The Winner Takes All (Complete Collection)

39. Getaway Jet

39

GETAWAY JET

Rafe

I sink into the cushy leather chair in the first row of the British Airways jet. Christine makes a production of settling in next to me, setting down her book, then her tablet, then her mobile. Her sharp eyes don’t leave me the entire time while she arranges herself.

The flight attendant stops by and asks if we want coffee or tea or champagne.

“I’ll take an English breakfast, please,” I tell her.

“Same for me,” Christine says. “Thank you so much.”

“I’ll be back in a jiff, then.” The cheery woman wheels around and heads to the galley, and Christine returns to staring at me with pursed lips and eyes brimming with curiosity.

Finally, I turn to her and ask, “What is it, woman? You’re staring at me like my hair is sticking up or I’ve got something on my face.”

She laughs, swiping her dark hair off her shoulder. “I was just wondering when you were going to start scrolling through Instagram.”

I close my eyes and push my head back against the seat. “Why would you think I’d do that?”

“Oh gee, I don’t know. Maybe because the photo shoot is this morning.”

“I’m not even thinking about it,” I say tightly.

It’s all I’m thinking about.

“Oh, please. Lie to somebody else,” she says.

“What?” I ask, my eyes flying open. “It’s not a lie.”

She pulls a don’t be daft face. “You think I don’t know why you wanted to move our trip to London forward? Or that I bought the song and dance about arranging meetings and introducing me to people?”

“I’ve been meaning to introduce you to some of my contacts for months,” I insist. “This will help with your global expansion. You’ve supported me so much over the years. It just made sense. So we could have the meetings.”

“Meetings sch-meetings,” she says with a scoff, crossing her long, lean legs. “It didn’t have to be the day of the photo shoot.” Then she reaches for my hand and squeezes it, her voice softening. “Rafe, I’ve been trying to reach out to you. But every time I do, you’re busy. You’re negotiating a deal. You’re working late. You’re studying a contract. We haven’t had a chance to talk.”

Yet another reason I can’t remain so caught up in Gunnar. I lose sight of other things and people that matter. Which, apparently, I already did. I sigh. “Forgive me. I’ve been crazed. I should be a better friend.”

“Oh, please. I don’t expect you to jump every time I check in. This is not about me. It’s about you. After Lucas left, you buried yourself in work like work will never hurt you. So, are you going to tell me what happened with your man?”

Am I? I worry that if I talk about Gunnar, I’ll just miss him more. Although that doesn’t seem possible, really, and we’re trapped in this steel tube for the next ten and a half hours, so I might as well.

The flight attendant brings us our drinks and we thank her as she sets them down. I sip my tea and scald myself. I’m sure I deserve that.

I put the cup down carefully. “I sensed I was losing my focus. I’ve wanted an acquisition like Bespoke for a long time, and I can’t risk being distracted.” I lower my voice, guilt weighing it down. “I won’t do that to my employees. I won’t let down the people I work with.”

She frowns at my confession. “Was that happening?”

I nod, a little embarrassed.

“The more you got involved with Gunnar?”

I nod again. “I can’t afford that. You know how important this is to me.”

“I do,” she says sympathetically.

“I can’t mess it up. And it seems I have a propensity for obsession,” I say, wryly, as if I can make light of my all-consuming feelings for the man.

“No,” she corrects. “You have a big capacity for caring. Don’t confuse the two.”

Christine’s words are not quite an indictment. But they’re close.

“It’s for the best,” I say. “I’ve been down this path before. I just...” I lack the energy for more denial. Meeting her gaze, I shrug helplessly. “I don’t want to get hurt again, Christine,” I say in a voice too close to breaking.

She slides an arm around my shoulders and squeezes tightly. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Is that the true reason you broke things off?”

At the time, my feelings for Gunnar felt like an obsession, and the distraction was the reason to worry. Those things are true, but more than that, I’m terrified of my heart being broken, and Gunnar could slash it in two.

“I suppose it is,” I say.

But recognizing the truth doesn’t change my reality. Soon, we buckle in and take off, and he’s even farther behind me.