Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
cove
“Each time you happen to me all over again.”
Edith Wharton
“Good work today, Cove. I know waiting on that bastard isn’t easy.”
I laugh, rolling my crew bag behind me as I follow Jake, my pilot from today’s short flight, into the private terminal for Seascape in Miami. “You know I can take it. Nothing a little harmless flirting can’t handle.”
Jake looks me up and down, eyes shamelessly examining my legs.
“I suppose so,” he mumbles before walking off.
I’m wearing the same outfit as always. Just my typical navy blue flight uniform, a pair of black stilettos, and my signature red lip.
I’ve been told it complements my pale complexion and jet-black hair well.
Jake knows this is how I present myself at work. Is it comfortable to wear heels of this height for hours at a time while serving clients?
Not even a little.
But I do it for the money. The tips. It takes very little effort to get dolled up and put on the prettiest of fronts for wealthy clients. Besides, no millionaire or billionaire wants to be waited on by someone who lacks pride in the way they dress.
I think that goes without saying.
So, for me, being uncomfortable pays off in the end.
Today, however, I catered to not only one of my wealthiest clients but also the most perverse.
I have the unfortunate displeasure of flying with Pierson Belmont a few times a month and have to prepare myself mentally to be around him.
Pierson is the founder of Pierson Cruise Lines.
With more than a handful of operating cruise ships sailing directly out of the Miami Beach port, Pierson’s entire operation requires very little work from him now that he’s so successful.
Cruising in Florida is ranked the number one luxury vacation destination, as it truly encompasses it all—food, entertainment, accommodations, excursions, and more.
Which not only means money lining his pockets, but also gives Pierson the freedom to let his people work while he travels, not having to worry about a single thing.
And trust me, he doesn’t. I get to hear all about his escapades. This time, we jetted him to Aruba for a quick forty-eight-hour turnaround so that he could meet up with his new fling. For being close to seventy, the guy seems to have no issues warming his bed.
And yet, somehow, someway, he still has the nerve to hit on me.
Persistently.
The one benefit of this short trip was enjoying the poolside views of Aruba. Where my clients play, I get to play, too. Not exactly a bad gig, if I say so myself.
Now that I’m back home, my body cries to take the longest everything shower, throw on a face mask, a cheesy rom-com, and veg out on the couch for the foreseeable future with Betsy.
But first, I need to check on my mom. I didn’t hear from her while I was away, and it has me a bit worried. I know she would call if there was any type of emergency, but I can’t help waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Because it always does.
I hustle through the terminal as fast as my pointed heels will allow, pulling out my phone to call my mom when I plow full speed into a firm wall.
“Shit,” I groan, everything falling and moving in slow motion.
The phone in my hand is now airborne. The heels on my feet are somehow above my head. My crew bag is now somewhere out of sight. And worst of all, my lucky flight skirt is split right down the center. I don’t need to look down to confirm it.
The cool breeze between my thighs tells me everything I need to know.
Seascape’s beloved flight attendant just gave the private airport a dirty little show.
It takes me a second to piece together where I am, and I’m not sure I would have time to anyway because strong arms grab me at once, mumbling something to someone close by and storming off with me in hand.
Or not in hand. I don’t know.
What I do know is that I’m chest to chest with muscles and a delicious smell of masculinity.
“I’ve got you.” I know that voice.
It’s when I open my eyes and peer up that my suspicions are confirmed. It’s him. Stetson Cole. And I’m in his arms like this isn’t embarrassing at all.
Cute, Cove. Cute.
“Everyone out!” Stetson yells as we enter the private lounge, and two women and a man quickly rush past us before Stetson turns and locks the door. “I’m gonna sit you on this ledge, okay?”
I nod. I didn’t pass out, but I sure as hell act like I did.
Or did I?
He places my bottom on the top of the bar table, and I instantly make sure my legs are closed. There’s no point because it’s now that I realize there’s a heavyweight fabric laid across my lap, which looks a lot like a jacket.
A thick denim jacket, to be specific.
“Oh,” I sigh, nodding toward my lap. “Thank you. That was embarrassing.” I attempt to laugh, but the only emotion on Stetson’s face is concern.
“Does anything hurt? That wasn’t what I’d consider a soft landing.”
I giggle, my head still spinning a bit. “Flying puns. Niceeee.”
His arms are crossed at his chest while he nibbles on his bottom lip. I’m not sure exactly why, but he’s on edge and restless, eyes searching for something I don’t think he’ll find.
