17. Sloane
17
SLOANE
“Your seat is this way…” The flight attendant pointed to her left, so I headed down the aisle.
But she had to have made a mistake. The seats were all too spacious in this section. I double-checked the seat number on my ticket as I walked to 9B. Another flight attendant walked over, greeting me with champagne.
“Umm… I’m not sure I’m in the right area.”
He took the boarding pass from my hand and gestured to a roomy chair that converted to a lay-flat bed. “This is it.”
“But this doesn’t look like economy.”
He smiled. “It’s definitely not.”
“I bought an economy ticket, though.”
“You probably got upgraded based on your status with the airline.”
I shook my head. “I don’t even have a frequent flier account.”
“Well, then someone likes you. Maybe the gate agent gave you a little present.” He shrugged. “However it happened, this is your seat. So relax and enjoy it.” He held up the flute again. “Would you like some champagne, or I can add a little orange juice and make a mimosa?”
“ Ooh, I love mimosas.”
“Get settled in. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
My seating area was almost as spacious as my office, so I wasn’t going to complain about the upgrade for a long flight. Though I did wonder if the secret admirer responsible for this was Wilder and not the gate agent. Either way, I had work to do during the flight, so it would be nice to spread out and not have someone reading my laptop over my shoulder.
I settled in and took out my phone to switch to airplane mode. As I did, I noticed a missed text.
Josh: Hey. I know you probably hate me, but do you think we could talk? It won’t take long.
Ugh . That was not happening—definitely not on this trip. There was nothing left to say. He’d said it all at the altar. I slid the button to airplane mode and tucked my phone away for takeoff just in time to receive my mimosa.
A little while after we hit cruising altitude, the flight attendant served a delicious breakfast—complete with fresh fruit, entrée, warm croissant, and dessert. They even had sugar-free dessert options, not to mention another complimentary mimosa. This was definitely better than the cardboard-box meal I’d paid twelve bucks for on my last flight to Florida. While I spooned rich yet diabetic-friendly cheesecake into my mouth, I opened my laptop and called up the first submission to the wedding contest.
We’d received more than two thousand entries, so I’d enlisted a few of the other staff writers to help sort through them all. Now it was up to me to narrow down the finalists. When I’d decided to read through the essays on the plane, I hadn’t considered how emotional many of them would be. Some of the reasons people wanted a free wedding really tugged at the heartstrings—from being poor to suffering from depression and finally finding her soulmate. There was even a sixty-seven-year-old woman who had been married to a man who abused her for forty years. She’d finally left him and found true love.
I cried reading more than one of them, but it was the last essay that hit me the hardest. The woman’s wedding was all planned—for a year from now. She wanted to win the giveaway because her father had been diagnosed with stage-four pancreatic cancer and likely had only a few months to live. I reread the last paragraph of the letter for a third time, tears streaming down my face.
I had big plans for my wedding next summer—lose thirty pounds, get fit, save for a honeymoon in Fiji, have a bachelorette party in Vegas. But I now realize the only thing important is having my daddy walk me down the aisle. If I win the wedding next month, I’ll happily pay it forward and give away my day next year with everything prepaid .
I wasn’t sure if I felt this one so deeply because the woman’s story reminded me of my mom’s dying wish to marry my dad all over again when she had end-stage cancer, or if it was the mention of a honeymoon in Fiji—where Josh and I were supposed to go. Or maybe it was my lack of sleep on this long flight and my hormones being a little out of whack. But when we landed, I was glad Wilder was still in Italy and wasn’t going to be able to pick me up because my face was blotchy, my eyes swollen, and my nose chafed from cheap airline tissues.
After passing through customs and immigration, I followed the herd of people to get my luggage. A bunch of drivers were lined up behind a metal barrier, holding signs. Wilder had arranged a car, so I looked for my name as I passed. The first three signs were typed, with logos of the names of the car service. When I scanned the fourth one, it struck me as odd that it was written on what looked like a brown paper bag with pen. I had to squint to read the name. Cupcake.
