re back at it again, tomorrow, you know.”
That much was true. After some research, they’d all decided that Diver Downeast would be closed on Mondays and Tuesdays. Weekends were just going to be too busy if they had foot traffic like today, to think about taking Saturday and Sunday off.
Trask had informed Mason that the gym sessions he’d been running for SWAT, were off the table, at least for a while, and his brother had understood.
His Dad, however, was actually pleased that Trask would be taking over at the mill during the first two days of the week.
That made four-day weekends possible for his parents.
“Spoilsports,” Buck snorted at his tablemates, but as soon as Bobbie joined in on Spencer’s yawn, he changed his tune. “Okay. Maybe it is time to hit the road.”
“Great job today, everybody,” Spence said as he stood up and pulled Tabbi’s chair out for her, retrieving her coat from the back of it and holding it out.
“Indeed,” Trask agreed, commencing to do the same for Jett, but before he could move, the confounding woman was on her feet and putting on her own winter jacket.
What the fuck was wrong? She wasn’t even looking at him tonight. The apathetic way she’d been interacting with him this evening was one thing, but a total brush-off? Maddening.
Trask barely remembered that he was in the middle of responding to Spence.
“Uh…tomorrow,” he picked up, “we should send out some press releases to the local newspapers and news stations with pictures of how things went today.”
Sheila snorted out loud.
“What?” he asked.
“Podcasts,” she said, as Spence helped her into her coat, as well. “Not newspapers. Podcasts. I’ll arrange some podcasts,” she told them, not exactly making eye contact, but talking to the table at large.
“Hell, I wouldn’t mind being the voice of Diver Downeast on one of those,” Spence piped up.
“Uh, no.” Tabitha smacked him lightly on the chest. “Not you. You have the enthusiasm, to be sure, but unedited, you can’t be trusted not to let an F-bomb fly, or tell an off-color story. And we’re trying to romance people here, not scare them away.”
Tabbi wasn’t wrong.
“What about Jett?” Buck put in. “She’s got a great voice that was made for radio, and she’s enthusiastic without being irreverent.” He sent a grin her way, and Trask waited to see if that might wake the lethargic woman up.
“Uh, thanks, but I’ll pass on that. I’m not an owner of the company or anything. I’m just a lowly grunt, so I think it should be one of you guys.”
Is that what was bothering her? Task pondered. That she wasn’t a vested partner in the business? If so, wasn’t she jumping the gun?
It had only been earlier that day, before they’d opened their doors, that Spence, Tabbi, and Buck had offered Trask a piece of the pie as a fourth partner.
He’d eagerly accepted, but he hadn’t had a chance to notice Jett’s reaction.
Maybe she’d been hurt that the overture hadn’t been made to her, as well.
That oversight was easily fixed, however.
He’d talk to his brothers and see if they could add her to the ownership papers.
Even if it was a small slice of the pie, she’d at least feel included.
He figured she was just looking for some validation that her role with Diver Downeast wasn’t fly-by-night. No pun intended.
“Let’s go,” he said, more at ease now that he’d figured out what was eating at her. He took her elbow and steered her out of the restaurant.
She went without a fuss, not even trying to pull away, when normally she’d want the last word at the table, hugs all around, and clarification of what was on for the next day before she’d give him a withering glare and walk out under her own steam.
Yeah. She was butt-hurt, and Trask’s job was to make sure she knew he was on her side. Maybe he’d earn some points that way.
The parking lot was icy, but as soon as they were out the door, Jett yanked her elbow away—he’d been waiting for it—then slip-slid her way toward his truck, stubbornly eschewing any more help.
Trask was beginning to feel anger rise in his gut. Jett was being completely unreasonable. If she was so upset about business logistics, why hadn’t she broached things with him before she started acting so irritable? She had to know by now that he’d listen to her concerns.
Half way across the lot, he hit the button to unlock his truck, and because she was so far ahead, he didn’t even try to beat her to her door and open it for her.
If she wanted to be so prickly, far be it from him to foist his chivalry on her.
Once they were both seated inside, Trask started the truck and pulled out onto the nearly deserted street.
“You want to talk about it?” he asked sharply, because, yeah, since she was making lemon-sucking faces, he didn’t necessarily feel like being accommodating any more.
“Nice of you to notice that something is wrong,” she responded sarcastically.
“I’d have to be blind, not to,” he sent back. “You’ve been nasty all night.”
She turned to him abruptly. “I’ve been nasty?” she chortled incredulously. “Uh, uh. Not even close. You haven’t seen me nasty.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.
“Then what did you call your total disengagement tonight?” he questioned, using his best interrogation voice.
“Introspection,” she bit back. “I have a lot on my mind, and I didn’t feel like socializing.”
“Since when?” he snapped. “The Jett I know could have two broken legs and bamboo shoved under her nails, and she’d still be perky. So what is it, really?”
He took a breath and continued to speculate before she could respond.
“Is it because my brothers and Tabitha didn’t offer you a piece of the business? I suppose that’s valid. Although I’ve been working with them for several months longer than you, and this was the first time they’ve offered me an in.”
She glared at him, steam practically hissing from her ears. “You think I’m mad because…?” Jett shook her head. “You are so fucking clueless.”
Okay. So Trask had no idea what she was talking about.
Things had been fine, then they hadn’t.
“If my head is so far up my ass,” he growled, “why don’t you try telling me what’s got that big fucking stick up yours?”
She didn’t hesitate.
“You,” she hissed, and he reeled backward a bit.
“Although I’m not sure I want to have this conversation,” she added.
“Then let’s not,” Trask returned, trying to regroup since his anger was being piqued. And no good ever came from discussing issues when both parties were seeing red.
“How about we go home, sleep things off, and approach whatever is eating at you in the morning,” he attempted.
“Seriously?” she asked bitingly, sputtering invectives under her breath. “Do you realize that’s always your response? And do you have any idea how often you invoke it?”
Trask wasn’t sure, so he remained silent, certain he was about to have all his shortcomings aired.
Jett erupted. “No answer? Fine. I’ll fill you in.
If I look troubled, your answer is sleep it off.
If I have a problem, you don’t help me analyze it, you simply tell me that whatever is eating at me will look better in the morning, like you just did,” she needlessly pointed out.
“In short, Trask, you only seem to want me when I’m perky and sweet, and God forbid, if anything is wrong.
I’d better hide it until I eventually deal with it myself. ”
Trask blinked. Is that how she saw things? Because…wasn’t she always perky and sweet? When had she ever raised any problems or concerns with him?
Uh…
Well, sure. There was the time a week ago when she’d had a melt-down that the papers had been signed on the house where she’d grown up, but he’d figured she needed space to deal with that one on her own, so he’d backed away.
Then there’d been her misplaced stress over his father taking on the task of clearing the old air-strip.
She’d offered to take care of it, but Guy Sothard was the kind of person that if a job needed to be done, he was going to tackle it, head on.
Which he’d done. And the end result had been more than satisfactory.
A clear runway, and a barn/shed—albeit unheated—where she could get her Cessna out of the elements.
Those problems had really been non-problems, and he’d felt it was good that he hadn’t given oxygen to her worries.
So what exactly was Jett’s problem?
“Spit it all out,” he demanded.