Page 21 of On The Edge

Like a little kid, I look out the window at the runway and beyond as we taxi. I haven’t flown much to begin with, let alone on a private jet, so I’m going to take this in.

But it’s when I look back toward Cruz that I realize he has abandoned our conversation, and it’s not because I was preoccupied with being enamored. Since we’re facing each other—his back to the front of the plane, and me forward—I’m given a front-row view to the whitening of Cruz’s knuckles as he grips the armchair. He closes his eyes and rests his head back.

At first, I think he’s playing me. A Formula 1 driver who cheats death every time he straps in the car is afraid of flying? There’s no way.

But apparently there is, because Cruz is most definitely apprehensive about taking off. His face pulls tight, his knuckles stay white, and his breathing is deep and even.

It’s only after the plane levels off that his fingers let up and his eyes flutter open to meet mine again. We stare at each other without speaking as Mellie places a tray of fresh fruit and bottles of water between us.

“So, Madds. The only—”

“Maddix.”

“Madds.” His grin is infuriating, especially when I know he’s doing this to get a reaction out of me. Is it wrong though that as much as I hate when people call me that, a small part of me loves the nickname? It’s almost as if in a world of all these people vying for his attention, I’m important enough for him to give a pet name to.

Get a grip, Madds.

“As I was saying”—he flashes another dazzling grin—“the only way this is going to work is if you talk to me, because I don’t know you well enough to interpret that look you keep giving me . . . and that long sigh-thing you keep doing. So . . . you said I make you nervous for obvious reasons. What exactly are those reasons?”

I glance over my shoulder to where Mellie is busy in the back where I can assume there is a galley of some sort. “I don’t know how we’re going to pull this off,” I whisper cautiously.

“You can talk in a normal voice. Everyone here is on my staff and has signed nondisclosure agreements.”

“Kevin told me that no one can know the truth,” I continue to whisper. “That I have to sell this like my job depends on it.”

Cruz nods, his finger running over his bottom lip as he does so. “And does it?”

“It wasn’t stated outright but . . . I can infer. Yes, it does.”

“And is that why you said yes?” His voice is soft, probing, and I hate that I want to ramble about the events of the last twenty-four hours to him when I’m sure he doesn’t care.

“Partly.”

“Partly?” His eyes narrow. “What’s the other part of the partly?”

I shrug, a tad flustered over being put on the spot. “I have my reasons.”

“Ah, the cryptic response that means she’s holding the real answer close to the vest because she’s not quite sure she can trust me yet. Either that or she’s so attracted to me she’s embarrassed to let me know that she has posters of me on her walls and one as a screensaver on her phone.”

I bark out a laugh. “You’re serious with this shit?”

“Show me your screensaver then,” he says.

“Absolutely not.” I move my cell off the table and tuck it under my thigh.

A smile toys at the corners of his mouth. Playful is not what I expected from him and yet here we are with gazes locked and smiles warring.

“And yet you still don’t think we’re going to be able to pull this off. Why’s that? I’m me. You’re you. Clearly, we get along.”

“It’s been a whole hour.”

“Good thing I have stamina.”

I roll my eyes. “Whatever.”

“Okay. Fine.” He holds his hands up.

“My turn. You tell me. Why did you pick me?”