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Nick cuts over him. “How old are you? Do you really need me to hold your hand through everything? Stop acting like a fucking child.” The words spill out in a venomous rush. I can’t see Jack’s face but my heart aches for him in the pained silence that follows.
Then Nick throws the door open and slides in, slamming it shut behind him. “Airport,” he growls at Horus who wisely slams on the gas.
I can’t help it; I risk a look outside as we drive away. Jack watches us go, shoulders slumped. His expression is no longer angry, just devastated.
Nick has his hands pressed to his temples like if he doesn’t glue them there then he’s going to punch out a window. I say absolutely nothing and try not to stare at him.
Things are obviously getting worse with Jack, and as curious as I am, I have to respect Nick’s privacy.
We ride three blocks before Nick even acknowledges that I’m in the car with him. And when he speaks his voice is surly and bitter. “What the hell are you wearing?”
I start, glance down. “Uh, clothes?” I say, trying not to sound annoyed and defensive.
“Those aren’t clothes. Those are pajamas,” he says. “Don’t you realize how important this trip is? If you’re not going to take it seriously then we can drop you at the nearest subway station.”
Oh so this is how it’s going to be? This is exactly the attitude Mickey and Dan had talked about. Well maybe he can treat his underling employees like this but not me! I thought we were past this bullshit. I break my staring contest with the headrest in front of me and turn unamused eyes on my scowling boss.
“Listen, I don’t know what that shit just was. I don’t want to know. But if you think you can take it out on me, think again.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. And I’m certainly not taking anything out on you. I’m merely questioning your baffling decision to wear a sweatsuit on Kara Kon’s private jet.”
My jaw drops. His eyes remain cold and unblinking.
“What?” I say. “We’re flying with Kara? How could you not mention that?”
“I assumed you knew,” he says. “She’s insisting we stay by her side this trip. Why wouldn’t we fly with her?”
“You said you would figure out the flight arrangements,” I say.
“And I did. By talking to Dalton and finding out when we had to be at the airport.”
I struggle for words in the face of his unnerving icy calm. There’s too much I want to say and about half of it is work-appropriate. I settle on: “I just don’t see how you could fail to mention this. Of course if I’d known I would have?—”
“Dressed appropriately?” Nick cuts me off. His eyes derisively scan my sweats again. “Considering this is a work function, I’m shocked you thought it was appropriate, regardless of whether Kara was there or not.”
I set my jaw. So he’s determined to be a dick about this, huh? Well I can be an asshole too.
“You mean you’re shocked I wouldn’t dress up for you?” I sneer. “That’s not how it works, Nick. If I want to get some rest and be comfortable on the flight over, I’m going to. Just because you don’t own anything other than suits doesn’t mean the rest of us function like a bunch of uptight workaholics.”
“I own other clothing than suits,” Nick spits back.
I let out a short bark of laughter. “Yeah. I’m sure you have some golf clothes for meetings on the course.”
Nick immediately makes me laugh again when he angrily looks out his window, proving me correct.
The car settles into angry silence as we speed toward Long Island. So there’s another great reason why something between us will never work out: Nick really can be a complete bastard. Chalk it up to what Mickey had said. He’s never had to play nice with others, and maybe at his age he doesn’t know how. I mean, who the fuck takes pride in not ever apologizing for god’s sake!
My thoughts, tumultuous and angry, quickly reduce to a low simmer in the face of a more pressing problem. Kara Kon can’t see me in this damn sweatsuit. She’ll think I’m lame beyond belief. The sweats themselves are powder blue. I suppose there are worse colors. And I’d put some makeup on at least. But still, nothing about me right now looks hip enough to go out for a friendly drink, let alone ride on a celebrity’s private jet to an exclusive EDM show in Paris.
So I suck up my pride and say, “We’ll have to stop so I can change. I have better clothes in my bag.”
Nick is still looking out the window. He doesn’t turn when he speaks. “No time,” he says shortly.
“No time?” I repeat. “There’s time.”
“No,” he says again. “We’re running late enough as it is. You made your choice.”
“I’m sorry, whose fault is it exactly that we’re running late?” I ask. “You’re the one who wasn’t ready on time.”
