Page 41 of Never To Be Mine

“It is difficult,” I admitted. “I have to work twice as hard to prove I deserve to be there. Every decision I make gets scrutinized. Every partnership I recommend gets questioned.”

“Like me.”

“Especially you.”

He nodded slowly. “That’s why you came at me so hard at the expo.”

“No, I was protecting people from a potential scam artist.” I pursed my lips and looked down at my hands. “I’ve seen too many desperate people get taken advantage of. It’s heartbreaking.”

“Still think I’m a scam artist?”

I didn’t know anymore. The research I’d done on B Well had been solid. His products weren’t making outrageous claims. The ingredients were quality. And the way he talked about his business, there was genuine passion there.

But passion wasn’t always enough.

“The jury’s still out,” I said.

He smiled slightly. “Fair enough.”

The flight attendant came by again, asking if we wanted lunch. Hollis ordered a turkey club. I ordered a salad, trying not to think about how ridiculous this all was, eating expensive food on a private plane while pretending I wasn’t affected by any of it.

“Why did you go into nutrition?” Hollis said after we’d been eating in silence for a few minutes. “Like, what made you choose this field?”

I set my fork down, considering how much to share. He wasn’t a friend. “I just liked the idea.”

“You know what I think?” he asked.

“I’m guessing you’re going to tell me.”

“I think you’re projecting.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“You called me a nepo baby. But you’re way more of a nepo baby than I am. I’ve never worked for my father’s company. So I think you’re just projecting your issues onto me.”

I rolled my eyes. “And now you’re a shrink. Is that your next thing?”

I reached into my purse and pulled out my earbuds. The universal signal for “don’t talk to me.”

Hollis laughed and shook his head.

We touched down at Teterboro just after four. I gathered my bags and tried not to think about how effortless Hollis looked deplaning, like he did this every damn day.

Which he probably did.

A black car was waiting on the tarmac. The driver took our bags while Hollis held the door open for me. I slid into the backseat without comment. He rounded the car and got in on the other side.

The drive into Manhattan was quiet. I needed to get away from that damn citrus scent. The last five hours had been an exercise of self-control. I sat two feet away from him, sharing the same recycled air. Distraction didn’t adequately describe what he did to me. It was making it very hard to concentrate on market projections.

The hotel was exactly what I’d expected after the private plane. No Blackwell rolled up to a Holiday Inn. All marble and gold and understated luxury that screamed money. The kind of place where the doorman probably made more than most people’s annual salary just in tips.

I followed Hollis to the check-in counter, doing my best not to look like Dorothy in Oz.

“You better have gotten us separate rooms,” I said as he pulled out his credit card.

He glanced at me, one eyebrow raised. “I didn’t just get us separate rooms. I put us on separate floors.”

Ouch. Separate floors? Like I was some kind of contagion he needed to quarantine himself from?