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Ava bites down on her lip, but it does nothing to stifle the smile that reaches all the way up to her warm, sparkling eyes. “Ah, family. Can’t live with ’em, can’t live without ’em.”
“Truth.”
She looks so relaxed sitting at my countertop, face fresh and clean, hair loose. It strikes me as so normal and familiar that I almost wonder how this isn’t my everyday reality. “So, last night...”
Yeah,that.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she says. “I plan on holding up my end of the bargain. It’s not like I have other options at this point.”
“I’ll take care of you,” I say, but then I automatically want to crush the words under my tongue. “I mean, with helping you figure things out. My assistant’s husband is actually a principal at one of the private schools in Camberwell, and we’ve got some apartments on hold for private use at the Cielo. You don’t have to worry.”
“I can’t afford a building like that,” she scoffs.
“We’ll work something out, I promise.”
“Can you fix any problem?” she asks, shaking her head in wonder.
“That remains to be seen.” I drain the rest of my coffee and put the cup into the sink. “Now, I have to head into the office this morning and deal with some things. I assume you can amuse yourself for a few hours?”
“I’ve got a book and a coffee machine, what more could a girl want?” Ava grins and I feel the sunshine of it punch me right in the chest. Whatisshe doing to me?
“Good. Take a few minutes to pack your bags before I get back. We’re flying out tonight,” I say. “There are plenty of things to do in Nice and you and I need to be seen together.”
“How did you get a ticket for me at the last minute?” She blinks. “That must have cost a fortune.”
I don’t say anything, but I’m betting the look on her face when we pull up to our private jet will be pretty damn priceless.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Ava
THATEVENING,Iunderstand why my question had amused Daniel and encouraged another one of his annoyingly sexy half-smirk expressions. His private jet had been prepared for our flight. Ofcoursehe has his own damn plane.
If there’s any more proof required for me to fully understand that Daniel and I donotcome from the same world, this is it. That fleeting thought I had of him looking attainable when he picked me up from my apartment? Poof! Gone. The moment we shared in his kitchen this morning where I thought I felt something real pass between us? A delusion.
And don’t even get me started on what happened in his bedroom. I don’t knowwhatto call that.
Oh, and did I mention that he’s taking me to France? Actual France. Baguettes and champagne and Chanel France.
“Macaron pastry, Macron president.” I’ve been going over that for the last twelve hours so I don’t embarrass myself. I push the door of the limo open and step right out onto the airport tarmac. No long security lines, no pat downs, no shitty airport food. “Macaron pastry, Macron president.”
“What on earth are you muttering to yourself?” Daniel asks as Andy hands our luggage off to the crew. We walk toward the stairs leading up to a small but fancy-looking jet.
“Nothing,” I grumble.
I climb the stairs slowly, my flat sandals clacking against the metal steps. For a second, I feel like a heroine in one of those old romantic movies—hair billowing in the breeze, dress flapping around my legs. All I need to complete the look is a silk scarf tied around my neck and some big sunglasses.
That’s right. Concentrate on the fantasy, not on the fact that you’re about to be stuck in a tin can shooting halfway across the world with a man who’s watched you masturbate.
To make matters worse, I feel him behind me. His presence is a warm burn at my back. Even when he’s not touching me, my body is a radio tuned to his frequency, sensing him at all times. When I falter, my sandal catching on the edge of a step, his big hands go to my waist, steadying me. The feel of his touch—confident and sure—shoots my body temperature up a few billion degrees.
“Welcome, Ms. Matthews.” The flight attendant smiles and takes my denim jacket, which normally makes me feel cool, but now makes me feel like a little girl amid all this luxury. “Can I grab you a drink before we take off? Champagne, wine?”
“A water would be great, thank you.” I need to keep my wits about me. I’m feeling turned around and upside down and inside out. Daniel has me dizzy and spinning, and I’m not sure I’ll ever feel steady again.
“Absolutely.” The flight attendant turns to Daniel and gives him the same professional treatment.
God, even his plane is more impressive than my apartment. Not that I’ve ever seen a private jet before, obviously, but it’s even better than I imagined. There’s a cluster of seats to one side, two pairs facing a table, with a further two rows behind it. On the other side of the plane is a sectional lounge that looks to be made of buttery-soft leather.
