Page 31 of Have To Be Mine

“You knew we were leaving this morning.”

“I knew you’d come find me.”

I was going to murder the man.

The car drove straight onto the tarmac. I was out before the tires had come to a full stop. I could not be in such a confined space with him. He was just too much everything. I grabbed my bag. The staff tried to take it from me, but I insisted.

I stomped up the stairs and sat down. I could hear Dash talking with the flight attendant. Not talking—flirting. The man needed to wear a warning sign. Do not flirt with the Blackwell.

As I had instructed, a freshly pressed suit was hanging on the door into the restroom. He finally stepped into the cabin, still looking way too smug for my comfort.

“Get dressed,” I ordered.

“Are you sure you want me to?” he teased.

I ignored him.

Ten minutes later, we were still sitting on the tarmac because we were waiting for him. He finally emerged in the perfectly tailored suit that oozed money. His hair was still damp, pushed back from his face, and he’d somehow managed to look completely put together in the span of ten minutes.

It was infuriating how easily he moved through the world.

He sat down and we were finally able to take off. I got my laptop open and the itinerary pulled up on the screen. I’d spent hours finalizing it last night, accounting for every possible delay. It was color-coded, cross-referenced, and backed up in three different places. I was not risking a repeat of yesterday.

“Here,” I said, turning the screen toward him. “This is the schedule for the next two weeks.”

He glanced at it, then looked away. “Looks fine.”

“Fine?” I pulled the laptop back. “Did you actually look at it?”

“I saw it.”

“Seeing and reading are two different things.”

He sighed and leaned back in his seat. “What do you want me to say? You’ve clearly got it all figured out.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point? Because from where I’m sitting, you’ve taken over my job. You found the missing pieces yesterday and didn’t even tell me. You’re creating schedules. You’re managing vendors. What exactly am I supposed to be doing?”

“Your job,” I said. “I’m supposed to be supporting you, not replacing you.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

A flash of heat rolled through me, and this time, it had nothing to do with desire. “Maybe if you’d actually done your job in the first place, I wouldn’t have to step in.”

“I have been doing my job. For years. Successfully.”

“Successfully?” I leaned forward. “The only reason yesterday wasn’t a complete disaster was because I cleaned up your mess.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“Your family asked me to do that. That’s why I’m here. They obviously knew something like that would happen.”

“Right. My family.” He stood up, the cabin suddenly feeling much smaller. “My family who doesn’t trust me. My family who thinks I need a babysitter.”

“You do.”

I watched something flash across his face—hurt, maybe, or anger. Probably both.