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“Magnus said I can have guests. Why don’t you come one weekend?”
“Sounds amazing,” Liv hums.
We chat for another twenty minutes, the warm glow of talking about nothing in particular with my friend spreading through my entire body.
“Love you,” I say as I wander back inside the room and unzip my suitcase, pulling my laptop out.
Liv blows me a kiss and coos, “Bye, Bitch,” before hanging up.
I sit on top of the plush white bedding and fire up my laptop, going straight to the reason I’m here.
The title glares back at me from the open Word document. Two words that bring a barrage of emotions with them.
I hover the cursor over the text, then blow out a ragged breath.
I click on the line below instead and start typing.
Chapter 3
Jet
I loosen my tieas I let myself in the front door of my father’s house. Atlantic Airways has the most coveted runway slots, yet a strike by London Heathrow baggage handlers means I waited two hours for my suitcase after landing. I guess I should be grateful Logan Rich needed to push today’s meeting to tomorrow. It gives me time to go over figures for the rest of the day.
The house is quiet when I set my suitcase on the stone floor of the entryway. My father will still be at work at Atlantic Airways’ UK head office until this evening. I plan to freshen up, unpack, then head over there to check on the team.
First things first; a six-and-a-half-hour flight and a baggage delay means one thing… Coffee.
I walk toward the kitchen, alerted to shuffling and the sound of the refrigerator door being opened.
A long pair of legs greets me below the refrigerator door. I study the bright red toenails as one bare foot lifts to rub against the back of one calf.
“You’re younger than I expected.”
“Jesus! Fuck!”
The carton of juice jerks as she jumps in shock. Light-yellow liquid splashes out of it, soaking her white tank top.
“Were you drinking from the carton?” I grind my molars as I scan her from head to toe, pausing briefly on her red-hued hair.
“No.”
Her light blue eyes widen as I arch a brow at the scarlet lipstick ring around the rim of the carton.
“Fuck, okay, yes. You caught me.”
“And you cuss openly. Interesting,” I mutter.
Her brow furrows before she bends and scoops up the dropped cap from the floor. When she stands, the wet patch on her tank top sticks itself to her chest, revealing a red lace bra underneath.
“Well, I didn’t know you were coming today. You scared me.” She eyes me curiously, looking at my suit. “Unusual choice of work attire by the way.”
It’s a struggle to avert my gaze from the red lace as I say, “I could say the same thing about yours.”
She narrows her eyes like she’s trying to figure me out. “How old are you?”
“Excuse me?”
“You said I’m younger than you expected. How old are you?”
