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“Thank you, Alicia. Head out soon, all right?”
“Sure.”
We share an amused glance. She’s about as likely to leave the office at this hour as I would be under normal circumstances.
“I mean it,” I say, rapping my knuckles on the wooden ledge of her desk. “Or you’re fired.”
“Yes, Mr. Kensington.”
I head down the hallway, pulling my luggage behind me. I should have left it in the car this morning like Patrick suggested, but I figured I’d need to pack work papers in the suitcase after filling my briefcase. And I was right.
As poor luck would have it, my father is leaving his office right as I pass it. “Oliver.”
The acknowledgment is for show, so I’m forced to respond. “Dad.”
“You’re leaving?” He glances at his watch, as if to emphasize the time.
My molars grind. My office is the last one occupied most nights. After he’s long gone, out with women half his age.
He didn’t love Candace. The ink wasn’t dry on their divorce papers when he started bringing a different date to each event. Instead of freezing me out, he should bethankingme for blowing up their unhappy marriage.
“Yes.” My response is curt. If he wants to know where I’m going and why, he could ask.
He doesn’t, of course. All he does is keep walking. My expression remains blank through all of it, before I continue down the hall toward the elevator. I press the button for the garage.
When the doors open, my driver Patrick is already waiting. He loads the suitcase into the trunk for me as I settle into the backseat, pulling out my phone and sighing at the number of emails that have already piled up.
Rather than read any of them, I toss my phone on the leather seat, opting to stare out the window as Patrick drives through the city toward the airport.
It’s a gray, dreary day. Streaks of rain run down the outside of the tinted glass, blurring the sights and buildings we pass.
Once Patrick drops me off at the terminal, I head for security. Alicia handled all of the check-in logistics. She also set up the pre-check clearance. It takes me all of ten minutes to get through the metal detector before I head for the gate. There’s commotion everywhere. Screaming children, rushing flight attendants, confused passengers milling about.
I make it to my gate right as the first zone is boarding. Since I’m in first class, I join the line and am on the plane a few minutes later. I stick my suitcase in the overhead compartment and then settle in the third row, resigning myself to a long wait as the other passengers trickle onto the plane one by one.
I busy myself by pulling up the email Chase sent a few weeks ago detailing the itinerary for the weekend. As long as my flight doesn’t leave late—which I’m not confidentwon’thappen, based on the pace of passengers boarding—I’ll arrive at the hotel right around six. According to the email, dinner is at six thirty at a restaurant just down the street from the hotel. I should have plenty of time to check in and then make it to dinner.
“Well,hello there.”
I glance up from my phone to watch a woman with a wild array of brown curls take the seat next to me. She’s wearing a camel-colored coat and a bright pink sash that readsBridesmaid.
“Hello,” I respond, polite but not overly friendly.
“I’m Marie.”
“Nice to meet you, Marie.”
“And you are?”
“Oliver.”
“It’ssonice to meet you, Oliver.” Marie beams at me, not bothering to be the least bit subtle about her appraisal as her eyes skim up and down the suit I’m wearing.
I glance at the front of the plane. It’s still mostly empty, with no more passengers coming aboard. Across the aisle, two more women with pink sashes are now seated.
“Are you visiting Vegas for business or pleasure?” Marie asks me.
I start to get the sense that no matter how short my responses are, there will be a conversation taking place between us. Unless I want to be a total asshole, I’m stuck talking to her.
