Inside unpacking the contents of my duffle bag I rolled around the idea of Owen freakin' Grady living 300 yards from my house in my head. I wasn't surprised he lived here and not in Trump Tower with the rest of high society. He didn't strike me as a room service and fuzzy robe type of guy. He was the type of guy who didn't need a lot to be happy. Probably you could give him a stick up gum, a paperclip and he'd turn into your resident Jurassic World MacGyver. In the end, I came to the conclusion it didn't really matter where he lived because I absolutely did not care. Mostly.
Done unpacking my clothes, toiletries and the few personal items I had brought with me I examined every inch of the Airstream with a fine-toothed comb. Only Simon would consider living in this thing a downgrade. It had granite countertops, a fully tiled shower, and a leather couch. When I found the flat screen TV hidden behind a panel I made a mental note to be nicer to Simon in the future. This was like winning the lottery. I wondered if I needed to leave my camper to do my job because I could hole up in this thing for a while and be fine. I was a little sad to admit it was nicer than my old apartment in Houston.
Admiring my new digs helped keep my mind off the fact I had the world's hottest neighbor living within spitting distance. This whole schoolgirl obsession was getting old, fast. I did not care about Owen Grady or his bulging biceps.
"Whatever. It's not like he's that hot." Decision officially made I stomped towards the bathroom. What I needed was a nice long, hot shower, and maybe a few rounds with my vibrator just take the edge off. Or maybe that would just accentuate the problem.
Twenty minutes later I was clean, my hair was combed, I was dressed in my PJ's, and in search of food. I decided to hold off on the vibrator, I'd only just got here, plenty of time for that later. I practically skipped into the kitchen, throwing open the fridge to see what Claire considered adequately stocked. I couldn't suppress a surge of laughter. A row of Sam Adams and Blue Moon beer starred back at me. I guess Simon was paying more attention than I thought at my apartment that day, and he had a pretty good sense of humor.
I decided to make a mustard and ham sandwich with potato chips crushed inside. This contains all of the essential food groups, and science has proven you can live off of it for extended periods of time if needed. It was one of my culinary staples. Grabbing my Sam Adams and sandwich I made my way outside to the porch. There was a steady breeze rolling off the coast and the sun was just setting beyond the horizon. It was beautiful. I didn't know how I got here, in paradise, with my feet up eating a sandwich, drinking a beer, but I wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.
"I heard I got a new neighbor."
I paused with my sandwich half way to my mouth wondering if the universe was plotting against me. I peered over my shoulder to see Owen walking up to the porch dressed the same as I had seen him earlier. He looked good enough to eat. It was going to be a long night.
"Are you the welcome committee here to drop off my house warming gift?" He answered my question with a booming laugh.
"Sorry to disappoint, but I only found out about your arrival today so I'm a little behind on a gift."
"I guess I'll forgive you then."
He moved onto the porch, sitting in the chair beside me, propping one leg up on the table. "Besides, it would seem you already got a house warming gift," he said, gesturing to the beer bottle.
"Friends in high places," I grinned taking a sip. "Want one?"
"If the lady's offering." He smiled in a way I'm sure had separated many a woman from their panties. My inner debutante was outraged, hiding under the bed at my scandalous thinking. She was always kinda a prude.
I stood, setting my plate on the table making my way inside. I was really hoping he hadn't noticed my nighttime attire. I refused to feel self-conscious in my pink and white polka dot PJ shorts and black, slightly too tight T-shirt, with 'Brunch so Hard' scribbled across the front. I grabbed a beer from the fridge, making my way back out to the porch just in time to find Owen inspecting my dinner.
"Does this sandwich have potato chips in it?"
"Yes." Don't judge me.
"With ham and mustard?"
"Yes. I'm kind of a culinary pimp," I responded, handing him his beer as I sat back down.
He snorted tipping his beer back, taking a long chug. "Oh yea, what else can you make?"
"Well, I can order takeout really well, but something tells me my options are somewhat limited here."
"That is very true," he said, chuckling. I found myself smiling in return. "So, now that we're neighbors we should probably officially introduce ourselves, Owen Grady."
"Jo King." I gave him a little finger wave.
"Don't you mean Josephine King?" If he was trying to push my buttons I hated to tell him he was about 30 years too late for that jab.
"Jo will suffice, and someone's been checking up on me." My stomach did a little flip-flop, and I made a mental note to curb stomp my hormones later.
"I asked around, but no one seems to know a lot about our new Director of Security Protocols and Behavior Assessment." He raised his eyebrows at me in question. Yea, get in line on that one buddy.
"I can't believe our resident raptor trainer wasn't able to come up with more than my official name and title. I expected more." Two could play this game Mr. Grady.
He leaned forward in the chair letting the beer bottle dangle between his fingers. "Looks like I'm not the only one doing some digging."
