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His dark eyes flame with stifled emotion. He steps toward me, advancing until I’m scared we’ll be right back where we were a minute ago.
“One room, two beds,” he counters.
“Two rooms,” I insist, straightening my back in the hopes that I look somewhat resolved. “And just to be clear, I’m only going with you because I haven’t had a vacation in a while.”
His smirk is so damn conceited I want to slap it off his face. “Oh, that’s it? Anything else?”
“Yes. I want to lounge by the pool and read a book.”
“Uh huh.”
“And I want one of those massive volcano drinks.”
“Brooke…”
“Oh! And I want to play the slot machines. I love those.”
“So you’ll come?” he asks, hope brimming in his tone.
Of course I will. The choice was never mine to make.CHAPTER FIFTEENI’ve never flown private before, but here I am, sipping champagne with raspberries floating in the glass while cuddled under the softest throw blanket I’ve ever felt. The interior of the plane is the color of wealth: beige and tan with wood trim. Boring and elegant equals money and class, I guess.
James picked me up from the co-op at 4:45 AM looking sharp in jeans and a sweater. I instantly regretted my comfy lounge clothes, but I’m not someone who likes to travel in style. I assumed we would be taking a commercial flight, so I wore yoga pants and a sweatshirt. As we boarded the small plane, the flight attendant made it abundantly clear that she was confused by my attire. Her gaze swooped over me and I was dismissed within a half-second as unworthy of the James Ashwood. I don’t necessarily disagree, but I’m here, and the champagne tastes amazing, so what do I care?
“A little more, please,” I say with a broad smile.
As she tops me off, I think back to how Ellie and Marissa took the news when I told them where I was going. I would rather have kept it a secret, but I needed them to cover my shifts at Twin Oaks for the next three days. Marissa thought I was lying just to get out of work until Ellie corroborated the fact that I’ve been spending time with James lately.
“YOU LITTLE MINX!” were Marissa’s exact words.
I smiled and shrugged as she tried to pry details out of me. While I had to tell her about Vegas, there was no reason to go into the complicated dynamic of mine and James’ relationship, or lack thereof.
My gaze slides across the aisle to where he’s typing away on his laptop. This is a work trip for him. He’s made that clear, and I refuse to play the role of whiny brat, so I sip my champagne and try not to bother him. I do, however, take in his profile while I think he’s focused on replying to an email. He’s clean-shaven, which makes it easier for me to detect the muscles clenching in his jaw as he types away on his computer. Whatever he’s dealing with, it’s frustrating him. I want to ask about it, but I’m scared he’ll shoot me down.
“I can feel you watching me,” he says while continuing to type.
I smile and glance away, happy just to be in this environment with him. There’ve been many nights in the last few weeks where I lay awake wondering what James was up to, what it would feel like to be in his presence again. It’s interesting just to see what a day in the life is like for a man like him, someone in charge of an empire.
We’ve been in the air for an hour, and I don’t think his fingers have stopped typing once. It sounds like he’s competing in a Mavis Beacon contest. The pitter-patter of the keys becomes white noise as I turn on my Kindle and return to my book.
“What are you reading?” he asks sometime later, and I realize with a start that he’s been watching me read.
“Just a bunch of business and finance textbooks,” I say with mock seriousness. “I want to be useful on this trip.”
“What are you really reading?”
I smile and show him. “It’s a book of essays by Samantha Irby.”
“They must be funny.”
I furrow my brow. “Why do you say that?”
“Because I’ve been watching you smile to yourself for the last 20 minutes.”
I guess two can play the sneaky staring game.
“She’s one of the funniest writers I’ve ever read. It’s worth a read when you have the time.” His gaze swoops pointedly to his laptop and I chuckle. “Yeah, I guess you probably don’t get much reading done.”
I think back to the worn paperback sitting on the table back at his house.
“Not much time for fun,” he admits.
The flight attendant steps forward from the galley to announce that we’re 30 minutes from our destination. James stands and I track his path as he heads back to the small bedroom. When he returns a few minutes later, he’s exchanged his jeans and sweater for a fitted black suit. I watch as he pulls a small leather Dopp kit out of his bag. Inside, there’s a silver tie clip that he slides across a thin black tie. Cufflinks are added with smooth dexterity. He straightens his collar and folds a pocket square before neatly tucking it into his jacket. Next, he tugs at the bottom of his shirtsleeves, settling the material so it sits a half-inch past his suit jacket. Most of the time with men, especially ones my age, it looks like the suit is wearing them rather than the other way around. That’s not the case with James. He seems more comfortable like this than he did in his jeans.
