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I go still. Over the howling wind, I hear the sound of a chopper rapidly approaching.
“Is that your helicopter, Uncle Brick?”
“No,” I answer. I look up, trying to locate it, but the visibility is total shit.
Except the sound is getting closer, and then the black chopper comes into view–myblack chopper–headed straight for my landing pad.
The dogs race out, barking, followed by Dane, his bushy gray brows slanting down like a grizzled guard dog, himself.
“Expecting someone?”
“No. But that’s my chopper.”
I put August down. “Run inside, bud. Uncle Brick needs to figure out why his pilot flew back in the middle of a snow storm.”
And then I see her.
My fucking assistant in the cream-colored coat I bought her. She ducks her head against the wind, jogging through the thick snow in her knee-high boots, her window dress whipping around her legs.
* * *
Madison
My knees shake as I run toward the huge estate house in the middle of the woods. The ride got choppy at the end. Choppy enough that I could see sweat dripping down the pilot’s face as he fought the controls against the wind, and he told me about twenty minutes ago that we wouldn’t be flying back tonight. Not in this storm.
It’s freaking freezing out. The wind cuts through me, snowflakes hitting my cheeks like tiny razor blades. I hunch into it running toward the two figures standing out by the doorway.
Three beautiful dogs come racing to chase me, but when I holler a greeting at them, they turn and flank me like they’re ushering me in.
I didn’t wait for the pilot to follow, but I’m guessing he’s coming in, too, since we have to stay the night here.
Oops.
I guess I shouldn’t have risked my life to get these papers to Brick.
A few more people gather at the door by the time I reach it. Brick and Eagle. Billy and Vance.
Sheesh. Like they don’t get enough of each other at work, they have to spend Thanksgiving together, too? Where’s the work life balance, dudes?
“What in thehellare you doing here?” Brick snarls when I reach them. Even in casual khakis and a navy sweater, his cheeks flushed bright from the cold, he exudes power. He looks so angry, so sexy, soBrick, my core clenches.
An older man throws open the door to the… lodge? Woodsy mansion? Whatever you call it, and gestures with his arm to indicate I should go in. Everybody follows me except for the old man, who is possibly waiting for the pilot. He seemed like a butler or servant of some kind.
“There was a document you didn’t sign–their fault, not ours–and the sale couldn’t go through without it,” I explain breathlessly when I’m inside. The sudden warmth hits my cheeks like another assault, and I’m suddenly boiling hot. “Your phone was off, and I couldn’t get a message to you to have you sign it electronically. I figured I’d better bring it myself. They said if it didn’t go through today, the sale was off. Honestly, I think they were trying to make sure this didn’t go through, banking on the holiday screwing things up.” I flip open my laptop, which is open to the page he needs to electronically sign.
He ignores it. “You just flew through asnowstorm.” Brick raises his voice. It has that wind-up quality like he’s getting ready for a tirade. I’ve witnessed plenty of them and been on the receiving end of my share, too, but call me foolish, I was expecting a little more gratitude from him. “For fuck’s sake, it looks like he barely landed that helicopter!”
I mean, here I am going way above and beyond to make sure his business needs are taken care of. I probably just gave up my own Thanksgiving because who knows if I’ll even be able to get back tomorrow, and holy shit–the flight scared the crap out of me. I thought I might get a gold star pinned on my jacket or something, not a classic Brick dress-down.
“I know, and John says we’ll have to spend the night because the storm is too bad to fly back in.”
“Spend the night?” His upper lip curls in horror. “You can’t spend the night here.”
I draw back. Something about it takes me back to freshman year of high school. To Rebecca Whaling’s look of horror when I invited her to my place to study, and she found out where I lived.
Like Blackthroat can’t believe he’s going to have to have the help staying at his gorgeous manor.
I suddenly can’t breathe, but I don’t let it show. I lift my chin. “I’m sure there’s a couch or sleeping bag somewhere. I don’t have to join your holidayfestivitiesor anything,” I snap.
