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Grace smiles encouragingly. “See, you're already crossing the t's! Leverage your insider knowledge. I'd hire you in a heartbeat, even if you didn't give me the big sis discount.” She winks.
Aria makes fake publicity posters with her fingers. “I can see it now . . . MadeYaLook Media Consulting: Catapulting Clients’ Content to Virality!'“
We all laugh as inspiration strikes me. Why not start a business? People do it all the time.
My mind spins, already planning next steps.
“So, you're off to some tropical island with Jack soon?” Aria jolts me back to the present.
“St. Maarten, next Friday.” I had almost forgotten about the awkward family trip.
“Oh, là là,” Grace teases with a mock French accent.
“I'll need to figure out what to pack,” I contemplate. Jack insisted I use his credit card to prepare for the trip. I smile impishly, whipping it out. “Well, if the mogul insists on bankrolling this outing, who am I to argue?”
My sisters cackle. After more giggles over what to pack for the trip, Aria yawns loudly.
“Welp, I gotta rest up for some more mitosis facts over the weekend.” She air-kisses us goodnight before shuffling off.
I turn back to Grace, grinning. “In influencer terms, I'd say this shopping spree counts as a business write-off. Shall we plan a little retail therapy tomorrow?”
She clinks her wine glass to mine. “I like how you think, M!”
18
CARIBBEAN CALAMITY
My phone dings with a text from Jack as I organize folders on my desk.
Jack: I've got the car loaded and the driver waiting whenever you're ready to head to the airport.
I sling my purse over my shoulder.
Me: Meet you in the lobby in a few.
Butterflies swarm my stomach knowing we have the awkward weekend trip ahead.
He is waiting for me when I exit the elevator, greeting me with a curt nod. We haven't been this close since the disastrous night on the yacht. I steal a glance at him as we exit the building, noticing his jaw muscle tick. The atmosphere remains rigidly polite.
The driver opens the door for us, and I slide across the sleek leather backseat, intensely aware of his thigh inches from mine. I resist the magnetic urge to lean into his heat, hungrily tracing his handsome profile with my gaze instead. It’s hard to believe that these lips devoured me what now seems ages ago.
But I don’t intend on making it easy on him this weekend. Not after him giving me the cold shoulder so abruptly. There should be plenty of opportunity to make him realize what he is throwing away.
An hour of tense silence and heavy traffic later, we pull up outside a small airport with several gleaming private jets and one runway.
“Wow, no long security lines here!” I joke lightly as Jack helps me from the car. He allows himself to smile briefly before that mask of stoic indifference slams down again.
I lift my chin determinedly.
Game on, Mountain Man. They don’t call me MadeYaLookMaddie for nothing.
At the base of the sleek jet's stairs, Jack pauses, gesturing politely for me to ascend first. Heart hammering, I smooth my skirt and climb up into the luxurious cabin.
Plush leather seats are spaced generously apart, angled toward oval windows. A smiling flight attendant offers us champagne. In a rear section, Walt stands, greeting us cheerfully over the hum of engines firing up.
“Welcome aboard, my dear! Soon, we’ll be in eighty-degree weather, lounging on white sands.” He guides us to a private two-person seat facing him.
I arrange my mouth into a smile. This will do just fine for what I have planned.
