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As I watch, she catches my eye, winks, then leans over to whisper something to the man in the suit. She draws back, and both of them turn to stare at me.
I stifle my sigh and keep moving. I should probably keep an eye on Hannah from this point on. I know better than to engage her directly, but now that she knows about me and Declan… it feels like she’s more of a threat.
I don’t know what she might do with the information, but it can’t be anything nice. Hannah’s far too competitive to let something like this slide.
She wouldn’t do anything below the belt… would she?
I feel a twinge of nerves, but it quickly subsides. I’ll just have to work harder and keep my head down.
Chapter 43
Sophie
Declan told me to keep my weekend open, and I followed the instruction. It’s not like I would’ve been doing much, anyway.
Every waking second that I’m not with him, I’ve been hard at work on the Dynasty ad campaign, putting together a social media attack plan. If I didn’t have this thing with Declan this weekend, I’d probably be spending most of it holed up at my kitchen table, writing up strategies.
On Saturday morning, Declan picks me up early—nine thirty, to be precise—in a black SUV. I slide into the back seat with him, and he greets me with a kiss and an arm over my shoulders.
“So what are we doing?” I ask, half-teasing. “Going to some big surprise party? You have to warn me about that kind of thing, you know.”
He smirks, his face giving away nothing. “You’ll see.”
The driver slides up the partition as we peel away from the curb. Smart man. Declan already has one hand creeping up my thigh.
“Don’t look out the windows,” he murmurs in my ear. “I want it to be a surprise. Just focus on me.”
Well, that’s easy enough. Declan has a way of making it hard to focus on anything else.
It’s a decently long drive—long for New York, anyway. Before Declan started having me chauffeured around, I was commuting mostly by subway or taxi. Now, I’m starting to get used to the drive times around the city.
When the car finally rolls to a stop, Declan kisses me on the forehead. “Stay there.”
He climbs out of the car, walks around to my door, and opens it. I step out of the car… and onto the tarmac of a runway. We’re at the airport. Overhead, a plane roars into flight, the wind from its engines rustling the skirt of my dress.
And sitting on the tarmac in front of me is a decent-sized private jet, with a tapered nose and a thin, gray stripe around the fuselage. My jaw drops open.
I whirl around to face Declan. “You’re kidding me.”
He grins, shrugging, and gestures to the jet.
“What—we’re flying in this?”
“Well,” he says nonchalantly, “it is mine, so. Yes.”
“Seriously?”
Declan steps forward to take me by the hand, walking me over to the jet. He leads me up the stairs, and I follow him, mouth agape.
“I’ve only ever flown coach,” I say, dumbstruck. He laughs, shaking his head.
“This isn’t going to be much like that, I promise you.
“What, no crying babies? No cramped legroom? No—” I stop talking as we step into the jet, totally blown away by the interior.
It looks nothing like any airplane I’ve ever been inside. The lights are soft, a warm glow that permeates across the ceiling. There’s spotless cream carpeting and wood-paneled fixtures, including a minibar.
Instead of smelling like stale plastic and soda, like every plane I’ve ever been on, there’s a faint scent of coffee wafting from the minibar and a pleasant note of shea and coconut permeating the cabin.
