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I text her again.
Nothing. No response.
Fighting the urge to slam the phone against the window, I check the airline app.
The fucking flight is on time, and the boarding starts in twenty-three minutes.
Even if I were at the airport right now, I’d need longer than that to clear security.
She’s going to get on the plane with this huge fucking thing unresolved.
Unless…
Without giving myself a chance to think twice, I call my transportation PM.
“Richard, it’s Carelli,” I say as soon as he picks up. “I need you to get the CEO of United Airlines to call me right now. It’s urgent.”
I know the portfolio manager is dying to ask why—airline stocks are his province—but he understands the concept of urgency.
Five minutes later, I have United Airlines’ CEO on the phone. Six minutes after that, when I hang up and check the app again, the flight is delayed by an hour—and I’ve promised to abstain from shorting UAL stock for six months, to spare the CEO from explaining to his board why there’s a giant hedge fund betting against them.
The traffic clears further as we approach the airport, and I almost feel bad for holding up the plane by an hour. A half hour might’ve been plenty. When I enter the airport, however, I’m glad for the extra cushion.
The place is overrun with frantic holiday travelers and pissed-off flyers stranded by the storm. It’s so bad that by the time I get through the mile-long security line, First Class and Priority boarding for Emma’s flight has already begun.
I begin pushing my way through the crowd massed at the gate, searching for her bright hair.
There. A small, curvy figure toward the front of the Economy Class line. Dressed in a pair of jeans and a white hoodie, she’s holding a boarding pass in one hand and the handle of a small, raggedy-looking suitcase in the other.
My pulse picks up, my skin prickling with savage heat.
Fuck, I’ve missed her so much.
I was an idiot to stay away.
Feeling like a hunter honing in on his prey, I head directly for her. Other people must sense my grim determination, because they get out of my way. She’s staring straight ahead, so she doesn’t see me until I stop next to her.
And by then, it’s too late.
“Emma.” I reach out to clasp her wrist just as her gaze jumps to my face, gray eyes wide with shock. “We need to talk.”
She’s so stunned that she lets me pull her out of the crowd without protest. It’s only when we’re standing by the empty seats in the corner that she finds her tongue. “What are you doing here?” Her voice is higher-pitched than normal. “How did you get through security?”
I release her wrist to pull a boarding pass out of my pocket. “I bought this on the drive over.” It’s for a flight to Omaha, the only one that had a seat available today. Stuffing it back in my pocket, I say, “Listen, we need to talk about—”
“No, we don’t.” She tries to step around me, but I step in front of her, blocking her way.
“Yes, we do.”
Her face flushes with angry color. “My flight is boarding—”
“They’ve just started. You have time.”
Apparently realizing that I’m not going to budge, she lets go of her suitcase handle and folds her arms across her chest. “Fine. Talk.”
Despite the seriousness of the situation, I almost laugh at the scowl she directs at me. With all those curls puffing up, she really does look ridiculously cute when angry. Adorable, in fact. Of course, she also looks adorable when she smiles, and when she blushes, and when she’s lying in my bed, all warm and sleepy and satisfied—fuck, I better focus.
“I’m sorry, Emma,” I say as sincerely as I can. “I should’ve called you earlier. I was working around the clock, but that’s no excuse. I promise you, it won’t happen again.” I’m about to stop there, but some demon propels me forward, pulling the words out of my mouth. “The truth of the matter is, I felt like we were getting too deep, too fast, and I seized on the emergency at the fund to put a little distance between us. But that was a mistake. I realize that now. I want us to get deeper.” I take a breath. “In fact, I was thinking that when you get back from this trip, I’d like you to move in to my place.”
Her arms drop to her sides as shock wipes away all other expression on her face. “You what?” Her voice is barely above a whisper.
“I want you to move in,” I repeat, clasping her small hands in each of mine. “I want you to live with me—you and all three of your cats. I know it seems fast, but I’ve made a living taking calculated risks, and believe me, this one is worthwhile. If you want to keep your apartment for now, I won’t object, but I want you with me every night.”
