"Ladies and gentlemen, we've begun our descent into Las Vegas. Please return your seats to their upright positions and ensure your seatbelts are fastened."
The spell breaks, and Harper straightens, checking her seatbelt. Through the window, Vegas sprawls below us—a colorful explosion of hotels and clubs and casinos against the desert, even in the late afternoon sun.
My phone buzzes again. This time it's a call.
Rachel Stone. My publicist.
I answer.
"Kade."
"Finally. Jesus, Victor, I've been trying to reach you for hours." Rachel's voice is sharp with stress. "We have a situation."
"What kind of situation?"
Harper glances at me, then politely looks away, suddenly fascinated by the seatback pocket in front of her.
"The Times got wind of the CulinaryVision acquisition. They're running a story tomorrow unless we give them a statement tonight. And your brother called the office again. Alexei. He says it's urgent."
Everything goes cold.
"I don't care what Alexei says. I don't care if the building is on fire. You do not put him through."
"Victor—"
"Ever, Rachel. We've had this conversation."
She’s silent for a beat. “I’ll handle it.”
“Good.” My voice comes out hard. "What time's the call with legal and PR?"
"Five-thirty. Can you make it to your hotel by then?"
I check my watch. "Yes."
"Good. Don't be late. And Victor? Try to sound less like you want to set everything on fire when you talk to the press."
She hangs up, and I lower the phone, jaw tight, finding Harper watching me with careful eyes.
"That sounded intense," she says quietly.
“It was.”
The plane touches down with a slight jolt. Around us, passengers immediately reach for their phones and overhead bins, but Harper stays still.
"I should let you go," she says. "Sounds like you have a lot to deal with."
But the seatbelt sign is already off, and people are flooding the aisles.
I stand, grabbing my briefcase, helping Harper to retrieve her tote bag before we shuffle toward the exit with everyone else.
At the gate, she turns to me—and once again, I’m acutely aware of how gorgeous this woman is. How full her pink mouth is, how silky her skin looks, how bright her hazel eyes are as they scan over me.
"Thanks again. For everything. The seat, the wine, listening to my gripes.” She hesitates. "Good luck with your acquisition. And your... whatever that call was about. I hope it's nothing serious."
My phone buzzes. Another text from Rachel.
I’m distracted from it when Harper’s gaze meets mine again.
