Page 39 of Forbid It

“It’s…very generous, sir.”

“Where are you off? London? That’s where your family is, no?”

I shake my head. “Wales.”

“Close enough.”

Different country.

“My Cassie is going over for a few days actually. She’s talking about going commercial, again.” He rolls his eyes as if flying the same way as 99% of travelers do is some sort of teenage rebellion, though I guess for a man who makes more money in his sleep than my entire family would in a lifetime, it might feel a bit beneath you. “If you’re already heading that way, I’ll get her to take the jet.”

I furrow my brow, not following him at all.

“She has this whole thing about the jet being bad for the environment.” He waves his hand. “I think sharing the same air as car salesmen and suburban mothers is bad for my environment, but she won’t be told.”

I open my mouth to protest but quickly remember that this man is my boss.

“It’s settled, you’ll take the jet.” He sends me a blinding white smile as he checks his phone. “My assistant will send you the details.”

With that, he claps me on the shoulder and strides out of the gym, answering his phone with a sharp, “Hamilton.”

What the hell just happened?

18

CASSIE

“How the hell did this happen?” Pip squeals as the car pulls up to the gate. “Actually, don’t tell me. I’m just thrilled to be here.”

I bite back a laugh as she practically throws herself out of the car as soon as we roll to a stop. Pip has only been on my father’s jet a handful of times in the fifteen years I’ve known her. It’s smaller than a regular plane, only seating fifteen including the pilot, but it’s such a waste of energy it makes my skin crawl.

My dad insisted that he’s sending six of the Rebels aboard with me so it feels a little more like a small commercial flight. Kind of? Either way, Dad is usually good at humoring me when it comes to flying commercial, but I woke up this morning to two refunded first class tickets and an email that the jet was fueling up at the airport.

I thank the driver and grab my bag and guitar case from the trunk, following Pip to the plane stairs.

We’re heading to London for Danny and Anya’s wedding anniversary. It’s crazy to think it was a year ago, and even crazier to think that three years ago, they met for the first time and Danny dropped the lore that he’s a phenomenal songwriter. It took us all a bit by surprise, but now he’s my favorite writing partner.

The last time I wrote with Danny, we locked ourselves in a home studio and came up with two working albums within the space of two weeks. It was like my brain split in two, and he picked up the other half.

Then he had to go and take his new wife on a six month honeymoon, so I lost my sidekick and any motivation to write an album all by myself.

I’m hoping a few days of relative peace in a different country, away from both of my parents, will give me a chance to get the creative juices flowing. I’ve barely had time to sit at a piano or my guitar in the past three months—which is the excuse I’ve been giving myself for the significant lack of producing anything resembling a workable song.

For the first time in a while, I’ve almost got a melody playing in my head; the click of my heels on the tarmac, the rattle of the plane steps as I ascend, and the low laugh of a British man in the plane.

I round the corner, ducking my head slightly to squeeze through the door and come face to face with Robbie King.

He’s sat in one of the seats to the side, his laughter at whatever Pip was telling him eclipsed by the dark look in his eye he only ever seems to hold for me.

My eyes shift to a glare as I set my guitar down in the aisle. “What are you doing here?”

He shifts in his seat. “I was invited.”

I rest my hands on my hips. “Not by me.”

When dad said ‘Rebels’, I thought it meant upper management. I thought I’d be sharing a flight with stuffy business men on long distance phone calls and suits. Not a player. Not this player.

I open my mouth, ready to demand an explanation, but the flight attendant squeezes past me to shut the heavy door. “Aren’t we waiting for more people?” I ask.