Chapter Five
This is a serious problem.
My finger refuses to push the call button. I’ve been staring at my phone for five minutes without moving a muscle. All because I keep seeing Parker’s cock flash in my mind every time I go to press it.
We need to leave for the airport in the next few minutes to make our flight. Normally, I would’ve gone right up to the penthouse and dragged Parker’s ass out of the apartment. But I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.
Because for some stupid reason, I’m still hung up on seeing him completely naked two days ago.
And hung he was.
Ugh.
I thought I’d made myself immune to the guys. I’ve seen Parker in just his briefs thousands of times. Jackson is always shirtless for Sunday breakfasts. I’ve even gotten an eyeful of Aleks’ cock before when I walked in on him changing for a shoot. So why is this time any different?
I think I’m spending too much time with him.
There used to be a clearer divide between my personal and professional life. But each year that passes with The System blurs it more and more. And now that their personal and professional lives have become one, it feels like I’m playing a whole new game.
“Miss Lake.” Francis’ voice breaks me out of my spiral. “Is Mister Covington on his way?”
I shoot a bright smile at our driver. “Yes, he’ll be here any second.”
I bite the bullet and hit dial, but it’s all for naught as the elevator doors slide open to reveal the blond prince within.
Parker pushes off the elevator wall and strolls out, rolling his designer carry-on behind him. He is dressed in a custom pair of electric blue joggers with a matching hoodie, which he has paired with a pair of all-white Balenciaga sneakers and sunglasses.
How does he look so damn good wearing that?
I bet if you put that same outfit on anyone else, they’d look like a giant blue jellybean. But Parker Covington isn’t just anyone else. You could dress him in a brown takeout bag, and he’d still look ridiculously handsome. With his perfectly high cheekbones and knife-sharp jawline, it’s like someone plucked him out of a fantasy novel.
“Earth to Sydney.”
I snap to attention as Parker dips to face me, his nose inches away from my own—his perfectly sloped nose.
I’m sure if you went on Pinterest and searched “attractive British model,” Parker would pop up.
“You’re late.” I snap my shields down as I take a healthy step away from him.
“I’m never late, other people—”
“Are simply early,” I finish for him.
He says the same overused quote all the time.
I avert my eyes from his piercing gaze, instead opting to watch as Francis takes Parker’s roller bag and places it in the trunk alongside my own overnight bag. Mine, however, looks comically small compared to his.
“I’ll have you know that not even you can make an airplane wait.” I hop into the car, and Parker follows suit, shutting the door behind him. His legs spread, knees almost touching my own.
“You can if it’s a private jet,” he muses, lifting his sunglasses to the top of his head with a wink.
“Unfortunately for you, we are not taking a private jet.” I cross my legs to put some more space between us.
His smile falls. “What do you mean?”
The car rumbles as it starts, and Francis drives us out of the underground parking lot. I lean back against my seat as the sun filters in through the tinted windows.
“I mean your sister took the jet to Vancouver, so I booked us commercial.”
“Why couldn’t we take JetSuite?”
I swear, next he is going to ask why I couldn’t book us a helicopter and say that commercial should have been the last possible resort. Sometimes I forget just how privileged Parker is compared to the rest of the guys—compared to me.
“They were booked. Our flight is only two and half hours. You’ll survive. It’s not like you haven’t flown commercial before.”
He scowls and slumps back in his seat before nodding his head so his sunglasses fall back down on his face. He looks like a sad puppy. A sad, rich puppy.
“Just because I’ve flown commercial before doesn’t mean I like it.”
“I booked you first class, and we’re flying Imperial.”
He perks up at that, like I knew he would. I wouldn’t book the Parker Covington on just any commercial flight. This isn’t my first rodeo. Imperial Airline is the only commercial airline company Parker is okay flying because it is—of course—owned by one of his friends, Weston Hill, so he gets special treatment.
Francis eventually pulls up to the busy airport, and I make quick work navigating Parker and myself through the throng of people moseying around bag drop. If there’s one thing I hate, it is inefficient people at the airport. I have everything planned down to the minute so that nothing can go wrong.
