"When would you like to discuss them?"
"Never. I'd like to never discuss them."
"Liar."
I open my mouth to argue, but the plane starts moving. Claire's voice comes over the intercom with safety instructions, and I force myself to focus on that instead of the man sitting across from me looking like he could eat me alive.
The takeoff is smooth. Absurdly smooth. Like butter on a hot pan.
"This is nicer than any first class," I admit once we've leveled out.
"I would hope so. I paid for it."
"How much does a plane like this cost?"
"You don't want to know."
"Now I definitely want to know."
"Enough that I had to explain the purchase to my CFO three times before he stopped looking at me like I'd lost my mind."
I laugh. "Was it worth it?"
"Ask me when we land." His eyes meet mine. "If I get you to Vegas without you jumping out of the emergency exit, I'll consider it a success."
"The day is young."
Claire reappears with breakfast—actual plates with eggs Benedict and fresh fruit and coffee that smells like heaven.
"I didn't order this," I say.
"I did," Victor replies. "You didn't eat before you left."
"How do you know that?"
"Because you never eat before early morning events. You get nervous and your stomach rebels."
I stare at him. "How do you know that?"
"I pay attention."
The words settle between us, weighted with meaning. We eat in silence for a few minutes, and I try not to think about the fact that Victor Kade—CEO, Ice Prince, my fake husband—knows my breakfast habits so intimately.
"So," I say eventually, pulling out my laptop. "I brought work. Weeknight Wins scripts. I figured I could use the flight time to?—"
"Show me."
I blink. "What?"
"Show me what you're working on. I want to see."
"You want to see my cooking show scripts?"
"I want to see what you're creating for my company. Yes."
There's pride in his voice, genuine interest, and I turn my laptop toward him, pulling up the document.
"It's still rough. Just outlines for the first four episodes. The team wants to do a 'comfort food' theme for November."
