TWELVE Sebastian
I fix my tie then frown at my reflection in the bathroom mirror.
A month and a half off the air, and I’ve forgotten how to make myself look presentable for an important meeting.
There’s no makeup team or stylist telling me what clothes to wear.
My skin is tanner. I’ve been living in hats, T-shirts, and jeans that are frayed at the bottom.
My hair keeps turning messy from the Florida humidity, and trying something new ten minutes before my interview is slated to start wasn’t my greatest idea.
I look like one of those guys with a trust fund, and I give up when a rogue lock I brush away from my forehead falls right back where it came from.
“Decent enough,” I say, striding down the hall to the lobby.
I got to the National Weather Service early, wanting to get a read on the other candidates after Danny sent over an official interview request. I scan the room, noticing most of the people sitting in the leather chairs are familiar to me.
There’s Josh Collins, a meteorologist at WPTR in Orlando, flipping through a stack of notecards.
Bryant Dennings, a professor at UCF, is reviewing a notepad resting on his thigh.
I’m surprised to see Steven Sheehan, a longtime Weather Channel employee, standing near the door in a navy-blue suit, but I hear they’re going through budget cuts.
No one’s job is safe these days, and I wonder if I’m an idiot to give up a sure thing just because I’m going through a rough patch at work.
My eyes flick over to the only woman in the room, and I stop in my tracks.
Long legs crossed at the ankles. A white pencil skirt that goes past her knees and hugs her thighs. Black high heels and a light blue blazer that matches the sky outside. I’m already grinning as I head her way.
Guess she got the interview after all.
That makes me damn proud.
“Of all the buildings,” I say. “You walk into mine.”
Quincy looks up from the index card she’s studying. Dark brown eyes lock on mine. Her lips part on an exhale, and the pen she’s holding falls to the floor. Someone a couple chairs over makes an irritated grunt at the loud noise.
“Sebastian?” She blinks. Frowns, then blinks again. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, you know.” I gesture around us and rock back on my heels. “Figured I’d check out the open Science and Operations Officer position.”
“Hang on.” Quincy stands, our gazes almost even. Her heels make her taller than the sneakers and rain boots she usually wears, and it takes control I didn’t know I had to not look at her long legs. “You want to work for the National Weather Service?”
“Maybe. Could be fun.”
“I’m not following. You applied, right?”
“Not technically.” I fix my tie and shrug. “My buddy called and asked if I wanted to come in for an interview.”
“Wow.” Her laugh is disbelieving. “Leave it to Sebastian Dunn to have the rules broken for him. It must be nice to want something and have it handed to you on a silver platter.”
“Someone thought of me because I’m qualified. It’s not my fault I’d be a good fit for the position.”
Quincy reaches out her hand. I’m glad everyone around us is busy studying their notes so they can’t see her press a finger to the center of my chest. So they don’t notice the thrill that races through me when her eyes blaze. When she grazes her nails down the front of my shirt.
How pathetic am I that I want her to do that again?
“You might be qualified, but I’m more qualified.
” She shakes her head. A piece of hair gets stuck to her bright red lipstick, and she carefully pulls it away.
“I have a PhD. I’ve done years of research and submitted articles to the Bulletin of the American Meteorological Society.
I’ve worked my ass off for a position like this. ”
She has. I know she has. There’s a reason why she’s the only woman in the room. Why the late newcomer bursting through the lobby doors catches his breath and gives her—not me—a nod. Because she deserves a spot at the table, even if no one has invited her.
I wrap my fingers around her wrist. Her pulse jumps under my touch. I drop my voice low so no one can hear us. “Truth or Dare?”
“I’m not playing that right now.”
“Truth, then. How mad are you that I’m here?
How much do you hate that no matter what we do, we can’t escape each other?
High school. College. The National Weather Service.
Hurricanes. Tornadoes.” My thumb brushes along the pulse point on her wrist. I must be imagining things, because for half a second, I think she steps closer.
“Maybe it’s time to accept our fate, Monroe.
You can’t exist without me. We’re soulmates.