I guess he didn’t like my joke.
“My head hurts a little, but I’ll be fine. I’ll take some Tylenol when I get to my car.”
“Fuck,” he exhales. “I looked down for a second. I should have been paying better attention, Cove. Let me get you an ice pack or something. I feel horrible.”
I can’t help but smile softly, feeling simply flattered that I have Stetson Cole apologizing. “You could have killed me, you know? Knocked me out, only for me to never wake up again. God, what would you have told my mother?” I tease.
Taking me by surprise, his arms find the wooden top and cages me in with a dominance that naturally emanates from him.
Except, I don’t feel inferior in his presence, I feel…
comfort. “I’d tell her…I’m sorry for your loss.
Cove was desperate to see me again, so upon spotting me at the airport, she found a way for us to collide. Literally. And here we are.”
I grin, thankful he’s now laughing about it. “At my funeral.”
Stetson smiles, and holy hell, it’s a nice smile. “The saddest of days,” he jokes.
He looks comfortable: a plain white T-shirt stretching across the planes of his chest, dark-wash jeans, and a simple pair of camel work boots. I wonder if he came here for work or pleasure?
“It’s really good to see you again, Cove.” He glances down at my name tag, taking in the Miami, Florida, location etched in white. “Miami, huh? I don’t think I ever considered you living here.”
I nod, physically unable to look away. “I do. Born and raised. Weird to think about since I’m hardly ever home.”
“Noted.” He grins, and every time he does, it’s a distraction. I forget who I am and why I’m here.
“What brings you to Miami?” I ask, knowing for certain he lives in Texas. I’m not exactly sure where, and I don’t need to.
“Honestly?” he counters.
“No. Hit me with your worst lie,” I kid, and I’m not sure why I’m flirting in a vacant private lounge as if I don’t have a bed to sleep in and an everything shower to be had.
His smirk does things to my belly. Makes it feel all warm and somehow calm amongst the chaos of butterflies. “You remember Clay, right? My friend in the suit.”
“Hummus guy? You betcha, I remember Clay. What about him?”
Stetson shakes his head, laughing under his breath. “Well, he kindly set me up to be interviewed by Forbes Magazine yesterday.”
“Wow,” I stammer. “Forbes. That’s a pretty big deal.”
He nods. “That’s what they keep telling me.”
“But you didn’t want to do the interview, I’m guessing?” I counter cautiously, doing my best to read him.
Something tells me he hates things like that.
“Not even a little bit. But I did for Coleson Ranch. And Clay, I guess.”
“He’s a bit of a wild card, huh?”
“Gets on my last fucking nerve. But he’s been good to me when I had no one. Before the ranch was what it is today.”
I understand that. Having people in your life who’ve been with you through every season. It doesn’t mean they’ll fit and be there forever, but there’s loyalty owed to them.
I admire that.
“I’ve got people like that in my life, too. I get it. So, what’s that got to do with you being in Miami?”
I don’t miss the drag of Stetson’s thumb against my leg. It’s faint, and to anyone else, likely not noticeable. But I notice.
The lounge is modern with luxurious couches, over-the-top bathrooms, and a fully stocked bar. The Miami Mariners baseball game plays quietly in the background, and despite the stillness around us, my body is hyperaware of everything.
I know Stetson feels it, too.
My breath catches, and as if on instinct, his head lowers to the motion of his thumb before meeting my eyes again. “I needed to get away. Miami was the closest trip.” He swallows, and it’s as if I can feel it in my own throat.
“Great choice…” I might actually be panting at this point.
“I’m seeing that to be true…”
I know Stetson is much older than me, but for some reason, his chivalry surprises me. Makes me take a step back and examine my life. All the men I’ve been with over the years. I’m not sure any of them have ever rescued me the way Stetson did today or taken the time to really look at me like he is.
Lifting his head, he studies me with his eyes, and I can feel the depths he attempts to reach while searching mine. I don’t know what he’s looking for, but he seems pretty confident he’ll find it.
“How old are you, Stetson?”
With the opposite hand, he reaches toward my face, and just when I think he’ll touch me, he tucks a loose curl behind my ear. So very softly. It’s the faintest of touches, and his eyes follow the movement with delicate intention. “Forty-nine,” he sighs on weary breath. “And how old are you, Cove?”
“Take a guess.”
His blue eyes swing to mine, curving upward with a soft smile, and the lines making a permanent home around his eyes turn me into a puddle.