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“Thanks, Callie,” I murmur, grateful for her unwavering support. “You always know exactly what to say.”
The PA system crackles to life, announcing that my flight will be boarding soon. “Gotta go, Callie,” I tell her.
“Can’t wait to see you, Brie!” she exclaims before we hang up. Somehow, the weight of all the information I’ve just learned makes it hard to walk straight. My body craves something to steady myself, and my eyes dart toward the nearby airport bar.
“Quick shot, please,” I tell the bartender, holding up one finger. He grins knowingly and pours me a smooth-looking amber liquid. As soon as the glass touches my lips, warmth spreads through me, like a spark igniting a hidden fire inside.
I learned to drink when I was young; that’s an advantage of having an alcoholic for a mother.
“Thanks.” I place some cash on the counter. Turning around, I’m too lost in my thoughts to notice where I’m going. My body collides with a rock-hard chest, the impact sending my drink splattering across the stranger’s shirt.
“Shit!” I exclaim, my face flushing with embarrassment. When the stranger looks up, I’m immediately ensnared by his gaze. Without a doubt, he has to be the sexiest man I’ve ever laid eyes on.
2
BRIELLE
I can’t help but stare at the stranger, his tattoos snaking up his muscular arms and disappearing under the sleeves of his expensive-looking shirt. It’s like a compulsion, this knack I have for running toward danger, and he is the epitome of that—sexy gray eyes, his brown hair starting to turn gray with age, an air of mystery wrapping around him.
He’s older than me, that much is obvious—probably closer to my father’s age than my own. And everything about him screams money, from the suit he’s wearing to the cologne that I can’t get enough of.
“Are you just going to stand there gawking, or are you going to clean up the mess you made?” His voice snaps me out of my trance-like state, and I immediately apologize.
“Sorry,” I mumble, grabbing a handful of napkins from the nearest table. My heart pounds in my chest as I step closer to him, the intensity in his gaze sending shivers down my spine. With trembling hands, I begin to wipe the spilled drink from his chest, trying to ignore the heat radiating from his body.
The expensive fabric of his shirt is ruined, soaked in the drink I’ve spilled all over him. He glares at me, and my heart skips a beat. “You do realize this shirt costs more than what you make in a month, right?”
I blush, ashamed, and reach into my wallet. “I’ll pay you back,” I say earnestly, but he only laughs, the sound dripping with disdain.
“Really?” he asks. “Do you honestly think I need anything from you? Especially your money?”
My face heats up even more, embarrassment mingling with anger. “You don’t have to be such an ass,” I snap, unable to hold back any longer.
“Typical,” he mutters, shaking his head. “You spill something all over me, and you’re the one calling me names…what a joke.”
“I apologized, and offered to pay for it. What else am I supposed to do? Kiss your shoe and beg for your forgiveness?” I demand, confused by the sudden shift in his attitude.
The mere suggestion makes my stomach churn, but before I can lash out at him, he smirks. “I’d love to see that.”
“Yeah, not today.” My nose wrinkles. “I have a bit more self respect than that.”
“Do you? I wouldn’t have been able to guess that.”
He is absolutely unbelievable. I never should have felt bad for him, but then again, what did I expect? Hot guys like him are always jerks. “You know, if you hadn’t been so close to me, I wouldn’t have bumped into you in the first place,” I retort, trying to regain some of my dignity.
“Ah, yes,” he replies sarcastically. “Blame the victim. Classic.”
“Ugh, I’m so over this,” I mutter, shaking my head. I turn to walk away, desperate to remove myself from his infuriating presence.
But just as I take a step, he grabs my arm, his grip firm. “I’m not done with you yet,” he says, a dangerous glint in his eyes.
“Let me go!” I protest, hitting his arm in an attempt to free myself. But my efforts are futile; he only tightens his hold and begins dragging me through the airport. Panic rises in my chest as I realize that nobody is coming to my aid. “Why isn’t anyone helping me?” I demand, my voice shaking.
“Simple,” he answers, an arrogant smirk playing on his lips. “My family owns this airport.”
The revelation sends a shiver down my spine. So he’s that kind of rich? I start to worry about what he’s capable of doing. He pulls me into a nearby bathroom, locking the door behind us. The small space suddenly feels suffocating, the air thick with tension.
“Listen,” I say, trying to sound braver than I feel. “Whatever you’re planning, it won’t work. You’ve got the wrong idea about me.”
