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"I could work from here. Convert the garage into a workshop. Maybe hire a few locals to help during project times."
I grinned. "A few locals? It took you five years to find Frank." Frank, the only BSX tech who had survived Brant's temperamental blowups long enough to learn how to not piss him off. Brant was a sweetheart with me, but an exacting perfectionist with everyone else, and easily set off when others couldn’t keep up with his pace and mental calculations.
“Okay, then we bring Frank." He reached across the table and grabbed my hand. "I like vacation Layana."
I rolled my eyes and let him pull my hand to his lips. "What is vacation Layana like?"
He pursed his lips and tilted his head as if to consider the question. “Carefree. Less uptight.”
Less uptight because on vacation, Brant was with me all the time. I didn't have to wonder where his mind was, or if I'd be eating alone at dinner. Without the stress and schedule of work, he was 100% mine. I swallowed that truth and stuck out my tongue at him in jest. "Everyone's less uptight on an island. Or maybe it's the fact that I'm a thousand miles from Jillian."
"Oooh ... easy now. She's probably got this place wired." He glanced around, but even though he was kidding, the truth was, she probably did. She was probably listening to us right now.
I wiped my hands on a napkin and tossed it down. Pushing to my feet, I sauntered over to his side of the table and straddled his chair. Lowering myself onto his lap, I ran my hands through his hair. "In that case," I whispered, nipping his ear playfully, "we should put on a show."
"I'm in," he growled. He pulled at the sash of my red satin robe, then peeled it off my shoulders, exposing my black lace bra.
And right there at the breakfast table, under the warm glow of the morning sun, and in earshot of any hidden microphones, we did just that.
Chapter 37
The jet takeoff was smooth, a thousand parts of machinery working in perfect synchronization to bring Brant and me back to San Francisco. Once we were at altitude, I unbuckled and moved to the bedroom in the rear of the plane. I pulled back the dark navy sheets and fluffed the pillows. “Brant,” I called out. "What do you want to watch?”
I picked up the remote, flipping through the options on the touch screen. Brant entered the small room and wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me toward the bed. I shrieked in protest and managed to slide the door closed before falling on the bed.
"I want to watch you come.” He grabbed the tablet and tossed it aside, then gave me that intense look, the one that told me he was about to give his full concentration to a task. Putting one knee on the bed, he started to work my pants off.
“Oh, fine," I conceded, his breath hot against the top of my knees as he pulled off my sandals and then the pants. My head dropped back when his hot mouth kissed his way up my thighs and then settled between my legs. "Do what you do best."
A half-hour later, I could barely move, my body lazy and limp from pleasure. Brant rolled me over until his body was cupped around mine, and we watched a movie with Gene Hackman and John Cusack. By the time the end credits rolled, Brant was asleep, his heavy breaths regular and deep against my neck.
I closed my eyes and tried to fall asleep. In a few hours, we'd be back in California. I could drop Brant off at home, then swing by the printer, review the newspaper proof and make sure it was perfect. Then, I could return home and catch up on my jet lag. I would need my rest. Tomorrow could be a big day. A relationship-ending one.
Chapter 38
I was a person of plans. Like Brant, I liked order. Research. Intellectual thought that put trajectories into motion and controlled their paths and outcomes.
Molly had been my problem.
This newspaper, this setup: my solution.
Carefully crafted steps to ensure a positive outcome.
Lose Molly. Gain Lee. Carry on.
Winning would give me a sense of accomplishment, a righting of one wrong. But still, a bigger problem loomed. Once I had Brant and Lee, then what? How would this story end?
The best-laid plans still deserved a purpose, and I needed to find mine.
For now, this one seemed foolproof. I ran my hand over the colorful print of the newspaper’s front page. The false cover was wrapped around thirty-two pages of legitimacy, and I couldn't tell the difference. They floated seamlessly. Our articles matched the inside pages, the paper weight, color, and consistency the same, the phone numbers and emails listed all sending any inquiries from Molly directly to Don. It was a work of art. I grinned at the glaring photos, which screamed of sex. They made the perfect impression, and now… one final touch.
I took out a red Sharpie and wrote WHORE in big red angry letters across the front. There was no way he would miss that. I grabbed my cell and called Don. "It's ready."
"You approve?” he asked.
"It looks great. You got a guy to sit at her place?"
"Yep. And I'm tailing your boy. As soon as he heads to her place, I'll have him put the paper in place."
