Out of Reach Read Online Free Page B

don’t feel like talking.
    “You don’t look ready to go,” Melanie
chirps, still smiling. I rise from my desk and head toward my
private bathroom.
    “I just need five minutes. Can you grab my
shoes? They’re in the bottom left desk drawer. I’ve got a pair of
jeans stashed in the bathroom,” I explain. I halfway close the door
then slip out of my slacks and wiggle into my jeans. Nudging the
door open, Melanie leans in and hands me a pair of black sling
backs.
    “Here you go.”
    “Thanks,” I say, grabbing the shoes and
sliding into them. Instantly I feel better. There is just something
about heels: cute in their own right, yes, but they also give you a
daring edge. I love how heels turn bleh and frumpy into glamorous
and sexy.
    I open my make-up bag just as Melanie begins
to monologue, describing her day. “I had two presentations for that
new blood pressure med today, and wouldn’t ya know ...”
    I tune her out and quickly begin to refresh
my make-up. In my peripheral vision, I can make her out perched on
the corner of my desk gesturing wildly with her hands as she talks.
It’s unlikely she’s going to stop anytime soon. Melanie is like
dynamite: small but packs a big punch. At five-feet four-inches
tall, she is slim and athletic. I tease her about being small all
the time, but even I wouldn’t cross her when she’s angry. Blonde
curls bounce just below her shoulders; they always seem to have
that perfectly tousled look. Her aqua eyes gleam under the lights
in the office as she rambles on about a coffee order gone awry.
They are truly striking with her pale ivory complexion.
    I focus on my own appearance in the mirror.
I pull my favorite eye pencil from my bag (Engraved by M.A.C.) and
quickly outline my top and bottom lids. Without a proper brush, I’m
forced to rely on my fingers to go back over the line, smudging and
softening it. Next I recoat my long pale lashes with mascara so you
can see they actually exist, and then finish off with a dusting of
bronze, shimmery shadow across my upper lids. The result is simple
and dynamic. The mascara and the eyeliner make my eyes pop while
the neutral shimmer keeps the focus on the hazel color of my eyes
and not my shadow. Hazel … what a pretty way of saying my eyes are
a muddled mess. Not green, not blue, and certainly not brown. I’ve
wished on more than one occasion that my eyes had committed to a
color. A vibrant, intense color, instead of a soft, subdued melding
of so many.
    I sweep a little blush
across my cheekbones, which boast an abundance of freckles, trying
to add a little life to my weary face. I love my freckles and would
never dream of covering them up. Stepping back, I appraise myself
in the mirror. Not too shabby for a
five-minute makeover , I think to myself. I
adore makeup, but I rarely use much, preferring a classically
pretty picture to a wealth of fancy colors.
    Reaching up, I pull out the
band holding my hair in its pony tail. A river of red falls down my
shoulders, coming to rest just below my bra line. Now, when I say
my hair is red I don’t mean it’s bright like a copper penny, or
dark like a sultry auburn. I mean it is red , a fierce bonfire encircling me
and threatening to consume everything around it. Grabbing my brush,
I do a quick run-through, getting the worst of the snarls out of it
and silently thanking God again for the blessing of straight
hair.
    “Are we waiting for Kade?” I ask as the
thought strikes me that I haven’t seen our third wheel all day.
     

Chapter 4

Kade
    It’s about a six-hour drive from Phoenix to
San Diego. I’ve managed to shave about an hour off of that time. It
still might not be enough, though.
    “Where’s the fire?” Z asks me.
    “It’s Monday. Once I drop you off, I have to
make it to work before five.”
    “Taking the job seriously, huh?” Z replies
sarcastically.
    “The job, no. Just keeping up appearances.
The second Monday of the month Gwen and her pals go to McClaren’s
after