Collide Into You: A Romantic Gender Swap Love Story (29 page)

“Currently, Ken, there is no company from which to quit. Because of you, everyone left.”

“If we can please get back on topic,” Mr. Brookshire interjects. “I have every faith in—” But whatever he was going to say is drowned out as Ken and Amanda start yelling at each other. Johnson Brookshire tries to control the meeting in vain. No one pays attention to him.

Everyone else in the room chimes in, adding their own layers of frustration. Granted, I do not know anyone else and I have no idea if they work for Brookshire Mierkle or Joy Fromm. Everyone on the left side of the table appears to side with Ken Fromm while the right side of the table is in Amanda Joy’s corner.

It would appear I am the only neutral party in the room. If this were a formation of soldiers, I would snap them to attention after the first disruption. What would Dillan do in this situation? Sit back and laugh? No. His job depends on his solving this case.

Something flickers on my right. A large white screen comes to life and I realize I accidentally pushed a button on the presentation clicker. Since the guy purposefully gave
me
the presentation clicker, I suppose that at some point, I am meant to get up and brief the room.

Did Dillan create a presentation? He never said anything about that this morning.
I wonder what else he failed to tell me.

I see a smirk on LouAnn’s face. She’s watching me. One thing Dillan did mention was the fact that LouAnn was always eager to throw him to the wolves. This tells me that Dillan not only manages to get out alive, but he
thrives
.

I press the clicker again and while something clicks up in the projector, the screen is still white. And blank. Well that answers that question: no, Dillan did not build a presentation for this morning’s meeting. But that doesn’t mean I can’t use a white screen to my advantage.

I stand up more confidently than I sat down and walk to the front of the room. Mentally, I tell myself that I’ve briefed generals before. I’ve stood in front of hundreds of soldiers to give security and safety briefs. I’ve swapped bodies with Dillan Pope.

This should be a piece of cake. I’m not Dillan, so I don’t care what happens to him if I fail today.
Liar!
Okay, so I do care.
 

I’ve never commanded an audience like this one before—a bickering group ready to cut each other’s throats.
 

So I pretend that I’m briefing a room of naked generals.

I put two fingers in my mouth and whistle loudly. All eyes jerk to me. “Thank you,” I say. “Now, will everyone please shut up.”

The room goes dead quiet.

Dillan

T
HE
C
RYSTAL
C
ITY
M
ETRO
STOP
is only two stops away from the Pentagon and it doesn’t take us much time to get there.
 

Everyone is in the mood for burgers—“everyone” meaning “Nebraska”—so we thread through the Crystal City Underground, which consists of businesses, shops, and restaurants linked via an underground tunnel. It also connects to the businesses above ground—hotels, apartments, restaurants—through a series of skylighted staircases.

I’ve been in the underground twice. Once after a free concert on Crystal Drive that Jon and I attended, and the other time after a night of bar hopping in Crystal City, which is the night Jon and Tanner supposedly met. Keira said something the other day about how they met even earlier that makes me doubt the memory.
 

Anyway, I remember the area without needing much direction and I’m in the front, leading the way. However, after remembering that
Keira
wouldn’t know where to go, I fall back, and pretend I’m following them. I’m not used to having men tower over me and I have to walk twice as fast to keep up. Luckily Keira’s uniform is extremely comfortable and easy to wear. Justin, Aaron, and Nebraska wear their military uniforms like it’s second nature and I admire the confidence they each exhibit without an ounce of effort.

Nebraska’s stomach steers us to the Hamburger Shack at the very back of the underground tunnel, near 15th Street.

“This place has nothing on The Itchy Nail,” Nebraska says with something like pride.
 

The Itchy Nail?
Oh right, I think, remembering the other night. The tall redhead sort of talked about this the night we went bowling. However, he said it to Dillan. Not Keira.

Aaron looks around, then says, “At least it’s pirate-free.”

“I’ll just sit here and pretend that I know exactly what you’re talking about,” I say.

“It’s a long story,” Justin answers.

“I disagree, buddy,” Nebraska chimes in energetically. “It’s an
interesting
story. Get your facts straight.”

