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Something twists my gut as he wanders off, chuckling softly. I stare at his retreating back until he disappears through a door.
I walk around the space to pass the time until he comes back. I stop at another photograph on the wall in black and white. It’s of the plane that’s on display. It’s flying high up in the sky and there’s a figure standing in the center of the top set of wings.
‘June’s Blue Bird.’
I look at the plane, then to the photograph again. I step closer, squinting to make out the image. It’s not clear enough to see much detail of the figure standing on the wings with their arms in the air. But from the curve of their hips in the boiler-style suit they’re wearing, and the locks of hair flying out from beneath their goggles, I’d say they’re female.
“June,” I murmur. Magnus always calls his late wife June Bug when he talks about her. I’d bet money that this is her in the photograph.
I grow restless as I amble around the space some more. How long does it take Jet to talk to Francesca? Why is James Callaghan’s daughter calling him anyway? Maybe she’s acting as a go-between for her father and Jet. Perhaps they’re about to strike a deal on these new engines Jet needs. Then I’ll no longer need to follow him around like a pathetic puppy. Thethought perks me up. He doesn’t even need me. So far, I haven’t taken a single note down in any meetings. Instead, I’ve shopped in New York, been out for two fancy meals, and been spanked.
The only reason I’m still here is because I refuse to back down. Jet will make out he’s won something over me if I try and get out of my promise to be at his side until this deal is sorted.
What was I thinking? Stupid.
I fiddle with the strap of my purse, irritation spreading through me. If Francesca’s call is about the deal, then he should have placed her on speakerphone so I could hear. Then I could offer assistance, which is the whole reason I’m here.
Maybe it wasn’t about the deal? He seemed rather familiar when we saw Francesca dining with Callaghan in New York. He told me she was a model, so he knows that much about her, if not more.
I pull my phone out of my purse and type Francesca Callaghan into Google. The screen immediately fills with perfect image after perfect image. I click on one of her on a runway wearing lingerie and a pair of giant feathered wings.Wow.Her legs would reach up to my chin. I click out and scroll down the page.
A picture of her with her hand on Jet’s cheek as he gazes at her at some red-carpet event steals the air from my lungs. It’s a punch to the gut, even though the moment I heard the way he spoke her name when he took her call made me suspicious.
That bastard.The photo is dated a few years ago, but he could have told me. We’re supposed to be working together on this deal. Surely the fact that he dated the daughter of the man he wants to negotiate a deal with is a fact he should have divulged to me.
I shove my phone back into my purse and stomp through the door that Jet disappeared through, muttering the wordassholeunder my breath as I stalk down the corridor.
I round a corner and am met with a staircase. Jet’s sitting a couple of steps up, his head in his hands.
“Oh.” My angered advance falters at the defeated slump of his shoulders. He lifts his head and there’s something in his gaze that makes my chest tight. Then he blinks, and it’s gone.
“Everything okay?” I ask tentatively.
“Of course.” A deep V forms between his brows. He stands and descends the stairs, stopping directly in front of me. His eyes penetrate mine with an intensity that makes me swallow. “Nothing for you to worry about.”
“Was it about the deal?”
“No.”
I search his eyes for a thread of dishonesty, but there’s nothing but a hint of annoyance in his dark gaze.
“Fine.” I cross my arms. “Then I definitely won’t worry about it.”
He nods once, a muscle ticking in his cheek. “Let’s go. I want to catch Rich while he’s at the estate. He won’t be there this afternoon.”
“Rich?” I fall into a hurried step beside him as I try to keep up with his determined strides.
We walk back down the corridor, and he produces an ID card from his pocket, tapping it to a sensor beside a door.
“Logan Rich.” He holds the door open for me to exit. I step outside. We’ve come through an unmarked exit door and are in the car park where Jet left his car earlier.
“He’s at the Silver Distillery. We’re going to be serving their gin on all our flights and in all airport lounges from now on.”
“We’re going to the Silver Estate?” I puff as he marches toward his car, and it unlocks automatically.
He opens the door for me and looks at me over the top of it as I climb in. “It won’t take long.”
He shuts the door and is sinking into the driver’s seat moments later. I’m stifling a yawn as he starts the engine.
