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Chapter6
Mila
“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” I wrap my arms around Annie for the tenth time.
“Stop it. Of course we’ll be fine. You spent all Saturday cooking for us. We’ll have meals for weeks, not a few days.” She rolls her eyes. “Besides, thanks to you I’ve had uninterrupted treatment, so I’ll be fine.”
I don’t tell her I put the medicine on my maxed-out credit card. She doesn’t need to worry about that. I’ll get my paycheck for the gala and the Wings project soon. If she gets the drugs regularly, her symptoms might improve enough for her to even pick up few more shifts at work.
I kiss Ellery and squat in front of Aidan. “I’ll be back on Saturday morning. You’re the man of the house now. Help your mom, okay?” I ruffle his hair, and he snakes his arms around me.
Leaving them for a week is harder than I thought, but we need the money, so I have to hope Annie won’t have a flare-up and Aidan won’t have an episode.
As the car pulls onto the vast empty tarmac, nerves and excitement dance around my stomach. I haven’t been to California since I broke up with Brian. I’ve certainly never been in California on a private jet.
I’m excited about the events, and I have some cool media opportunities lined up. I wish the trip didn’t involve Gio Cassinetti, who seems to occupy too many of my thoughts and fantasies lately.
Thoughts about his dates, his emotionless detachment, his rudeness. All in such sharp contrast to the family wedding photos, protein bar rescue missions, beekeeping, or his ease in commanding the conversation when it comes to work, but completely failing to maintain it outside of the business scope.
Oh, and then the fantasies keep popping up. His long, calloused fingers playing with his cufflinks. The timbre of his voice when he’s relaxed. The muscles bulging under his shirt. His dimples, and the small lines around his eyes when an occasional smile reaches them.
Everything about this slight obsession is inappropriate, and useless. It’s not like he sees me in any other way than a charity case. Yes, I might help him at work, but I wasn’t his first choice.
I wouldn’t be his choice for anything. I’m not his type. His assistant would never call me to arrange a date. Jesus. He thinks of me as a hooker, anyway.
Not that his cast of dates looks like nuns. I’m not a prude. I’ve been enjoying casual hookups since Brian, mostly to soak up the freedom I didn’t have for so long. But I’m not a slut.
The driver opens the door and I step outside. An airport attendant appears from somewhere and helps me with my suitcase.
I’m wearing high stilettos and they echo on the pavement as I approach the plane. The frosty wind bites deep through my light jacket, since I’m dressed for the mild weather on the other side of the country.
Despite the chill, the sky is blue, and the mid-morning sun reflects off the plane’s sleek silver exterior.
I want to savor every moment of this luxury, but the lack of a coat forces me to rush up the stairs. By the time I reach the smiling flight attendant—blond, tall, fake lips and boobs, just like Gio likes them—my cheeks are burning from frost.
“Welcome on board, Ms. Ward,” the blonde greets me, and gestures to the cabin.
My heeled feet wobble on the soft carpet and I stop, unsure what to do or where to go. Gio is working, frowning at his laptop. Am I late?
He lifts his eyes and stares for a moment before his gaze travels down, slowly taking me in from head to toe. I swallow, uncomfortable under his scrutiny, but when his eyes meet mine, heat spreads like wildfire hitting my core.
The hunger in his eyes is undeniable. Raw. Terrifying. Wonderful.
I packed my best wardrobe for this trip. As Gina always says, dress for success. My deep green dress perfectly combines casual and dressy, hugging my curves in all the right places, while covering my cleavage and falling below my knees.
The flight attendant speaks to someone behind me, a coffee machine hums, and my heartbeat echoes in my temples. The moment stretches, but I’m unable to look away.
This is inappropriate on so many levels, but Jesus, is there a bedroom here?
As if my thought traveled through the space between us, Gio breaks the eye contact and glances to his right, toward a door at the rear of the plane.
Something dark flickers in his eyes and then he adjusts his cufflinks, looks at the computer and growls, “You’re here, finally. We can leave now.”
The last few weeks have just culminated in a discovery—whiplash is Gio’s superpower. Well, mine is a smile.
“Good morning, Gio.” I add a note of enthusiasm that makes me sound comical, but I’m done with his growling and glaring.
He sighs. “Sit, for fuck’s sake, the pilot is waiting.”
