Page 57 of Lying to the Boss

“What kind of surprise?” he asks as he pulls his phone from his pocket and opens his emails.

I place my hand on the screen and push it away.

“A weekend getaway.”

His head jerks towards me and he blurts, “Seriously?”

A few people look at us, and I give them a kind smile, so they go back to minding their own business.

I move even closer to Tage. “Yes, seriously. I figure we could both use a weekend away.”

“From what?”

“Is it really a problem?” I ask.

He relaxes and a smile crosses his lips. “No, Lane. It’s not a problem. Thank you.”

“Don’t you want to know where we’re going?”

“I thought it was a surprise?” he retorts.

“Fair.” We reach the bottom floor and everyone floods off, including us. “We’re catching a red eye, so can you get home and have your things packed in time or should I bring you?”

“What? You meant right now? This weekend?”

“I love that look,” I say, leaning in to give him a quick kiss.

“What look?”

“A mixture of shock and annoyance, if I had to guess.”

He growls and stomps his foot, like a petulant child, but I’ll say… it’s rather cute.

“We’re flying somewhere?” he asks.

“It wouldn’t be a getaway if we stayed close by, now would it?”

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head and taking a moment to think over the options. “You can bring me.”

“I was hoping you’d say that, because I already have my things packed.” I take his hand and we head out of the lobby. He doesn’t say anything about me holding his hand or the fact the security guard waves at us as we go.

“Of course you do,” he mutters.

“After you pack, we can head straight to the airport.”

“What kind of weather am I packing for?”

“Well, technically, you could pack nothing.”

Frowning, he says, “What does that mean?”

“Warm,” I finally say. “Pack for warm weather and lots of swimming.”

Two hours later, we’re walking into the first-class lounge and ordering drinks while we wait for our flight. We still have a couple hours before we leave, but when it comes to flying, I like to be at the airport early rather than late.

Our drinks are placed in front of us, and I slide my card over and tell the young bartender that I’d like to keep a tab open.

“How long is the flight?” Tage asks. He still doesn’t know where we’re going and he’s been asking questions to figure it out. He’s gotten close, but not on point.