We finally make our way through TSA, and I let out a sigh of relief when I see that we are perfectly on time despite Parker’s slight delay earlier. We have thirty minutes until boarding. Just enough time to grab a water or a snack before the flight.
I come to an abrupt stop when I reach our gate, and Parker bumps into my back. He looks up from the mobile game he is playing with an apologetic grin.
“Sorry, Syd.”
“It’s fine,” I brush him off, squinting at the screen next to our gate.
The word “DELAYED” is spelled out in bright yellow.
That can’t be right. I didn’t get any notification of a delay. I double-check the airline app before refreshing my email, but there’s nothing there.
“Wait here.” I steer Parker to a free seat and sit him down, perching my overnight bag on top of his roller.
I plaster my brightest smile on my face and head over to the employee working at the gate. “Excuse me, miss.”
The woman behind counter peers down at me with a brittle smile. “How can I help you?”
“I was just wondering, how long is the flight delayed?”
“I don’t have a definite time currently.”
“I’m sorry?”
“We are waiting to hear back from air control,” she elaborates.
“All right,” I drawl. “Do you know why we are delayed?”
“Inclement weather at the destination.”
I just frown. This woman seems determined to give me the bare minimum information. I’m sure she’s been asked this question a few times already, but really. I’m trying to be civil.
“There’s a snowstorm in Denver,” she sighs. “We’ll make an announcement once we have more information.”
It’s September. There hasn’t been a snowstorm in Colorado in September in years. Literal years. But of course, the one weekend we need to fly there, there’s a snowstorm. Just our luck.
I blame climate change.
“Okay, well, I guess I’ll just…wait.”
The woman gives me a tight smile before returning back to the computer before her.
I purse my lips and take a deep breath through my nose. I hold it for a few seconds before letting out a loud sigh.
It’s fine. Everything will be fine.
Parker has his head down, still distracted by the game he’s been playing since the second we made it through TSA. Honestly, I was impressed that he never bumped into anyone on the walk to the gate. Then again, all the guys have multitasking down to a T.
My eyes dip briefly to his crotch, and I all but pinch myself.
“How long until we board?” he asks when I slump into the seat next to him.
I grimace as I try to come up with an answer I don’t have. “Uh, there’s a slight delay, so we have at least an hour or so.”
Parker pauses his game and furrows his brows at me. “That long?”
“Yeah. Roughly.”
He shoves his phone in his pocket and stands up, holding his hand out to me. His icy blue eyes spear straight into my soul as I look up at him before taking his hand. He tugs me alongside him while steering our luggage with his other hand. Heat travels through my palm, up my arm, and into my chest.
Sweat beads on my skin.
I must be wearing too many layers.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“The lounge.” He winks back at me.
Parker doesn’t even need to look where he’s headed because people move out of the way for him automatically.
A few minutes later, he leads us to a set of glazed doors. There is a long line of people who seem to be waiting to enter, but Parker pays them no mind as he strolls right by them.
An employee holds out their hand just as the doors slide open.
“I’m sorry, sir. You need to wait in line. The lounge is currently full.”
Parker side-eyes the line of people for a beat before slowly blinking back. He then reaches into his back pocket and slides a card out of his wallet, flashing it at the employee. They squint at the emerald-green card momentarily before their eyes widen and they move aside with a flourish of their hand.
“Apologies,” they mutter.
Parker lets out a soft huff before walking past them. When we get to the counter inside, Parker flashes the card again to the three employees behind the counter who are checking people in. The tall woman in the middle immediately straightens her back as she takes Parker’s card and swipes it before taking his phone to scan his boarding pass. She returns his phone and the shiny card with a million-watt smile.
“Mr. Covington, welcome to the Imperial Lounge. I see you’re flying to Denver today. The flight appears to currently be delayed, and I don’t have an estimated hour of departure at this time. Please feel free to use all our amenities, and I’ll send someone to find you once there is an update on your flight.” She gestures around the corner to an escalator. “If you take a right at the top, you’ll see the doors to our Emerald Elite Lounge. We hope you enjoy your stay.”
“Thank you, Marigold.”
