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A knock that would put us both in jeopardy.
As I gazed at him from the back of the plane, sitting inside the galley, where I could see hints of his profile, all I could think about was the two evenings we’d spent together. How after this plane landed, I would never get to experience Brady Spade ever again.
That thought, that dread, sent waves of emotion through my throat. I had to push it away as the phone against the wall began to ring.
I grabbed the receiver and said, “Hi, pilot. What can I do for you?”
“We’re approximately twenty-five minutes from the airport. Please get everything prepared for landing.”
“Right away,” I told him and hung up.
I sucked in as much air as I could hold, and I made a final walk down the aisle, asking each of the guys if they needed anything. I got a few requests for water, one for a refill of scotch. When I reached Brady’s seat, he took his time looking up at me.
But once those beautiful, piercing light-blue eyes connected with mine, a wave of tingles passed through me.
That was power.
That was emotion.
Because any of these men could give me the same look and nothing would happen inside my body.
Yet Brady only gave me a glance, and all the air I’d been holding was gone.
I was empty.
And there was no chance of me breathing anytime soon.
“What do you think I want?” His voice was low so only I could hear. Gritty. Controlling to the point where there was no possibility I could look away.
“Scotch?”
“Your phone number.”
My phone number?
But I wasn’t sure if my phone was safe. Part of me thought it was being tracked, that the calls were listened to, the texts were read. I’d been stupid enough to have a conversation with Aubrey about Brady the other night and immediately regretted it once we hung up, especially since we’d been interrupted by the banging on my door.
Talks like that needed to happen in person.
It didn’t even matter if I got a new phone; I’d done that multiple times already, and the new number was always found. So, it definitely wasn’t safe to give Brady those digits.
Besides, what would be the point?
After this flight, I only had four more weeks until I vanished from this job.
From LA.
From Brady’s stomping grounds, where there was a chance our paths could cross again.
“Brady—”
“I’ll get it from you when we land,” he said, and his focus then returned to his laptop as though he was done with our conversation.
What the hell am I going to do?
I rushed toward the galley, gathering the water and refills, and delivered them to the appropriate guys. When I went to the back, I completed all the necessary tasks for the pilot. After I strapped myself into my seat, I took my phone out of my apron.
What do I do?