Star-crossed lovers. A beginning and an end. ”
Her cheeks flush a pretty shade of pink. Her breath comes out in a hollowed exhale. There are noises around us: A door opening and closing. A car horn outside the window. Someone’s name being called and murmured offerings of good luck, but all I can focus on is her.
The best part? The teeny, tiny detail I’m going to remember when I get home hours from now?
She’s focused on me too.
I’ve spent years vying for her attention, and I finally have it.
“The only thing I want to do is take this job away from you.” Quincy’s fingers move up to my necklace.
She gives the chain a tug and I lean forward, impossibly near to her.
I could kiss her if I wanted to. One dip of my chin and my mouth would be on hers, and I’m tempted to find out what she tastes like.
The sounds she would make if I bit her bottom lip.
Another yank on my necklace, and I’m about to drop to my knees.
About to beg her to let me have her in all the ways I haven’t been able to stop imagining.
“And when I do? I’m going to make sure you know I’m better than you. ”
“I can’t wait, Quinny baby.”
“You’re impossible,” she says.
You’re goddamn beautiful, I almost say back.
“And you’re the one touching me. Admit it: you want to keep me around,” I settle on instead.
“Do me a favor.” Quincy’s eyes move to the necklace she’s still holding. She slowly releases the jewelry from her grasp. “Give it your best shot in there. Charm the pants off those guys. It’ll make it so much sweeter for me when I win.”
“Anything else?” I ask. “Now’s your chance to get whatever you want.”
“Nope.” Her smile is sly. Cunning. “Good luck. You’re going to need it.”
She spins, heels click-clacking and hips swaying out of the lobby. I watch her go, embarrassed to admit I’m a little turned on.
Confidence.
Gets me every fucking time.
“Sebastian. It’s great to meet you.” George Davis, the meteorologist-in-charge at the Melbourne, Florida, NWS office, shakes my hand and motions for me to take the seat across from him.
“I’ve heard nothing but good things. You come highly recommended, and I was happy to add an extra interview slot so we could squeeze you in. ”
“It’s nice to meet you, too, sir.” I sit in the leather chair and get comfortable, a foot propped up on my knee. “This is an incredible opportunity.”
“I’m not going to bother with your résumé. I know who you are, and I’m surprised to hear you’re interested in leaving ABC. Have there been issues at the station?”
“Not at all. I’ve loved my tenure on World News Tonight and Good Morning America, but personally, I think it’s time to move on.”
“Thousands of people would kill for that job, and many would consider taking a position like this a step down. Why the change of heart?”
“I chased my first tornado when I was nineteen. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing, only that other people who were interested in weather were going to be there, and I should give it a try. I couldn’t have picked a worse day for spotting.”
I laugh, reminiscing on the afternoon I spent out in Bithlo after joining an online group for local storm chasers.
They planned the meetup for a Saturday afternoon, and I went in hopes I’d see Quincy.
I’d overhear her in class talking about the thrill of the chase.
The rush of adrenaline when you saw a funnel cloud up close and personal for the first time.
She didn’t show up. Mia was on the phone with her later that night, offering to bring over soup and cold medicine, but it’s probably a good thing she stayed home. I would’ve spent my time trying to get her attention instead of watching the sky.
“We sat around for close to eight hours without a single indication we were going to have a storm capable of producing rotation,” I say.
“You know the Florida climate is nothing like the air out in Oklahoma where a monster cell can form in the blink of an eye. We were about to call it a day, and that’s when we saw it.
A funnel cloud finally touched down. It was small.
Barely even an EF0, but, boy, did I feel alive.
After that, I craved being in the action.
While my current role allows me opportunities to still be on the front lines of weather reporting, it’s not as often as I’d like. Or in the capacity I’d like.”
“I remember my first chase.” George leans back in his chair, fingers steepled under his chin and deep in thought.
“I don’t know how much Danny told you, but the SOO is the top research position at the weather forecast office.
There’s a lot of training and staying up-to-date on science technologies.
You’ll need to become familiar with weather and climate system features and fill in as a forecaster if needed.
Our office covers ten counties in east Central Florida plus six marine zones, so things get busy around here. ”