Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
“ T his is a private jet.” Dylan gasped, adjusting the straps of her well-worn backpack, which held an extra pair of jeans, a T-shirt, sleeping shorts and shirt, and her small makeup bag. She stood staring up at the sleek white plane gleaming under the morning sun, in shock.
“Yeah,” Abe said casually, as if he hadn’t just blown her mind. He slipped his hand into hers, warm and steady. “I thought I told you.”
“You said we were flying,” she whispered. “You didn’t say we were being wined and dined like celebrities.” She blinked up at the luxury aircraft again. “You left that part out.”
He grinned, clearly enjoying her reaction. “Don’t hold it against me.”
“Never,” she whispered as they climbed the stairs.
The interior of the jet was ridiculously plush, with cream leather seats, wood paneling that probably cost more than her car, and a flight attendant who offered them mimosas the second they stepped onboard.
Dylan barely had time to sink into her seat before they were airborne, cruising smoothly above the clouds while the attendant brought them warm croissants and fresh fruit like they were royalty.
“Is this your usual travel situation?” she asked, eyeing him over the rim of her mimosa.
Abe smirked. “Only when PR’s paying the bill.”
“Remind me to thank your publicist later,” she muttered.
Abe chuckled and lifted his glass in a mock toast. “Tony will appreciate that. Especially if you say it in public where he can claim full credit.”
Once the jet leveled out at their cruising altitude, a flight attendant brought over a spread that looked like it belonged in a five-star restaurant rather than 35,000 feet in the air.
Freshly scrambled eggs, crisp bacon, tiny stacks of pancakes with real maple syrup, and flaky pastries that made Dylan almost forget she was nervous.
“Okay,” she said, biting into a croissant that nearly melted in her mouth. “This is officially the best breakfast I’ve ever had.”
“Better than the scones at Sara’s Nook that you’re so fond of?” he teased, reaching for a slice of melon.
She snorted. “Unless Sara recently started using truffle butter, yeah this wins.”
They ate leisurely, the sky stretched out around them in a soft blue haze. With nowhere to rush off to, and no crowds pressing in, the atmosphere felt almost… intimate.
“So,” she asked between sips of orange juice, “your ranch. Is that where you keep your herd of fans?”
He laughed. “Nope. Just my horses, a dog named Ringo who thinks he’s in charge, and a neighbor who thinks I’m secretly a vampire.”
“That tracks.” She chuckled.
He leaned back, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “The ranch is in Santa Ynez. I bought it a few years ago after I wrapped up my second tour. I needed space to breathe. And hay, apparently.”
She smiled, watching him soften as he spoke. “Sounds peaceful.”
“It is. Mornings there are quiet. I can go a whole day without hearing anything but birds and Carson whining at the fence because he wants carrots. I am getting spoiled by the smell of the ocean at Max and Juliette’s place though.”
“You named your horse Carson?” she grinned.
“Don’t judge. I was going through a phase. I have a few more horses with normal names, like Leo and Carl.”
She laughed and shook her head. “Did you buy the place before or after the underwear ads?”
He shot her a look, amused and mildly horrified. “Don’t bring that up while I’m eating.”
“I mean, it’s a valid career milestone. You’re like a triple threat now. Music, modeling, and… ranching?”
He gave a self-deprecating shrug. “I’m just trying to keep all the parts of my life from burning down at the same time.”
She watched him for a moment, this man who the world saw as polished and untouchable, who somehow still managed to be grounded. Real. Hers, for now.
“You’re doing okay,” she said softly.
He glanced at her, something flickering behind his eyes. Gratitude, maybe. Or something deeper.
The rest of the flight passed in warm conversation, laughter, and the quiet hum of something unspoken between them. Something that felt dangerously close to falling.
And Dylan, somewhere between coffee refills and cloud watching, realized she didn’t mind the fall at all.
When they landed in LA, a sleek black limo was already waiting for them at the private terminal.
Dylan’s sneakers squeaked on the polished pavement as she climbed in, tugging self-consciously at her hoodie.
She felt like a fraud, just a small-town girl who didn’t own a single silk dress or diamond.
