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I open my mouth to tell him off, but said pilot’s voice floats through the speakers to emphasize his point. In a much nicer manner.
“Of course,” I chirp, and plop down across from my grumpy boss.
“Buckle up.” Well, the velvet of his voice is definitely only a part of my fantasies. He doesn’t even look at me. Asshole.
I fasten the seatbelt, the attendant offers me a beverage, and we take off. Gio continues working, as if I don’t exist, so I indulge in my surroundings.
This plane is amazing. I could get used to comfort like this. Aidan would love it onboard, probably begging me to get into the cockpit.
Though if I had a plane with polished brown paneling and soft leather seats at my disposal, I’d probably sell it to get Annie’s meds. It might last her whole lifetime. Clearly, I’m not a very good businessperson. That’s why I don’t have a plane like this. I chuckle inwardly.
I feel his glare immediately. I guess the chuckle wasn’t completely inward.
“Do you always work on Sundays?” I scoop my feet up under my butt, carefully covering my knees with the dress.
“Do you always sit like a child?” He runs his eyes down my chest to my legs, but catches himself and returns to the screen.
“Do you always answer with a question?” Two can play this game, though comparing me to a child rings truer after my retort.
He sighs again, and I swear it sounds like he was just delivered a death sentence, but he closes his tablet and leans back. His expression would fool anyone into believing I’m subjecting him to waterboarding levels of torture.
“What else would I do?” He adjusts his cuffs.
“What?” I cross my arms over my chest.
“If you force me into a conversation, keep up, Mila. What else should I do on a plane?”
Oh, he’s decided to answer my original question. With a question, of course. “I don’t know. We can talk.” I don’t particularly want to suffer through a conversation with him, but I’m having fun taunting him.
“I thought you prefer to eavesdrop.” He licks his bottom lip, amusement and challenge on his face.
Damn it, of course he saw me in his doorway on Friday. “I happened to pass by. If you don’t want your personal conversations overheard, wait for your guests to leave.” I smirk. “How was your date?”
He drags his tongue over his upper teeth, and I still. I can pretend all I want, but I’d like to taste those lips.Jesus, Mila, stop it.
“That’s none of your business,” he deadpans. “But it didn’t happen after all.” He glances at his tablet. Missing work?
“Sorry to hear that, perhaps it was short notice. Or maybe she would have preferred you called her yourself.” I shrug innocently.
“She knows how the arrangement works.” He straightens up and opens his tablet, frowning. He said too much, and now he is escaping the conversation.
Maybe I overstepped by asking, so there is that. Arrangement? I wish his comment wouldn’t spark my curiosity.
“I don’t know what the arrangement is, but I’m sure a woman would appreciate a man calling her instead of his assistant. Like normal people do.” Why am I pushing this?
“Well, not everyone has the freedom to do things likenormalpeople, Mila.”
He starts typing, and I’m left with the regret for pursuing this, for challenging. Freedom? Is his status and his money really in the way of having a normal life? Is that how he perceives it? What a sad, lonely existence.
I’m bored so I continue asking him questions, but after all the one syllable answers or grunts, I just freestyle and talk to him about anything and everything.
“Do you always talk so much?” He sighs.
I snort. Is he seriously offended by a friendly chat? That’s what people do on a plane. “No, sometimes I sleep.”
He types for a moment. “Feel free to use the bedroom in the back.”
“So there is a bedroom.” My excitement is inappropriate for a business trip, but come on. I’m on a private plane.
