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I’m not surprised I beat Cash here. I’ll never be on time for parties, dinners, or social gatherings of any kind, but when it comes to work, I can’t stand tardiness.
“I’m Meredith, your stewardess, as I’m sure you can tell.” She giggles again, waving a hand over her crisp white blouse and ruby, silk scarf knotted at her neck.
“Stella.” I shake her proffered hand as the stairs yawn open.
Once the stairs are unfurled, she waves me ahead. “After you.”
I board and pick a single seat by a window. The jet smells like fresh jasmine and clean leather. I’m just pulling my hood down my face and closing my eyes right when Meredith’s perky voice sings, “Good morning, Mr. Fox.”1
“It certainly is,” a suggestive drawl replies, and surprise makes me draw in a sharp breath.
I wrench around in my seat and meet crystal blue eyes and a mouth turned up in a smirk. “And good morning to you too, Stella Mae.”
“What are you doing here, Lochlan?” I can’t explain my rush of nerves his arrival creates. Is he coming with us?
He pushes his long, sleep-mussed hair back. “Cash didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“I’m stepping in for him.” He loads his suitcase into the overhead compartment then flops down across from me on a long leather seat like a couch. “He has enough on his plate without disappearing to an island for two weeks, but me?” His eyes flick down at my body then back up. “There’s no place I’d rather be.”
“You make it sound like we’re going on some remote vacation. This is a business trip.” I look at him pointedly, knowing how rarely he takes anything seriously.
“Don’t stress, I know how important this is to you,” he says, leaning back and folding his arms behind his head. I sober, realizing that despite his casual tone, that wasn’t some quip. His eyes deepen as he offers me a soft smile. “It’s important to me too.”
“Champagne?” Meredith asks me as soon as we reach cruising altitude.
“It’s six a.m.” I’m still in my sweats and oversized hoodie, a silk scarf wrapped around my edges.
She tucks the bottle of Champagne under her arm and smiles. “Coffee then?”
“Please. Thank you.”
She nods and crosses the aisle to where Lochlan is stretched out. “Coffee for you too, sir?”
“I’ll be having some of that Champagne. Thanks, Meredith.” He holds out a glass flute that he pulled out of God knows where and she fills it to the brim, fizzing carbonation jumping at the top. She heads back to the galley, and he lifts the glass in my direction. “You better get used to traveling as a Fox.”
“I’m not a Fox,” I volley back.
His lip twitches, like I fell into his trap. “Not yet.”
He downs the sparkling wine in one long sip then looks at me smugly, as if he only got it to prove a point. “I’m gonna take a shower, but if you change your mind about sunrise bubbles, I’m sure Meredith would be more than happy to help you out.” He stands with a wink and disappears into the bathroom.
Meredith returns with a hot mug of fresh coffee. I tuck my knees to my chest under the provided cashmere blanket and look out the window at the changing sky. Brilliant rays of deep orange slice through the clouds, and I’m reminded of how extraordinary my circumstances really are.
To the rest of the world, the Foxes are either powerful entrepreneurs or dangerous criminals. But I see everything in between. I see them in their simplest human forms. I’ve taught Finn how to dance when he wanted to impress his wife. I’ve sat in bed with Cash, sick with the same stomach bug, watching reruns of The Office. I’ve bickered with Roan over music in the car.
It’s easy to forget they are no ordinary family. I’m well aware of their nefarious dealings, but I’ve always stayed strictly on the legal side of things. They know that’s important to me and to never push. Summerland will be no different.
I can hear the running water over the jet’s engine. The image of Lochlan climbing out of the pool slides into my mind unbidden. How his wet body looked, rivulets sliding down his patchwork tattoos and muscled arms. My stomach pinches with a spark of heat. I know how those muscles feel. How they taste. Even five months later, it lingers on the back of my tongue, always pushing me for another.
Behind me, Meredith idly walks about the cabin, folding Lochlan’s blanket and collecting the empty flute. She must say something, but I don’t catch it, her words soft and muttering, almost like a moan.
“Sorry, what was that?” I ask and she spins as if surprised.
“Oh, I didn’t say anything.” She smiles politely and then shuffles away.
My eyes dart toward the bathroom, that small spark in my stomach lighting up again. Almost immediately, the water shuts off. I’m still staring at the door, my heartbeat steadily deepening, when it opens and Lochlan nonchalantly walks out. His towel is slung—low—on his hips, and he doesn’t notice me as he runs a smaller towel over his wet hair.