“Do we really need argue about this? All of us were there, Nebraska,” Aaron says. There’s a small bite to his words, like maybe he’s tired of hearing about this particular story. I see Aaron eyeing the butter knife and then pointedly looking back at Nebraska, who only laughs at the gesture.

I raise my hand. “I wasn’t there.” I suppose hoping for an explanation isn’t high on their list right now since they ignore me. I take a good look at Nebraska, who sits next to me. I notice that he has a black eye.

Justin takes pity on me. “Outside Fort Hood, Texas, there’s a place called The Itchy Nail. It’s part underground bunker, part bar, part covert-interrogation room. It’s probably the weirdest place on the planet. It’s more or less an urban legend. However, it does exist. Last year, the three of us were kidnapped and brought there to be interrogated by an enemy of the state. A man dressed as a pirate happened to be sitting at one of the tables that night.”

I would laugh if he didn’t look so serious. What exactly is an
enemy of the state
? Terrorists? Keira would totally know what he meant by that, so I can’t freaking ask.

“How’d you get out of it?” I ask.
And was it Halloween night?

Nebraska stretches out, makes some sort of proud sound that is a cross between a happy groan and clearing his throat. “I totally saved the day.”

“You got lucky, is all,” Justin says, sighing. He now wears the same type of expression Aaron does: tired to death of this topic. The night we went bowling, Nebraska boasted about how he singlehandedly solved one of the biggest military conspiracies ever to exist that the public never knew about.

“Luck’s got nothing to do with these puppies,” Nebraska says, and then kisses his biceps.

An awkward silence ensues after Aaron and Justin both shake their heads. When the burgers come, I can tell the subject has been dropped for good.

“What happened to the eye?” I ask before taking a bite. I’ll never be able to finish this huge burger with Keira’s tiny mouth.
 

“I was hoping you weren’t going to ask that question,” Aaron says with a groan. He hands over a fifty-dollar bill to Nebraska, who grins like a madman. “I knew I was going to lose that bet. Damn,” Aaron says. He doesn’t actually look upset. His smile is lopsided and almost boyish.

Nebraska makes a show of putting the money into his wallet, but Justin snatches it first. “And I bet
you
—” he cocks at eyebrow at his tall, redheaded friend “—that Keira wouldn’t ask in the first ten minutes. So I’ll take that.”

These three must be the oddest set of friends in the country. The lovers and the best friend. I wonder if Nebraska ever felt like the third wheel. Probably not. Am I—
is Keira
—becoming the fourth member of this military posse?

“Well?” I ask.

“Well what?” Nebraska asks.

“The eye?”

“I got into a fight with a newspaper stand on Sunday morning,” Nebraska answers with a mouth full of food.

“That’s literally the dumbest answer I’ve ever heard,” I say.

Aaron laughs.

“Yeah,” Justin adds. “But it also happens to be true. We witnessed the entire, ridiculously funny ordeal.”

“Oh, well, okay then,” I say. “Still doesn’t make any sense, though.” Then I notice that Nebraska has a rolled-up newspaper between us. My eyes narrow when he brings it up to the table.

I stand corrected. It’s two newspapers.

“Are you telling me you fought someone to get newspapers?” I ask.

“Not someone. Some
thing
,” Justin corrects me. “With Nebraska, everything has an equal opportunity of getting into a scuffle with him. Even inanimate objects.”

“
Especially
inanimate objects,” Aaron says. “He tripped on the curb once he spotted these.”

I spread the first newspaper out, which is more or less one of those cheap gossip rags, and nearly choke. In huge letters, it boldly proclaims, “Alec Huffman Hooks Up With Fan.” Below the words is a picture of Alec and Keira, sitting in his car, as he leans over. From the angle, it looks like they are kissing.

My face burns. This was from Saturday night. The night I, in Keira’s body, went on a date with Alec. I can tell from the outfit in the picture. Plus, he tried to kiss me—Keira—that night.

Keira is not going to like this one bit. I try to come up with plausible scenarios in which we leave the country tonight so she never finds out, each more insane than the next.
You know that uncle you’ve never heard of, Keira? He left you a billion dollars, but we have to leave for Europe this instant to claim it. No time to change. Chop chop.

