I can’t keep going like this. I need to do something. Hence the lies and subterfuge.
Hey. Don’t judge. I never said I was a prince.
“Whoa,” my brother says, now regarding me with unmistakable concern. “This is worse than I thought.”
You think?
“I don’t need the psychoanalysis,” I snap. “You gonna help me out or not?”
“Fine,” he says wearily. “Just make sure this situation doesn’t come back to bite us in the ass.”
“Great.” I slap him on the shoulder, all but sagging with relief. “Owe you one. I’ll send the chopper back for you and take care of the carbon offsets.”
“Don’t do that. Let’s try to save some of the environment. I’ll just drive.”
“What happened with you and the redhead at Bemelmans, by the way?”
He tenses. “I don’t want to get into it.”
“Turned you down, did she? That’s what happens when you punch above your weight.”
“First of all, she did not turn me down.” There’s a gleam of triumph in his eyes. “Second, I just did you a favor. Seems like you could put your assholery on ice for a day or so.”
“Yeah, no,” I say, detecting the scent of blood in the water and zeroing in for the kill. Hey, it’s what brothers do. Especially when there’s something about the vague sadness in his expression. He seems almost…wistful. “You seeing her again? Or did she kick you to the curb on account of poor performance?”
“Fuck you,” he says with a little more enthusiasm than typical.
“You’re a good man,” I say, grinning as I open the door and head out. “I’m sure you’ll find someone else. Eventually.”
“Fuck. You.”
I stifle a chuckle and speed across the helipad, where the pilot is waiting for me and the rotors are kicking up some wind. Bellamy, I see with great satisfaction, is early as usual and already waiting for me inside.
“I’m the last one,” I tell the pilot, shaking his hand.
“Okay. A little overcast, but we should make good time.”
“Thanks,” I say, climbing aboard.
The copter can fit up to six passengers, which means Bellamy and I have a lot of space to ourselves. A fact that seems to give her cause for concern as I get strapped in next to her and the pilot shuts the door behind me.
“Where’s Damon?” she demands, frowning. “He was supposed to be riding with us.”
I try to look startled by the question. “He said he wanted to drive. Something about saving the environment. He was supposed to tell you.”
She blinks, apparently sub-thrilled with this information. “Oh.”
With that, she turns to look out her window as we lift off. Which gives me the opportunity to appreciate her up close again, something I’ve been dying to do.
She’s wearing sunglasses, which I could do without. It’s hard enough to tell what she’s thinking when her eyes aren’t blocked. Her hair is in a ponytail, with a few stray strands trailing along the side of her smooth neck. She wears a buttery yellow dress that hugs her curves and looks like distilled sunshine against her glowing skin. Don’t get me started on her bare legs and nude heels. Or her subtle scent of roses, for that matter, and the way it wafts in my direction every now and then, keeping me just this side of aroused.
There’s no mistaking her excitement as we swoop over the city. She begins to smile, all but bouncing in her seat.
“Your first time?” I ask, grateful that the company coughed up the money for a nice new copter that’s quiet on the inside and equally grateful that the pilot wears a headset to communicate with air traffic control.
“It is. You hired me just after this event last year, so I didn’t get to go.”
“That’s right. I forgot.”
I lapse into a vaguely troubled silence for a minute, wondering how it’s possible that I’ve worked so closely with her this past year but know next to nothing about her. Other than she loves romance novels. I know that because I see them on her desk all the time. Oh, and she has a dog. I see his picture on her desk. There are so many things I want to ask her. I’m having a tough time focusing in on one thing to start with.
It’s getting more overcast. She pushes her sunglasses to the top of her head, much to my delight. I take mine off as well and tuck them into my breast pocket. Then I get rid of the tie and jacket and roll up my shirt sleeves.
Better. Much better. No need to wear that corporate suit of armor all the time.
“You’re never going to get me back on the jitney after this,” she says happily.
“You spend time in the Hamptons?” I ask.
“Not as much as I’d like. My roommates and I scraped together enough money for a summer share a couple of times, but we”—she turns back to me, faltering as she gives me a swift once-over—“we, ah, weren’t big fans of the ride. Or the traffic.”
She looks me over one more time, her color rising, before turning back to the window.
Interesting.
“You like the beach?”
“I’m a California girl, so I love the beach.” She peels herself away from the view, reaches for her briefcase on the floor and produces a sheet of paper. “But we have work to do. You don’t want to hear me blather on about the beach.”
If she only knew.
“It’s fine,” I say quickly.
“I know you don’t like to get down in the weeds about all the little details,” she says, unfurling her paper like it’s a map. “But the seating chart is driving me crazy. There’re a couple of people who don’t really belong at any particular table—”
I scowl. “You sparing me from details like that is one of the top three reasons I keep you around, Forest. Another word and you’re fired.”
“But—”
“I’m dead serious. Why not relax? Enjoy the flight. Why be such a workaholic all the time? How do you expect me to keep up with you?”
“How do I expect you—?” she cries, outraged.
“See?” I deadpan. “You’re way too stressed.”
She chokes back a laugh and puts her paper away, looking vaguely disgruntled.
“So why law school?” I ask, determined to catch her with her guard down and break through some of the barriers between us.
She hesitates but doesn’t take long to warm to the topic. “I like problem-solving. Getting organized and figuring things out. I love researching things. And I love helping people. My mother was an immigration lawyer. She took me to see an induction ceremony for new citizens when I was little. It was amazing.” A hint of sadness sneaks into her expression, but she catches herself before it takes root. “Anyway, I’m thinking about immigration law. We’ll see.”
I have zero doubt that she’d be a stellar immigration lawyer.
“Didn’t you also get into NYU?”
“Yeah. But my mom went to Berkeley, like I said, and my father still lives out there. I’m an only child. They were older parents, so he’s already close to seventy. He starting to have little health issues here and there. I don’t like being on the other side of the country.”