The woman’s smile stretches an inch wider, and I worry it might split. He’s not a mind reader; her name is printed on her name tag.
Parker takes my hand and guides me up the escalators. My eyes immediately begin to scan our surroundings. There is a large seating area to our left where people are snacking on little plates of tapas and tapping away on their devices. They’re all engrossed in their own world, and everything is generally quiet despite it being completely packed. It’s a little disconcerting.
I make note of the signs on the wall that explain which way the bathrooms, buffet station, bar, and children’s entertainment area are.
Children’s entertainment area?
Just how big is this place?
There is another set of glazed doors to our right when we step off the escalator, and Parker just gives the attendant outside a nod before walking through them.
Somehow, this area is more exclusive and even quieter. I count only a handful of patrons milling about: there’s a couple having cocktails at the bar, a lone man talking low into his headphones in a round chair, a mother rocking her child in the corner, and a group of businessmen drinking coffees and clacking away at their keyboards in the center cluster of seats.
It feels like my head is swiveling like an owl as my eyes flicker around the room while I simultaneously try to keep up with Parker.
I’m pretty sure I just read a sign pointing out the direction of the private shower suites.
I have no clue what I’m doing here. I can count the number of times I’ve flown to events with The System on one hand, and each of those times has been on the jet. As extravagant as the Covington jet is—it has two bedrooms, and video game consoles are set up in the main cabin—there is something more about this whole experience. It’s like booking a room in a hotel and finding out you have the honeymoon package. It’s a white-glove experience with no expense wasted.
It doesn’t matter how much time I’ve spent working for Parker over the years, it’s different when I’m dumped into the spotlight next to him instead of watching from the sidelines.
I’m afraid I’ll breathe wrong and someone will glare at me.
Probably the businessmen.
“I’m a little peckish. How about you?” Parker squeezes my hand. “It looks like they’ve just started their lunch service.”
I notice that he’s stopped us outside a tiny dining area. There are only ten tables, one of which is occupied by a woman and three men. Of course this lounge has its own mini restaurant within it.
“I could go for a snack.”
And water. Lots and lots of water.
Parker swipes his emerald card, and the door to the dining area beeps open. I notice that everyone’s head pops up at the noise, and they give us a once over.
I inch closer to Parker to avoid their scrutiny as we walk inside. Not that I’m wearing anything out of place. I’m technically on the clock even though we are travelling, so I’m in a pair of brown pants and a cream knit sweater with a matching woolen jacket and little brown boots. I even put on a little makeup because I have a feeling there might be paparazzi when we get off the plane on the other side.
You go out bare face with The System once and see how unflattering the paparazzi shots can be, and you never make the mistake again. I work so many long hours that the bags under my eyes need severe coverage, otherwise I apparently look like a ghoul.
Distantly, I register a tug on my wrist.
“As much as I love holding your hand, Syd, I kind of need my own back,” Parker teases.
I look down and realize that I’ve still got his fingers entwined with mine in a death grip.
I immediately release my hold and wipe my palm on my pants. My hand feels odd after being attached to Parker’s for so long.
He ducks his head and grins before reaching around and pulling a seat out for me.
“Thank you.” My voice comes out softer than necessary as I sit down, and he pushes my chair in.
God. I’m off-kilter today.
I need to hit the reset button or something. Whatever is going on with me is not okay. I’m supposed to be the guard dog keeping the sheep in line, not the puppy getting distracted by its own reflection.
A waitress comes around and presents a bottle of champagne to Parker.
“Mr. Covington, welcome back. I have a bottle of the 2008 Bollinger R.D. Extra Brut that Mr. Hill had reserved for you. Would you like me to pour you a glass?”
We haven’t even had water yet, and they’re pulling out the champagne.
“If Mr. Hill is offering, why not?” Parker couldn’t look happier as he stares at the glass bottle the heir of Imperial Airlines has apparently put aside for him.
“Would your girlfriend like some as well?” she asks him.
First, I’m sitting right here, so I’m not sure why she isn’t just addressing me directly.
Second, I am not his girlfriend.