I’ve completely lost my appetite and I’m afraid to look at the second newspaper. Nebraska proudly does the honors of flattening it out on top of the first one.
 

This one is worse. It declares, “My Wild Night With Pitcher-Playboy.” Underneath the headline is a grainy, black-and-white photo of Alec, holding Keira’s hand, as they leave Preston’s Pub after the Nats game on Friday. Alec drove her home that night. The article appears to be written from the so-called fan’s perspective. In other words, it would seem that Keira wrote to the paper and, in exchange for money, gave an exclusive story.

Which, naturally, is a complete fabrication.

“Oh my God,” I say in a panic. My chest hurts. If this isn’t a heart attack, I don’t know what is. “I…I…need to…” Punch things. Hide. Die.

I look up at Justin. “That’s why you asked me if I was feeling okay this morning, wasn’t it?”

He nods. “You didn’t know about this?”

“No, not at all,” I say.

“Strangely,” Aaron says cryptically, “both of those newspapers sold out within hours.”

“Oh my God,” I repeat. Keira is seriously going to flip out. I’m not really her, and
I’m
flipping out.

Nebraska flexes his fingers in my face. Aaron and Justin do the same. Their fingers and palms are stained a dull, black color.
 

“We bought every copy in the region, Keira,” Nebraska says with a smile.
 

“Let me clarify that statement slightly,” Justin says. “Once we ran out of money, we
stole
the rest.”

I look between the three of them, studying their faces, waiting to see if they are joking. They aren’t.
 

“You guys did that for me?” They did this for Keira. No wonder she loves the military. Those in uniform had each other’s backs.

“Absolutely,” Aaron says, putting his arm around Justin. “What are friends for, Keira?”

“The truth is,” Nebraska says with a shit-eating grin, “you’ll never be able to get rid of us now.”

Keira

“T
HIS
IS
WHAT
I
CALL
a Clean Slate meeting,” I say, pointing to the white screen. “I want you to know that I spent an enormous amount of time creating this slide,” I joke. No one laughs except LouAnn. Everyone has turned their anger toward me rather than at each other. I’m not sure if I’ve made the right decision or not, but I press on.
 

“In all seriousness, we’ve got a problem here and not only will I tell you what the problem is, I will work with you to fix it and take Joy Fromm to new heights. Working as a Department of Defense contractor is like working in a quagmire. It’s filled with rules and regulations, and there are always bigger companies demanding a bigger share of the pie. Joy Fromm Acquisitions provides a niche product.”

I pause for effect. I’ve read the files and while I’m not quite sure how I plan to spin it, I think I’m on the right track when no one disagrees with me.

I continue, “Let me amend that slightly.” I move across the room. All eyes follow me. “Joy Fromm Acquisitions
used
to provide a niche product. And that product was the transportation of federal equipment, supplies, and other logistical services, such as transporting materials for destruction and other waste-management duties.

“Now, during wartime, these services are high in demand. The government swells, it surges its military ranks, it needs more equipment and produces more waste. Simple cause and effect. Joy Fromm’s mission didn’t change, but the circumstances in which you operate did. The war wound down. The need for supplies shrank as a result. Your company didn’t necessarily do anything wrong, but during unstable times, it may not be a good time to shuffle leadership. Please accept my condolences on the passing of your father.”

“Thank you,” Amanda Joy says quietly. Her half-brother says nothing.

LouAnn cocks an eyebrow that conveys something like,
I don’t know what yarn you’re spinning, but continue on. I’m curious to see how far the distance is from your face to the floor when you fall.

“This is the part where I should be politically correct and instruct you to complete about seventeen steps from the Project Management handbook in order to discover your management style and work alongside your peers. That’s not going to happen for two reasons: one, both of you can probably recite it verbatim; and two, it won’t do either of you a bit of good.”

“How dare—” Ken Fromm starts, but I cut him off, smacking the table with my hand.

“I need everyone not named Ken Fromm and Amanda Joy to leave the room.” My voice is loud, strong, and my tone is like that of a drill sergeant. I’m sure that by the end of the day I’ll be fired, but at least I’ll be able to talk some truth and sense into these two before either LouAnn or Mr. Brookshire kick me out.