My eyes jumped to the person holding it, and my heart stuttered.
The guy might’ve been wearing a baseball hat and dark sunglasses, but that cocky smile only belonged to one man. Wilder’s face fell when he got a look at me, and he hustled around the barrier and grabbed my shoulders. “What happened?”
“What do you mean?” I asked. I’d momentarily forgotten what a disaster I looked like. Shoot . I would’ve fixed my face a little if I’d known he was going to be here.
“You’ve been crying.”
“Oh. Yeah.” I touched my warm cheek. “It’s nothing. I was reading sad stories on the plane and got upset.”
He visibly relaxed. “You scared the crap out of me.”
I smiled. “I’m fine. But what are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to be in Italy until late tonight.”
He leaned down and kissed my forehead. “I was too anxious to see you.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught two women looking our way. One pointed, and the other lifted her phone like she was about to take a picture. Wilder put his head down and turned us. “Come on, let’s get your luggage and get out of here before the paparazzi find out. They’re not as bad here as they are in the States, but they’ve been following me nonstop since the news broke about the team.”
Wilder kept a protective arm around my shoulder, hugging me close as we made our way to the luggage carousel. We huddled in a corner where Wilder could keep his back to the crowd, which meant all of his attention was on me .
He flashed a crooked smile. “What the heck were you reading on the plane that hit you so hard?”
“Submissions to the wedding-giveaway contest. Entrants had to write a short essay on why they should win. Some of them really hit home.”
He rubbed at my cheek with his thumb. “Mascara.”
“If you would’ve warned me that you were coming, I would’ve cleaned up a little.”
“Nah. This is why I like you. You’re just you.” He stroked my face, and I felt it down to my toes. “Thank you for coming early. I can’t wait to show you around.”
I wasn’t sure I’d ever understand why a ridiculously handsome guy who could have any woman he wanted and was busy getting a new professional sports team off the ground would want to show me around, but I could see in his eyes that he was being sincere.
The luggage carousel made a loud chirping noise and jerked to a start. Bags started flowing as Wilder told me about his trip. He’d landed only a few hours earlier. As we chatted, I kept one eye on the conveyor belt, but there was no sign of my luggage, not even after twenty minutes. The people standing around waiting dwindled to just me and a few others, and eventually we watched the same lone purple suitcase and set of golf clubs circle around a dozen times before the belt came to an abrupt halt.
“Uh, what’s happening?” I asked.
“Shit. I think your bag must be lost.”
“Lost? No. It can’t be.”
He gestured toward a small office I hadn’t noticed. “The baggage-claim office is over there. Sadly, I’ve been there recently.”
“You’ve had your luggage lost?”
“Twice.”
“How long did it take for them to find it?”
“I got it back the next day both times.”
“Great. I usually take a change of clothes in my carry-on bag, but I had so much work stuff to carry, I didn’t this time. I don’t even have underwear.”
Wilder wiggled his brows. “I’ll make a stop at the lingerie store if you model them for me.”
The baggage-claim office had me fill out a bunch of paperwork and took my phone number, promising to contact me as soon as they located my bag. Wilder and I left with only my carry-on filled with work.
“I’ll have my assistant follow up with them and send a messenger to grab your bag when it arrives. It’ll be quicker than waiting for the airline to drop it off.”
“Oh. That would be great. Thank you.”
Wilder led me to a small Volkswagen parked in the short-term lot. “This is us,” he said.
“Such a normal car. I would’ve expected something flashier, Hayes.”
He opened the back hatch and grinned. “It’s my assistant’s. My car is slightly more memorable. We swapped to throw off the paparazzi.”
“What do you normally drive?”
“A vintage Aston Martin in Caribbean blue.”
“I don’t know what that is, but it sounds expensive.”
He shut the hatch. “My father got me into old cars.”
I started to walk around to the passenger side, but Wilder stopped me. “You driving?”
