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She groans. “That doesn’t sound good.”
“I’ll book you a ticket tonight. You’ll be here in a few hours. I know it’s my fault, so I’ll pay you double overtime, and I’ll book you a first-class ticket to make up for it. How does that sound?”
“It sounds like a pain in the ass,” she says, laughing. “But I guess I don’t have all that much choice. Is booze included in first class?”
“All the champagne you can drink.”
“Hmmm. Deal. But you owe me one.”
“Owe you one?” I splutter. “What about double overtime and first class; don’t they count?”
“They’re the baseline for even getting me to haul my pretty ass across the country. One favor owed makes up the balance.”
I sigh even as a small smile curves my lips. “Sure. Whatever. I’ll book the flight now and email the details over to you. See you later.”
Luke’s looking over at me with interest. “Was that your new assistant? The pretty one whose desk I hear has become your new office?”
“‘The pretty one?’” I fold my arms across my chest. “You’ve got to be careful with that kind of language, Luke, now that you’re a married man.”
He shrugs. “A happily married man, yeah. A successfully coupled man who can’t help but notice that his friend is having trouble telling a girl that he likes her.”
I feel my face heat up like a teenager and immediately curse myself for it. I mumble something about how it’s just work, how I’m just helping out a buddy’s little sister.
“Sure, sure. Whatever you say,” Luke says in an infuriating, mocking tone.
I ignore him and glance at my phone for a distraction. There’s a new text message.
Saw your new girlfriend at the wedding. She’s pretty, in that low-key, girl-next-door kind of way.
It’s from Rosa, my ex, and it’s a compliment so back-handed that it’s practically a slap. I have no idea why she feels the need to text me.
I decide to reply.
Thanks. And it’s fiancée, actually.
She’s married now, to my cousin. I should just block her number—should but don’t.
I don’t want the drama. For better or worse, she’s in my family now, and I need to be the better man. Stay cordial, and ignore her as best as possible.
And, to be honest, having Nina around makes that significantly easier. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.
Nina
Nina
So first class is . . . something else.
I’ve only ever flown coach, crammed in between snorers and other people’s screaming children, so to have my own bed, as much free booze as I like, gourmet food, and getting waited on hand and foot?
Well, it is pretty damn awesome, thank you very much, and it more than makes up for the annoyance of having to fly across the country because Brock forgot a freaking piece of paper.
I have no idea why he needs the original, but who am I to question my boss? I’m the underling, and I just do as I’m told.
I’m not complaining, not when I get to travel in style to a city where I won’t have to worry about my pesky, stalker ex following me around.
I arrive in the early morning at the swanky hotel where Brock is staying, still in the warm afterglow of free champagne, and head straight to his room.
I knock on the door, and it almost immediately opens. Obviously, he’s been waiting for me.
He looks extremely relieved as he takes the document. He examines it closely like an archaeologist might inspect a priceless Egyptian artifact.
“Thanks so much for doing this,” he says, smiling broadly. Evidently, the document has passed muster. “You really saved my ass.”
“Anything for you, boss,” I say, faux serious. “Oh, and for the extra money. That too.”
Brock’s lips curl up into a bigger, even more charming smile, making my heart start to race the way it used to back when we were younger.
Damn it. Why does it feel so good to see him again?
I cast my glance behind him, wondering if he’s got someone in there, some NYC girlfriend he’s been hiding from everyone.
Then I realize I’m being stupid. He’s been so wrapped up in work he hasn’t even had the presence of mind to pay attention to his surroundings, to the point where he actually forgot to bring an important document to a major meeting.
But why do I care anyway if he has a girl in his hotel room? I’m not actually his fiancée.
I should say something. “So, uh, now that my work here is done . . . do I actually need to be here? You’re not just going to shove me back on the next flight home, are you?”
“No! Uh, of course not!” he says, a little too quickly.
“Really?” I ask, arms crossed. “You were really going to do that?”
“Hey, I said no. I wouldn’t do that.” The guilt that flashes across his face tells me that was probably exactly what he was going to do. Probably expects me to report straight in at work too.