"Please, I don't need to dig around to find out about you," I said, popping the remains of my sandwich in my mouth. His eyes narrowed in on me and I fought the instinct to look away from him. I felt like we were having a staring contest. My inner competitive goddess had perked up, and was conducting dynamic stretching exercises in the corner.
"By all means enlighten me." He said it as a challenge. Never one to back down from a fight, no matter how stupid it may be, I gladly accepted. My inner competitive goddess now had her matching red wristbands on, shadow boxing in the corner.
"Owen Grady, current employee of InGen. Apparently, you are crazy enough to get into a cage with raptors in an attempt to train them. No doubt that breed of crazy was fostered in the military. I'm thinking Navy, maybe even a SEAL. You're between the ages of 31 to 33 and weigh 210 pounds, easy. There's a KA-BAR strapped to the middle of your belt at your back. You're left handed and know how to handle yourself in a fight, but you're more of a street brawler." I took a sip of my beer before continuing. "You have some prior knowledge of animal training, probably with the Navy, and you genuinely respect the animals here. However, you don't allow that to cloud the fact that while your raptors may appear tame under certain conditions they are, by their nature, wild animals and capable of incredible violence."
I sat back looking at Owen pretty damn proud of myself. I hadn't lost my touch. Assuming any of that was true. By his stunned expression I was guessing I'd hit a home run. My inner competitive goddess had grabbed an American flag and was taking a victory lap around the stadium.
"How, how do you know all that?" he stuttered, seemingly more suspicious of me now.
"Did you miss the Behavior Assessment part of my job title?" By the look on his face, yes, yes he had.
"That's incredible. Disturbing, but incredible."
"Yea well, everyone has a talent."
"Are you going to tell me what you actually do here besides the creepy Ms. Cleo reading you just rattled off?" He finished his beer and set it on the table, waiting patiently.
"Near as I can tell I'm a stealth ninja who gets to run around the island and watch dinosaurs." At least I was hoping that's what I got to do if I was forced to leave my camper.
Owen was laughing so hard now he was actually doubled over in the chair. I tried not to take offense, I knew my pink polka dot PJ's weren't screaming stealth ninja, but did he have to laugh so hard.
"No seriously."
Ass. "I am serious. I'm a security consultant."
"So you work for InGen?" he answered, only smiling now. Slippery slope, here I come.
"Not exactly. I work for Masrani Global."
"I wasn't aware Masrani had a security force," he replied, furrowing his eyebrows.
"Force is a bit of an overstatement. They don't so much have a force, as they have me."
He looked at me like I had a dick growing out of my forehead. "Just you?"
"Did I stutter?" While the whole underestimating me thing was cute for about five seconds I was getting the overwhelming urge to punch him in the throat just to prove that I could.
"And what exactly are you consulting on?"
"What is this the Spanish Inquisition? Twenty questions? I'm a security consultant. I'm going to consult on security matters here at our lovely park." I was standing up now with my hands on my hips glaring down at a slightly amused Owen.
"And the behavior assessment part?"
"I would say that's pretty clear, I just assessed the shit out you didn't I?" I was pissed now. This guy knew nothing about me, but he was already convinced I couldn't be successful in my made up job.
Owen stood up slowly, bringing himself to his full height. It was meant as an intimidation tactic. He towered over me, our chests practically touching, I could smell sweat, the jungle, and something spicy that was all Owen. If he thought for one second this half-assed attempt at a power play was going to work with me he had another thing coming. I wasn't backing up and I sure as hell wasn't backing down. I tried to keep my breathing level as I continued to hold his gaze.
"While assessing each other sounds like a lot of fun, I think maybe it's a little too soon for that. Don't ya think?" he purred, his voice an octave lower, eyebrows raised slightly. The sexual innuendo just hung in the air between us. He was grinning while I debated the merit of kneeing him in the balls.
"You're an asshole."
He simply laughed moving past me, hopping off the porch towards his motorcycle. Of course he rode a motorcycle because this was not the type of guy who rolled around in a Prius.
"Good night Josephine," he hollered over his shoulder as he kick started his motorcycle and tore off towards his camper.
I was saved from having to come up with a witty reply to his retreating back as my newly issued cell phone rang from inside. Spinning around, I stomped inside like a two-year-old.
"Hello."
"Jo, this is Zara, Ms. Dearing's personal assistant."
I rolled my eyes. "Zara, I know who you are. You don't have to tell me your job title every time we talk."
"Right, of course. Ms. Dearing has time to see you at nine o'clock tomorrow morning, does that work for you?"
"That's fine. I'll see you then," I bit out, abruptly hanging up. Now, I felt like an asshole. I shouldn't take my frustration out on Zara. Her job as Claire's assistant seemed hard enough. It wasn't her fault Owen got under my skin.
Sighing I ran my hands through my hair falling face first on to my bed. This whole day had been long and exhausting. I needed sleep and a fresh start. As a drifted off something in the back of my mind told me tomorrow might not be any better.