“Definitely not.”
He chuckled. “Then why are you getting in on the driver’s side?”
I looked at the car. “Oh!” I laughed. “Sorry, I forgot they drive on the other side of the road here.”
Wilder opened my door before sliding behind the wheel. Not only was the steering wheel on the wrong side, the car was a stick shift.
“Don’t you get confused driving here one week and in New York the other?”
“Sometimes, like after a few weeks of driving in the States and then I come back here and pull into a roundabout. It takes a bit for my brain to work it out. Luckily, there’s always traffic in both places, so I can mostly just follow the flow.”
We drove out of the airport lot and onto a busy highway. Maybe I was delirious from lack of sleep, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the way Wilder’s big hand wrapped around the gear shift and took control. Then again, there wasn’t much I didn’t find sexy about the man these days. Usually it was the opposite—I’d think a man was handsome and the more I got to know him, the less handsome he became.
I forced my eyes back to the road.
“Did you sleep on the plane?” Wilder asked.
I shook my head. “I drank too much coffee beforehand. I’d planned to work since I can’t sleep sitting up and thought I was stuck in a middle seat in economy. By the way, did you do that? Upgrade me to first class?”
He shrugged. “You’re my guest. I wanted to make sure you were comfortable.”
“Thank you. It was incredible. I’ve always peeked at the prices of those tickets and didn’t understand what the fuss was about for all that extra money. But I get it now. I had a full bed and could’ve probably slept the entire flight if I wasn’t all caffeinated. Even the food was good.”
“Really helps on quick trips. When I do the red-eye, I can usually knock out for five to six hours and be functional for meetings when I land.”
“I can see that.”
“I also changed your hotel. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Umm… no, I guess you would know better. I just picked a chain I knew.”
“You’re at the Rosewood now.” He looked over with a cheeky smile. “It’s closer to my place. How about if I drop you there so you can get some sleep, and tomorrow morning I’ll scoop up your suitcase and bring it with me when I come to pick you up? I’ll have some coffee in the restaurant while you unpack and get ready.”
“That sounds perfect. I don’t know how to thank you.”
“I can think of a few ways…”
I shook my head. And then a few minutes later, my mouth fell open. I figured Wilder had moved me somewhere nicer, but I didn’t expect iron gates leading to a grand Edwardian courtyard. The opulent building was rather intimidating as we pulled up.
“Here we go.”
“Wilder…” I looked over at him. “I can’t stay here.”
His brows pulled together. “You don’t like it?”
“It’s gorgeous. But it must cost a small fortune.”
“Don’t worry about it. You’re my guest.”
“That’s very sweet, but…”
He met my eyes. “I just wanted you to stay somewhere nice. I don’t expect anything, Sloane.”
“Oh, I know. I wasn’t thinking you were, but…”
“Let me take care of you while you’re here, okay?”
I took a deep breath and nodded. “I’m not so good at that—letting people take care of me.”
“I noticed. Now come on. Let’s get you checked in, and then I’ll go home and crash, too.”
I smiled. “Okay.”
At the front desk, Wilder slipped a black card to the check-in clerk while I looked around in awe. The hotel was sophisticated and contemporary, yet somehow still had a distinctly British feel. After a minute, the clerk gave me keys and pointed us to the elevators.
Wilder walked with me, passing me my work tote after pressing the button at the elevator bank.
“How does eleven sound? Is that too early with the five-hour time change? I heard a rumor you like to sleep.”
I smiled. “I do. But I’m too excited to see the city to waste a full day.”
“Good.” He kissed my forehead. “Get some sleep. I’ll be back in the morning to collect you.”
The elevator doors slid open, so I stepped inside and turned around.
Wilder smiled. “I’m happy you’re here, Cupcake.”
My insides grew warm. “I am, too.”
This is definitely better than the three-star I had booked.