But Abe looked completely at ease, sunglasses on, arm slung around her shoulders like he belonged to this sleek world.
And maybe, when he looked at her like that, she did too.
The hotel was downtown and looked like a palace. The lobby ceiling soared like a cathedral’s, with chandeliers big enough to need their own zip code. Staff greeted Abe by name and handed her a glass of champagne before she could even open her mouth.
They were shown into a private elevator by a bellboy who carried their luggage on one of those rolling carts. Even though it was just her small bag and Abe’s duffle bag, the man treated them like they were fragile vases.
Then he opened the door to the suite.
“Oh my god,” she whispered, stepping into the marble-floored entrance.
The space was bigger than her entire apartment in Portland, not to mention the cabin home she’d grown up in and was currently occupying in Pride.
She stepped into the sunken living room, which had floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the city skyline.
Next to it was a dining table set for ten, and a balcony with a hot tub.
There were two bedrooms that sat across from one another, each with their own bathrooms, which were the fanciest things she’d ever seen.
“Oh my god,” she said again, this time pointing at the rack of dresses waiting in the corner like couture soldiers at attention. “What are those for?”
“You.” Abe took her hands in his.
“What is happening?” she whispered.
“They sent along some options in your size for the party tonight, along with a stylist, who should be here soon,” Abe said, smiling.
“Is this real?” she whispered, feeling a little like Cinderella waiting for her fairy godmother to wave her wand.
Before he could answer, there was a knock on the door. He opened it and in came a team of hair and makeup professionals and a stylist who greeted her like they were old friends. Abe was ushered out before she could protest.
“I’ll see you soon,” he said, giving her a quick kiss as he slipped out, somehow managing to make jeans and a plain T-shirt look like a fashion statement.
She was pushed down into a plush velvet chair before she could even process what was happening.
Her backpack was long forgotten in the corner of the massive suite.
Two stylists immediately flanked her like a pit crew at a race.
One tugged gently at her hair with deft fingers, murmuring about texture and shine, while the other surveyed her face like it was a blank canvas about to be turned into a piece of art.
Someone refilled her champagne glass before she’d even made it halfway through the first. The bubbles tickled her nose as she sipped, trying not to fidget for the stylists.
The hairstylist curled her hair into soft, romantic waves, each lock coaxed into shape with a gentle tug and a spritz of something that smelled expensive and a little like jasmine.
The makeup brushes swept across her cheeks, her lids, and her lips, so soft and precise she nearly melted into the chair.
If they hadn’t been chatting softly about contouring and red carpet lighting, she might have dozed off entirely.
By the time they were done, she hardly recognized herself. Her skin glowed, her eyes looked impossibly wide and bright, and her lips, glossed with something called “Starlit Rose” looked kissable in a way that made her blush to notice.
Then came the rack of dresses.
The dresses had been picked through by the stylist at one point and narrowed down to a couple choices while she’d been under the spell of soft bristles and styling wands. Every color shimmered under the crystal lights. Sequins, silk, lace, and chiffon all draped like promises waiting to be broken.
She looked over the half dozen options, trailing a finger over the expensive fabrics like she didn’t belong in the room. But when she spotted the midnight blue cocktail dress, she stopped cold.
Plunging neckline. Open back. Delicate beadwork traced the hem like constellations. It was elegant but bold, sleek but with just enough sparkle to make her feel like a walking secret.
She hesitated for only a second then pulled it from the rack and slipped into the next room to put it on.
When she emerged a few minutes later, she actually forgot to breathe.
The dress hugged her body like it had been custom-made for her. The hem skimmed the middle of her thighs, revealing legs she’d never thought much about before but which suddenly felt like an asset. The legs that Abe had fixated on and enjoyed so much.
The fabric of the dress clung to her waist, dipped low across her back, and plunged just daringly enough in the front to make her heat.
She turned slowly in front of the mirror, her heart thudding.
She looked… stunning. Not like herself. Or maybe exactly like the version of herself she’d always hoped to become.
She was still adjusting the thin strap on her shoulder when the suite door clicked open behind her.