“My girlfriend doesn’t drink.”
Butterflies swarm my stomach.
I take a mental flamethrower and burn them to death.
“I’m not his girlfriend.” I give the waitress a tight smile. “Just a water for me, please.”
“Oh, come on, love. No need to be shy.” Parker pats my hand, and I scowl.
“I’ll be right back with water, a champagne glass, and your menus.” The woman dips her head before disappearing behind a hidden door.
“It’s not funny, Parker,” I reprimand him.
“Whatever do you mean?” His look is one of feigned innocence.
He knows exactly what I’m talking about.
“You can’t go around saying to random people that I’m your girlfriend. It takes just one person to mention the rumor to a media outlet, and they’ll turn it into a circus. The last thing I need is you boys turning me into my own PR nightmare.”
“Sounds more like a dream than a nightmare.”
He looks directly at me as he says the words, his accent drawing them out. My neck begins to burn, and my palms turn clammy.
Did they turn up the heat in here? I should just take off my coat.
“Regardless, this is a work trip.” I contort my arms to get them out of the sleeves and brush his statement off. “Please try to remember that. The public eye cared who you were when you were just Parker Covington; now they know you’re EnglishCoffee as well. That’s double the fame than you’re used to.”
“I’ve never been just Parker Covington, love.”
My eye twitches.
When he says things like that, I remember how insufferable he is. It helps dim the shine.
His ego really shouldn’t be endearing. It should be a turn off. Today, that doesn’t seem to be the case.
The waitress finally returns with my glass of water, and I practically pounce for it. I drain the cool liquid like I’ve been lost in the desert for days.
I immediately feel better. The waitress, however, looks at me with mild concern as she pops the champagne. I make a point of keeping eye contact with her while I crunch on the remaining ice cubes.
She swallows before switching her attention back to Parker, her face lighting up as she pours him a glass.
“Mr. Hill also left some suggestions for food; would you like us to follow that, or would you like to pick something off the menu yourself?”
“Let’s go with whatever Weston has cooked up. Just make sure there is a vegan alternative for my,” he slides his gaze to me and grins, “companion.”
The last ice cube in my mouth crunches between my molars as I clench my jaw.
I can feel the edges of a headache begin to fester.
“I’ll be right back,” I clip.
I don’t give Parker a chance to respond as I stand up, grab my handbag, and power walk out of the secluded dining area.
My head feels like it is full of clouds, and it takes me a moment to reorient myself.
There’s a low buzz of chatter around the lounge; more people have filled the previously unoccupied chairs. I straighten my shoulders, pulling some sense into myself, before donning my mask of cool professionalism.
My eyes slip back to the sign from earlier, and curiosity wins. Well, curiosity and avoidance.
I follow the little arrows directing me to the shower suites.
After a little navigation and winding around hallways, I come to a set of six wooden doors. The first handle doesn’t budge, so I move on to the next. It clicks open, and I carefully pull the large frame open before tentatively stepping inside. The heels of my boots clack against the marble titles as I begin to gawk at my surroundings.
My mind spins as I take in the rainfall shower, custom robe, bidet, and what looks to be one of those heated toilets. There’s even an assortment of skincare products lined up next to the sink, including a full-service shaving station.
The hotels I stay in don’t even have bathrooms that look this nice normally.
I spot a phone on the wall and squint at the placard next to it.
Dial 9 for dry-cleaning services.
Dial 7 for amenity refreshments.
Dial 4 for food/beverage.
Do they expect people to live here? How are there dry-cleaning services?
I lock the door and sit on the stone bench next to the shower.
If they had a bath in here, I would seriously consider taking one.
My head falls back against the cool marble wall, and I let my eyes drift shut for a few seconds. There’s something different about the quiet of a bathroom. The silence here speaks differently. It grounds you.
I open my eyes and stare at myself in the large mirror across from me.
I still look pretty decent.
I cross to the sink and slap my handbag onto the counter before reaching in and sifting around for my cherry lip gloss. My fingers close around the hourglass tube. I apply a healthy coat, inhaling the sweet scent. I’ve been using the same lip gloss since I was in high school. I’m honestly lucky it’s never gone out of production. Sure, they’ve tweaked their formula over the years, but it’s mostly stayed the same.
