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“I hope you’re still planning on a week in Hawaii. It sounds like you really need the down-time.”
“Absolutely. I want to be ready to leave on Tuesday, right after my interview with that journalist from whatever random magazine. That reminds me, I should go book our flight, since we’re actually talking about the day after tomorrow.”
“So, you’re sticking with not letting me make the plans.”
“Yup.”
“What are you up to?”
His eyes went wide, in a mock-innocent expression. “Nothing. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
When he left the kitchen, I returned my attention to the papers. It was easy to see why he was feeling burned out. Every single packet in front of me wanted something from him. Most were requesting public appearances, pitching endorsement deals, or something else along those lines. Even the wedding invitations were from people who barely knew him, but they wanted the prestige of an A-list celebrity on their guest list. And all of this, of course, was only the stuff which had been sent through the mail. The majority of requests came in the form of calls or emails to his agent or (now former) publicist.
Once I got everything sorted by type of request and deadline to reply, I carefully repacked the papers, poured myself a cup of coffee, and brought the box with me to the office. My path took me through the living room, and I paused to sling my messenger bag over my shoulder.
The room was mostly white, very modern, and didn’t look like Harper had had any input whatsoever in its design. In fact, the only things in that room that screamed “Harper” were the greyhound and the chicken. The latter was sitting on top of a rainbow-striped inflatable ball that was bigger than she was. I realized after a moment that she was trying to hatch it, and I murmured, “Good luck with that, Loco.”
The hallway was still blocked by that kid-sized Jeep, so I put down my stuff and tried to pry it loose. It was stuck diagonally and really wedged between the two walls, and I couldn’t get it to budge. After a minute, I straightened up, put my hands on my hips, and tried to think of a solution for removing it. Then I heard a lapping sound behind me and whirled around to find Buddy drinking my coffee.
I muttered, “Great,” as I took the cup away. The golden retriever just stared at me like I was the problem. Then I picked up the box and bag and awkwardly climbed over the Jeep.
When I reached the office, I found Harper sound asleep at the desk, snoring with his head tilted back. I tried to be quiet as I put down my things, but he jerked awake with an unflattering snort and mumbled, “What happened?”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I wasn’t asleep.”
I decided not to mention the snoring. There was a confirmed reservation for a private jet on the computer screen, and I glanced at it and asked, “Did you mean to book such a large plane? The flight from L.A. to Hawaii is only about six hours, and you probably won’t need all that room.”
He closed the reservation window and said, “Hey, why not? As long as I’m treating myself, might as well go all out.”
“I’m still confused on the private jet thing. You’re one of the only celebrities I know who actually enjoys taking commercial flights. You always say you love mingling with the public and meeting fans, but—”
He cut me off by standing up and pressing a finger to my lips. “Okay, so I have a specific reason for wanting a private jet this time, but I’m not telling you what it is until we arrive in Hawaii.”
I removed his hand and asked, “Why?”
“Because you’ll try to talk me out of it.”
“Damn it, Harper, what are you up to?”
“Nothing horrible. It’s not like I’m smuggling a fifty-five-gallon drum of cocaine to Hawaii or anything. Just trust me on this and plan on enjoying a very comfortable six-hour flight, with plenty of privacy, champagne, and all the leg room you could ever want.”
I muttered, “Yeah, okay,” and stepped around him, then sat in the office chair and pulled up his calendar program. “When did you book our return flight?”
“The following Tuesday.” He sat down on a corner of the desk as I blocked it off on his calendar. Then I turned to the box of papers, and he said, “Don’t do that tonight. Have dinner with me instead.”
“This stuff’s important. I want to go through all of it and RSVP before we leave for Hawaii, which doesn’t give me much time.”
“But it’s Sunday night, and we just flew cross-country. You must be tired.” He got up and began massaging my shoulders, which felt wonderful. “Let me take you on that date I promised you.”