Abe walked in, half-distracted as he shrugged into his jacket. He froze mid-step when he saw her. Damn, her mouth watered instantly at the sight of him in a black suit with a blue tie that seemed to match her dress perfectly.
His mouth parted slightly. “Holy…” He blinked, cleared his throat. “You look…”
She waited, her heart thudding hard. “Like I stole this dress?”
“Like I’m going to have to fight off half the room tonight,” he said, his voice low, reverent.
A slow smile spread across her lips, her nerves replaced by a flicker of heat. “You clean up nicely yourself.”
He did. The black tailored suit fit him perfectly. He looked like he belonged on the red carpet. But it was the way he looked at her like the rest of the world had fallen away that made her feel completely out of place and exactly where she belonged, all at once.
She smoothed her hands over the dress, her fingers trembling just slightly. “I’ve never had anything like this happen before.”
He stepped closer, brushing a curl from her cheek. “Get used to it.”
Just then, there was another knock on the door. Abe turned, already halfway to the door, and cracked it open.
“Ah, perfect timing,” he said.
Dylan tilted her head, curious, as four people stepped into the suite, all dressed in sleek black attire and each carrying what looked like armored briefcases. They moved with the precision and quiet grace of professionals used to high stakes and higher expectations.
They set the heavy cases on the glass coffee table in the sitting area with practiced care, then flipped them open with a soft click-click.
Dylan gasped.
Inside, nestled in black velvet, were rows upon rows of glittering diamonds, polished gold, and gemstones in colors she’d only ever seen behind security glass or on the necks of people accepting awards on TV.
Earrings sparkled like stars. Bracelets coiled like delicate golden vines.
There was a sapphire choker so vivid it looked like it had been carved out of the Pacific.
She took a step forward, stunned. “Is this…?”
“A loan from Cartier,” one of the women explained with a professional smile. “Compliments of Mr. Carson’s team. We were told to match the dress options.”
Dylan stared at the display. “I own socks that don’t match. This is next-level.”
Abe chuckled from across the room, clearly enjoying her reaction.
“Would you like some help selecting a set?” the woman asked.
“Um, yes?” Dylan said, still not quite believing this was her life.
With gentle precision, the stylist selected a pair of teardrop diamond earrings and a delicate bracelet that looked like it was spun from moonlight.
Then she added a platinum ring with a pear-shaped sapphire that mirrored the midnight hue of Dylan’s dress and fastened a matching necklace around her neck.
The cool weight of the jewels settled onto her skin like a crown.
She turned slowly to face the mirror again.
Her breath caught.
Between the shimmering curls, the plunging neckline, and now the diamonds glittering against her collarbone she looked like someone out of a movie. No, a fairytale.
And still, despite all the luxury and sparkle, it was the way that Abe was looking at her, like nothing in those cases could outshine her natural self, that made her feel truly priceless.
“I’m afraid to move,” she whispered.
Abe stepped behind her, his hands settling lightly on her waist. “Then don’t. Just stay like this.”
She laughed, her voice a little breathless. “How is this real?”
“I’m asking myself the same thing,” he murmured and then spun her around and kissed her.
For a single suspended moment, it didn’t matter where they were going or who was watching.
She wasn’t just Dylan the detective, the one used to chasing leads, watching shitty hotel rooms, or digging through case files.
She was a woman standing in a dress that fit like a dream, dripping in millions of dollars’ worth of borrowed diamonds, with a man who looked at her like she was the only song he’d ever want to write.
And for tonight, that was enough.
“Dylan…”
His voice was low, reverent, and the way his gaze moved over her sent a rush of warmth straight through her.
She cleared her throat and smoothed her hands down the satin fabric. “I feel like a movie extra who wandered into the wrong scene.”
He shook his head. “You look like the lead actress, the one no one will be able to take their eyes off.”
Her stomach fluttered, and suddenly the glittering suite, the dress, the champagne, it all faded to background noise. All she could see was him.
She still felt out of place, but when Abe looked at her like that, like she was the only thing in the world that mattered?
She knew that she didn’t want to be anywhere else.