The lotion I pumped out of one of the pretty glass canisters in the bathroom smelled like fresh lavender as I rubbed it into my arms. This was by far the nicest hotel I’d ever stayed in. My suite was huge—with a separate living room, an airy bedroom, and a marble bathroom with a soaking tub and walk-in shower that could easily hold six people. It was now a few minutes before ten on Wednesday morning, and I still had the plush hotel robe wrapped around me. I didn’t want to put my dirty clothes from yesterday back on after getting out of the shower. Maybe I should, though, rather than answering the door for Wilder like this?
I was still nibbling on my lip, debating a quick change, when there was a knock. Welp, guess that decision is made for me . I tugged the belt of my robe tight, did a check in the mirror, and reached for the door handle. To my surprise, it wasn’t Wilder standing on the other side of the door. It was a woman dressed to the nines, her hands filled with shopping bags.
The woman smiled. “Good morning. You must be Sloane?”
“Yes?”
“I’m Emily Bloom. Mr. Hayes’s personal shopper.”
“His what?”
She lifted her arms. “I think you’re going to love what he picked out.”
“He? I’m sorry. I’m not following?”
She leaned back and checked the room number on the side of the door. “This is four ten. You are Sloane Carrick, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
She had an amused smile on her face. “I guess Wilder didn’t tell you I was coming this morning?”
“No, he didn’t.”
“Then let me back up. I’m a personal shopper and stylist. I pick out clothes for my clients, most of whom are too busy to go shopping or don’t want the hassle of putting together their wardrobe. Wilder is one of my clients. He called me early this morning with an SOS. He said someone special was visiting and the airline had lost her luggage. So we were at the stores when they opened this morning and together we picked out a bunch of great outfits.”
“We?” I remained mired in confusion. “Wilder went with you?”
She smiled. “He did indeed. Normally I can’t even get that man to stop in at the store to have the tailor take a suit in. I have to send the tailor to him. So you must be very special.”
My cell phone rang from somewhere inside the room. I looked over my shoulder and back to the woman, still confused about what was going on, even though she’d just explained it to me.
“Is it okay if we come in?” she asked.
“We?” I poked my head out into the hall. Sure enough, another woman stood behind her carrying even more bags—and there was also a full rolling rack of dresses. “Oh my gosh. I think Wilder has lost his mind.” Though… I do need something to wear today . “But yes, come in.”
My phone went to voicemail before I could grab it, but Wilder’s name was on the screen. I pressed the button to call him back. “Are you insane?”
I heard the smile in his voice when he answered. “I guess Emily got to you before me?”
“Yes, Emily and half the contents of a boutique have arrived.”
“I called the airline this morning. They still don’t have your luggage.”
“Well, that stinks, but you didn’t need to go shopping for me.”
“I actually had fun. Especially picking out your underwear and bra. What size do you wear anyway? I guessed a thirty-four C.”
That was exactly my size. Though I was torn between being impressed and feeling unsettled that he could guess a woman’s bra size. The latter, I assumed, was because he’d felt all shapes and sizes.
“Wilder, you can’t do all this.”
“Sure I can. Already did.”
“Wilder—”
He cut me off. “I have to jump on a quick conference call. I’ll pick you up at eleven. Be downstairs. And I like the green top best. Later, Cupcake.”
I turned around to find Emily and her assistant laying out outfits all over the living room. I shook my head. “I’m sorry. But I can’t accept all of this.”
“Your boyfriend knows you well.” She smiled and kept going. “He said you might say that, so I’ve been instructed not to take anything back. Sorry.”
There was another knock at the door. Still feeling bamboozled, I went to answer it. A man in a suit stood behind a full room-service cart. He smiled. “Good morning. Where would you like your breakfast set up?”
I shook my head. “I didn’t order anything.”
“The order was called in by a gentleman. He said you might be confused.”
I rolled my eyes. “Of course.”
The man I needed to argue with wasn’t here, and I was starving since I’d slept through dinner last night, so I stepped aside. “Come on in. Join the party.”