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“We should invite Adrien over for a thank-you dinner,” Jamie said.
I cackled at her hilarious joke, grabbed the bottle of wine, and sauntered to my room to drink and pack.
13
It wasa good thing I wasn’t being forced to join Adrien on his morning run because, holy crap, was my head pounding.
I groaned when my wrist started to vibrate, rolling over on the bed.What time is it?
Bzzz bzzz bzzz.
I tried opening my eyes, but the morning light was so painfully bright that I immediately stuffed my face back into the safe darkness of the pillow.
Bzzz bzzz bzzz.
Oh my god, what did he want now? I lifted the shielding pillow just enough to peek at my stupid watch and proceeded to have an immediate heart attack.
Nineteen missed notifications.
Nineteen.
And then I saw the time.
Shit.
Shit shit shit shit shit shit.
I jumped out of bed, only to slump right back down with a whimpering moan. Oh god, the nausea.
Bzzz bzzz bzzz.
I stumbled to the bathroom and popped a couple of aspirin before shoving my toothbrush into the side of my mouth.
I was an hour late and there was a good chance I was going to miss my flight. Which would give Adrien an excuse to void the entire deal, and everything—everything—I’d put up with so far was going to have been for nothing.
I ran back into the room and pushed my legs into a pair of jeans, toothbrush still poking out of my mouth. My bra and T-shirt went on the same chaotic way, though thankfully I managed to get very little toothpaste on them.
Bzzz bzzz bzzz.
I bunched my tangled hair into a quick ponytail and rinsed my mouth, my body so full of adrenaline that it overwhelmed the headache and nausea as I scribbled a brief note to Jamie, grabbed my suitcase, and flew out the door.
It wasn’t until I was inside the elevator that I looked at Adrien’s messages. His most recent one popped up first.
I’m at the airport. If you miss the flight, our deal’s off.
Fuck.
* * *
I’d never run so fast in my life—drunk or sober.
My legs burned, my stomach rolling as I sprinted through the airport, praying to every god documented throughout history that I hadn’t missed boarding. At least one of them must have been listening because I made it to the gate just as they were getting ready to close it.
The gate agent kept calling me “lucky” as he scanned my electronic ticket. If he only fucking knew what—and who—I was currently dealing with. “Lucky” was the absolute last adjective I’d use to describe my current circumstances.
I panted my way through the loading bridge, my carryon rolling noisily behind me. And I was so nauseous and exhausted that I barely registered the fact that Adrien had booked me a first-class ticket. I simply slumped into the seat beside him as the kind flight attendant hoisted my bag into the overhead bin for me.
“You made it,” Adrien noted dryly as he tapped away on his phone.
