And before I can figure out what I’m supposed to feel besides raw confusion, he clears his throat again.
“Take this shit in the spirit it’s intended, Pages. I’ll see you soon for our dinner plans in New York.”
Then he hangs up, leaving me holding the phone in one hand, along with my bristling temper.
8
ALL DRESSED UP (ETHAN)
There’s nothing more pretentious than flying on your private jet.
I’m fully aware of it, just like I’m fully aware that this is the fastest and most efficient way of traveling to New York City.
I board nearly an hour before takeoff, taking one of the seats with the enormous lump of Ares sprawled out on the empty seat across from me. You can do anything when you fly private, and that includes letting the laziest basset hound alive rest his paws on designer leather while the jet cruises at thirty thousand feet.
Not that I would have brought him if it was entirely up to me. He could’ve stayed at home, slobbering by the fire with my cleaning staff taking care of him.
Only, when Mother heard I wound up with the dog, she threatened a massacre if I didn’t bring him to visit.
So here I am.
Bringing her the only legacy from Gramps she’ll ever care about.
Ares snorts like he knows what a chore this is, his big bloodshot eyes cracked and staring at me. I can’t tell if it’s anadoring look or not—he wears the same numb expression all the time, like someone just banned him from gobbling down his daily pile of salmon treats.
I feed himgenerously.
Even when he’s wagging his tail, he doesn’t look happy.
Finally, he stands, smacks his lips, and bellows a yawn like a dragon as he turns away from me, pawing at the cushion to make a nest in the seat with the blanket a flight attendant draped over him.
Ignoring him, I turn back to my laptop.
Better to get some work in while I wait.
A little while later, I see a car pulling up on the tarmac. Hattie gets out.
There’s a black dress on a hook hanging over her arm and her hair’s piled up neatly on her head.
Margot’s touch shines again, right down to her makeup.
Subdued pastel-pink lips today.
Probably best if I don’t look at her mouth. Or the way her hips sway as she walks. Or—dammit, anything.
Every movement she makes rocks that innocent librarian look that twists my balls in a vise.
I force my eyes back to my screen, reading the same sentence in my report three times as Hattie struts up the rollaway staircase and enters the jet.
Ares looks up and wags his thick tail the second he hears her greeting a flight attendant.
An earsplitting scream splits the air.
I’m about to toss the laptop aside and leap up, thinking Hattie’s hurt, but she’s running up the aisle to Ares.
“Good afternoon, beautiful boy!” She cups the old dog’s wrinkly face in both hands. “I haven’t seen you in ages. Do you remember me?”
He does, I’m sure.
