“The minty camphor one or the galangal and capsicum one?”
“The spicy one.”
I nod and crawl out of bed toward the dresser full of herbs and tinctures where folded clothes should be. Over my shoulder, I ask, “How many?”
He crowds at my back, peering in. “As many as you can spare. The guys wanted me to grab them a jar if you had extras. Heinick prefers the mint one, though.”
Something warm moves through me at that. I pull the jars out, line them up on the dresser, and dig around for a used cardboard box I can refold and fill.
“I’ll Venmo you—”
“Don’t you dare,” I scold him, shoving the box into his arms.
He softens. “You worked hard making these, and they are amazing. You deserve to get paid for your work.”
I struggle with his words, incongruent with my own inner critic. After the downfall of my business plan, losing all my money, the accusations from complete strangers and someone I love that I’m not good enough, that I’m a fraud—hearing Easton try to encourage me somehow makes it worse.
“You know it’s not over, right?” he tries again.
Ignoring that, I say, “Since your friends employ me when I don’t even have a practice, consider these a gift.” I push the box again, and he takes it, nodding.
My phone lights up before I can get emotional. I’ve been waiting to hear from my real estate agent. The massive building I own has been hemorrhaging money, and without my practice filling it, I can’t afford the taxes on it, let alone a build-out.
Nothing from her. Instead, it’s my dad with flight instructions.
“Plane leaves in an hour and a half.”
Easton lifts an eyebrow at my deadpan tone. “I can practicallyfeelthe excitement radiating off you.”
I throw a pillow at him, and he shakes his head and laughs as he leaves my room to get ready, knocking his fingers on the doorframe on the way out. “Better get a move on, it’ll take us that long to get out of the city.”
Chapter 2: Logan
My phone buzzes against the polished table for the fifth time in as many minutes. I flip it up and note the time. She’s six minutes late. Ignoring Pearl’s texts, I silence my phone for the flight, then set it face-down and attempt to rein in the irritation crawling up my neck.
This week away from work is already stressing me the fuck out, the last thing I need to deal with is Rosaria and her performative chaos.
Finally she arrives. I hear her first, that low, raspy voice cutting through the ambient noise of the idling plane. I return my attention to my phone, letting the staff handle greeting and situating her.
Pearl’s texts are a stream of consciousness.
Pearl: I just spoke with Daddy, I can’t believe she’s trying to get a ride from you. I’m so sorry.
Pearl: She can find her own way to Georgia, you don’t need to do this.
Pearl: You are seriously the kindest man alive. She doesn’t deserve it, but I really appreciate you allowing her on your plane. Daddy wants her here for some reason, despite everything she’s done to him. He’s so forgiving.
Pearl: I need your help. I’m not sure if Tommy will like the dress I bought for the rehearsal dinner. I’ll send a picture later.
Pearl: The suite I booked for you has a magnificent view of the ocean. I thought when you got here we could take a walk, have a picnic on the beach? Just you and me? It’s been so long since we’ve got to spend any time together. See you soon. Kiss kiss
I flip the phone back down without replying, my attention drawing up.
Rose’s hand tightens around the worn strap of her small backpack. “No, I’ll keep it with me, but thank you,” she tells the flight attendant, who hovers with an outstretched arm, attempting to store it away in an overhead bin.
The Gulfstream is hardly modest, but it feels claustrophobic with her on board. I’m at the rear, where paired leather seats face each other across mahogany tables. She’s chosen the front, as far from me as possible, lounging in one of the captain’s chairs near the cockpit. I’d love nothing more than to pretend she’s not even here, but the moment she boarded the plane, she drew my attention like a parasitic succubus.
I keep my eyes glued to my laptop while she settles with her backpack into a seat, ignoring me with the indifference of a queen. Chin high, though she’s barely five feet, thick long dark hair in waves down her back, nearly reaching her ass, she looks like she belongs in a bordello, not my family jet.
