Page 30 of Wasted Lust

A life.

Not a half-dead girl who lives in the past.

But a life. A real life filled with the promise of a future. All I need is Nick Tate to fill up the emptiness he left behind and I can be whole again.

The jet-black exterior of the plane is a stark contrast to the warm interior. The sand-colored floors gleam, and the reflection of my shoes makes me feel like I’m standing in a clear pool of water. I step forward into the cabin and take it all in.

The entrance leads to a sitting area complete with two sets of padded leather flight chairs on each side of a small meeting table. But off to my right, down the slim corridor, there is another room separated by pocket doors. All the walls are a warm ochre color, and the trim is a highly polished yellow-toned burl wood. My fingertips reach out to touch it as I take another step forward. So smooth.

Jax gives me slight encouragement at the small of my back again, turning me to the right, towards the partitioned part of the cabin. “We’re going to skip the meeting room and have drinks in the lounge, Essie,” he says to the nearest flight attendant. She’s dressed like a waiter, with black wool pants, a crisp white shirt, and a black apron that falls below her waist.

“Of course, sir,” she says as she helps me out of my coat and folds it across her arm. Jax takes his coat off and places it over mine. “Do you know what you want? Or would you like a drink menu?”

I tune out his response and start walking, eager to see what awaits me. I feel like I’m stepping into a new world. I’ve been on my share of private planes and I book first-class tickets when I need to fly commercial. But Ford never had access to a plane like this.

This is luxury, pure and simple.

“Here, Sasha,” Jax says with a gentle prod that tells me to walk faster. “We’re dining on board in the back.”

The second room is much more informal, but still elegant. The butter-colored sofa stretches along one side of the fuselage, coming to a slight curve at the far end of the cabin, just enough to form a semi-circular dining area. There is a small table with enough room for two people to eat comfortably, set with china and silverware that sparkles under the subdued light.

I take a seat on the long side of the couch while Jax settles on to the curved portion. The leather is so smooth, I want to pet it.

“Pretty nice, huh?” Jax says, watching me take in the decor. There’s art on the wall. I’ve never seen art on the wall of a private plane before.

“Wow. I feel like there’s a world of hidden rich people and I’ve just been invited into the club.”

“Like a secret, huh?”

I look at Jax and he gives me a wink. It unsettles me, even though it came with a smile. “Something like that,” I reply back, looking down at my hands.

What the hell am I doing? Getting involved with something better left alone, is the reply in my head.

“Doesn’t your father have a private jet?”

“We don’t own one,” I say with an edge to my voice, “if that’s what you’re asking. We use them. The studio he works for has them and they fly us places. But we don’t get movie-star treatment.”

“That surprises me,” Jax says. And then Essie is there, placing drinks in front of us. “Thank you, Essie,” he tells her, all charm and at ease. Like this is his world and he’s comfortable in it. “I mean,” he continues, his gaze redirected to me, “Ford Aston is very wealthy. Was born that way. He looks like the kind of man who likes the finer things in life.”

“He does,” I say back, the hair on the back of my neck rising. “Finer things being trained protection dogs worth as much as a well-bred racehorse, old comfortable houses in neighborhoods that have easy access to art museums and parks, private schools, and the finest food. But he’s not pretentious. He doesn’t flaunt his wealth. And he has never lived off his inheritance. He’s a working man.”

“Hmmm,” Jax says, taking a sip of his whiskey.

I look at my drink, a pink concoction in a martini glass with a cherry on the bottom. It’s pretentious. “I like beer.”

“Oh, it’s not a beer night, Sasha. Beer is for light conversation with friends while chatting at a local bar or in someone’s living room. This is a celebration. And that’s a Cosmo. Essie makes them a little on the weak side, so I’m not trying to get you drunk.”

“Only I can get me drunk, Agent Jax. You have no hope of using such a simple trick to catch me off guard.”

“You’re right.” His voice rumbles out of his chest, a hum that makes my stomach flip. “And besides, I’m not trying to catch you off guard. I’m trying to get you to lower it willingly.”

“I’m not impressed by money, so you could give me the taxi cab version of this night and it would still turn out the same.”

“I didn’t imagine you would be,” he says with a light-hearted chuckle. “You have so much of it yourself. Hidden away in all those secret accounts. You keep banks in the Caymans afloat with your checking account balance alone.”

I’m not surprised that he knows I have money. But the fact that he knows where it’s located makes my stomach churn. So I say nothing.

“We know what you did when you and your friends ended the Company a decade ago.”