Chapter 7 - Caroline
Caroline
“Shall we get started?” Harrison asked once we were in the air.
“I’m going to need a few minutes to settle some work things,” I said dryly. “I’m assuming this flying boardroom has Wi-Fi?”
“It has better Wi-Fi than my New York apartment,” he replied.
I spent a few minutes updating Eddie on what was happening. He replied immediately and asked if I wanted to offload my projects to other journalists, but I told him I would have time to finish it tomorrow.
I wasn’t going to let this biography get in the way of my actual job, damnit. No matter how much Blackstone was paying me.
“Okay,” I finally said. “Let’s chat.”
We spent the next hour discussing his jump from high school to college.
After a little nudging, he gave me some juicier details that weren’t public knowledge.
Lots of little tidbits and anecdotes that would give his biography a lot of flavor.
Dinner was served, three courses and a dessert.
The cloth napkins were embroidered with the initials HHB.
“I think that’s a good stopping point,” I finally said. My fingers ached from typing so fast for so long. “Unless you want to go on, Mr. Blackstone?”
“Okay, you’ve got to call me Harrison,” he insisted.
I smiled politely. “I disagree. Unless you’re going to threaten to tell my bosses about the Powell interruption.”
“You know, I’m tempted.” He stretched his arms above his head, then loosened his tie. “Not a threat. How about a trade? If you call me Harrison, I’ll never bring up the Powell thing again.”
“I knew you would bring it up again.”
He leaned back in his seat and sighed. “It’s just that everyone calls me Mr. Blackstone, or just Blackstone, like I’m a corporation instead of a person.
It’s nicer when the people around me, the people I see every day, at least pretend to be on a one-name basis with me.
I don’t make a lot of friends in this business.
It can get lonely. So… just call me Harrison, all right? ”
It was a touching little moment of vulnerability, the kind of thing I never expected to get from the billionaire. I knew moments like these would be rare.
“Okay,” I said softly. “Harrison.”
He took one final bite of his cheesecake, then wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin. “I’m going to try to get a few hours of sleep before we land. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow. Unless you want the bed, Caroline? I can always curl up on the couch.
The offer caught me off guard, but I said, “No thanks, I’m fine.”
Harrison nodded. “See you in France.” He disappeared into the stateroom in the back, closing the door behind him.
“Of course his private jet has a bedroom,” I muttered.
“And a full bathroom with a shower large enough to fit ten people,” Rafael added. “If he ever offers it to you again? Take him up on it.”
Laughing, I said, “I’m afraid I’d get used to the luxury. I’d never be able to go back to flying in Coach again.”
A smirk touched Rafael’s full lips. “That’s a real problem. I visited my family last year and was shocked how much I missed the private jet. And I was flying Business Class.”
“You going to eat that?” I asked, pointing at his cheesecake.
“Be my guest.”
He slid it toward me, and I grabbed the untouched fork and dug in.
“New York cheesecake is my favorite,” I explained. “I didn’t want Harrison to see how much I was enjoying the food on his jet.”
“I used to like cheesecake,” Rafael said.
“Used to? How does one stop liking the best dessert in the world?”
“By eating it twice a day for two years.”
I laughed. “Yeah, that will do it. That’s what you get for taking advantage of this lifestyle.”
Rafael shook his head. “It was the only dessert served at dee-fack. Well, they had a kind of chocolate cake, but it had coconut in it.”
I stared at him. “Dee-fack?”
“DFAC. Short for Dining Facility. The mess hall at my base in Afghanistan.”
“Oh.” I suddenly felt very stupid. “I didn’t realize you were military. Although you definitely have that vibe.”
“You haven’t done thorough research on every aspect of my life, and the lives of everyone around Harrison?”
I grimaced. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you aren’t really part of his biography. Yet.”
“Ouch. I guess I should be glad.” He laughed, then gazed out the window.
“Mom used to bake cheesecake every weekend. At least a dozen of them. We lived in a tiny one-bedroom apartment, and it made the entire place smell delicious. She’d sell them to a bodega down the street in Brooklyn, but she always brought one back and pretended like the bodega didn’t want it.
But I knew it was for me and my brother.
So when I was deployed, I ate cheesecake at every meal. Because it reminded me of home.”
I had to resist the urge to type the story into the biography notes document on my laptop. “That’s really sweet.”
“It was. And it kept me going. But it also ruined my taste for cheesecake. Now it just reminds me of the opposite of home.”
“That sucks.”
He shrugged and turned to look at me. “Reese’s Cups are my new vice.”
“Well, that’s a shame.” I reached into my bag and pulled out a pack of candy. “All I have are Reese’s Pieces. So close.”
“Reese’s Pieces are a very close second,” Rafael said with a grin.
I split the bag with him while chatting a little about Afghanistan. Apparently he was discharged early, then went to work for Harrison after that. He’d been with him from the very beginning, back when Harrison had more debt than equity. Back before he was a billionaire.
I didn’t remember falling asleep, but suddenly I was being gently shaken awake by a hand on my arm. When I opened my eyes, Harrison was standing over me.
And I was resting my head on Rafael’s shoulder.
“Sorry, I, uh…” I sputtered.
“Don’t worry about it,” Rafael said, awkwardly clearing his throat.
“Sorry to wake you two lovebirds,” Harrison teased, “but we’re beginning our descent into Paris.”