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Fat chance. I should have taken Hayden’s warning to heart. Have I already fallen from the ladder and down the chute? Is Fred’s subtext that partnership is out of my reach?
While I’ve been panicking, he’s still talking. “Rebecca can pass your progress on to the client. He’s dealing with campaign fallout and congressional commitments, so the team won’t meet with him in the near future.”
Well, that’s good news. I don’t need Greenberg’s scowling face on my screen. “I’ll be meeting with the team on a videoconference every day.”
He doesn’t look at me. “Right. Of course. Enjoy your trip, Micki. Don’t forget to bring chocolates back for the staff.”
Dismissed. What a useless exercise. Except as inference and intimidation. I grit my teeth, keeping in the frustration I would spew, if I had the time and the guts.
Case stands in front of my office door, my coat over his arm, and goes for an elevator as soon as I walk out Fred’s door. Once inside, he helps me into the coat, then we run when the doors open. The limo is at the curb in front of the building, Liam at the wheel.
He hands me into the back seat and climbs in front.
“You want lunch on the way? We have time?”
“I can pick up something at the airport.”
Case gives Liam a look. “That okay with you, man?”
“Yeah. I’ll drop you off, then stop for a bite. Just text when you want me back.”
Damn it. Ms. Insensitive strikes again. “You’re just droppingme…”
“Wrong.” Case’s response is loud, drowning out my words. “I stay with you until you’re on the plane and the doors are closed.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. Seriously.” He slams the door shut and Liam edges out into mid-morning traffic toward the expressway. Speedy but careful, we’re there in just over half an hour. Liam pulls in at departures. Case grabs my luggage and waves his colleague off.
“I’ll text you and meet you right here.”
Good thing I can drop off my bag at the door and go through TSA Precheck. The security line is much shorter, and I just have my purse and computer bag. Case takes out a pass and the agent allows him to accompany me to the gate. He’ll leave once the plane’s doors close. GSU will have someone waiting for me at Charles De Gaulle too.
Gurgling erupts from my stomach. The astonishment on Case’s face makes me giggle. “Hungry, I guess.”
We decide on Romano’s Macaroni Grill.
“Do you really think I need protection in Paris?” I ask him. “I can’t imagine Sam would follow me there. For one thing, he doesn’t have the money.”
He shrugs broad shoulders and takes a bite of his Penne Rustica. Case is built like a wrestler with the face of a poet, a long oval, a wide mouth with thin lips, long lashes that practically brush his cheeks. Instead of what I think of as a bodyguard uniform—black suit, white shirt, skinny tie—he’s wearing tight Levi’s, a gray heathered Henley, and a jean jacket. “He’s an artist, right? Maybe he has friends in Paris to help him out.”
A mouthful of spinach and shrimp salad barely gets down before I laugh, but it’s really not that far-fetched. Sam spent a year studying art in Paris before we met, and he could easily keep in touch with his friends. Just because I don’t know about them doesn’t mean they don’t exist. On the other hand, would his artist friends be willing to menace me?
At the gate, Case takes my ticket and goes up to the counter. He hands the paper to one of the agents and, with many hand gestures, explains something, occasionally pointing to me. I try to avoid looking at them, try to feel normal, try not to think Sam is lurking and ready to jump out. I tell myself Case and the ticket agent are flirting, and this is nothing to do with me. Then she picks up the mic.
“Ms. Michelle Press, please come to the ticket desk.” People look around as I grab my bag and jacket and move next to Case, who hands me my ticket, takes my arm, and leads me through the door and down the jetway. First on the plane. This is all new to me. “First class?”
“Yeah, JL arranged it.” He locates my seat, puts my things within easy reach, and makes sure I’m settled in.
“I’ll be watching everyone board and once the doors are closed, I’ll radio in and take off. Have an enjoyable trip.” With a kind of salute, he ambles off the plane and disappears.
* * *
I’ve never beenout of the U.S. Overnight and over water—yikes. Two preflight cocktails, courtesy of first class, settle the jitters while I glue my eyes to the safety video.
I’ve always envied the businessmen who settle into their seats, take a pill, and sack out, waking up rested and ready for their first meeting of the day. I never sleep on planes. Never. Until this trip. Don’t even take a pill. One minute I’m trying to find the perfect reclining setting for the bed-like seat, and the next, someone or something, is shaking me.
I open my mouth to scream as Sam’s face, painted like a clown, leers down at me, hands like claws moving toward my neck. I jerk upright, or at least as upright as I can manage from a fully reclined position.