I smack my tinted lips together in the mirror a few times. I take out some of my blotting papers to fix the shine on my cheeks and then give a quick wipe under my eyes to clear up any mascara smudges. After giving a quick fluff to my bangs, I feel a little more put together.
I spin in the mirror, checking that my outfit is still pristine, and give myself a quick nod.
All right. Back to business.
I fling open the large wooden door, but it’s a lot lighter than I remember. My arm is nearly wrenched out of its socket as the door goes wide. I grimace as my shoulder twinges but shake it off.
I make a beeline for the dining area, belatedly realizing that I don’t have a card to get in. I take a step aside and embarrassment creeps up my cheeks as I pull out my phone to text Parker.
However, the door slides open and the man of the hour smiles at me before I type a single word.
“Glad to see you didn’t run away.”
“The bathrooms in this place are too much.” I swerve around him back to our table and plop down on my seat.
“If you think this is extra, you should see their lounge in Hong Kong. It has a sauna.”
After what I saw today, I really don’t doubt him. I’d even go so far as to bet that they offered massages, too.
The waitress has dropped off our meal in the time I’ve been gone. There is a steaming hot bowl of what looks to be an asparagus risotto. I eye it warily. Despite how good it looks; little flags go off in my mind.
“You’re sure this is vegan?” I ask him, pushing the creamy rice around with my spoon.
“I double-checked with the waitress; I promise.”
Apprehension still rolls in my gut. It would’ve been easier if I’d just picked something off the menu knowing there was a little vegan symbol next to it. You have no idea how many times someone has said something is vegan without knowing exactly what veganism is. The confusion for vegetarianism is disproportionate.
Still, Parker is one of the few people I trust to look out for me in that way.
I take a tentative bite and the flavors melt on my tongue. The light nutty taste combines with the deep roast of the asparagus. There’s a pop of brightness from some lemon, which is cut by the sprinkling of parsley.
Wow. Who knew airport food could be this nice?
“Cracking, isn’t it?” Parker smiles at me as he cuts into his quiche.
“Not bad.” I smile back, letting some of the tension peel off my back.
After we finish our meal, we make our way out to the seating area. Parker secures us two chairs in the back corner with a view overlooking the runway.
I sink into the leather before grabbing my tablet out of my handbag. If we’re going to be stuck here for the foreseeable future, I might as well get some work done. Plus, I don’t think I can handle any more conversations with Parker today. Clearly, one of my wires is crossed and I’m not functioning right.
I refuse to slip up.
I’ve worked too hard to craft the perfect friendly yet professional relationship with the guys. It’s a fine line I walk, and I won’t let that line become blurred because my brain keeps replaying a certain British man’s penis.
After an hour passes with no news from any of the employees about an update to our flight and a lack of an email or app notification from the airline, I grow worried.
“We should’ve heard something by now,” I mutter.
Parker looks up at me from his gaming laptop. His headset is half on, one ear free from the padding. There’s something oddly attractive about that look.
“I can go ask for an update?” he offers.
“No, I need to stretch my legs. Just keep playing whatever it is you’re playing.”
I peel myself off the leather chair and give my back a quick twist. A few bones click with the movement. I can’t imagine what I would’ve felt like if I’d been stuck camping out on the chairs by the gate.
I stride up to the agent assist desk—although podium would be a better word to describe it. The man gives me an overtly kind smile.
“Hi, I was just wondering if there was any update on our flight. We had an indefinite delay.” I show him my phone so he can scan the boarding pass, but he waves it off.
“Mr. Covington’s companion, correct?”
There’s that word again.
“Correct.” I maintain a placid smile.
“Unfortunately, it still doesn’t look like we—” he pauses as the computer makes a little dinging sound. “Oh, look at that. Serendipitous timing. They just updated your departure time. It looks like it will be ten p.m., but we will come find you for your boarding at nine fifteen p.m.”
My insides crystalize. That’s in eight hours.
Eight. Hours.
God help me.