Chapter 37
THIRTY-SEVEN
Gigi
I smooth my dress down over my knees, crossing one leg over the other.
Richard’s office has a heat that makes me uncomfortable.
The lingering stench of tobacco swirls round my nose.
My throat closes in a familiar way since I signed my life away in this room.
It’s like my body remembers the things my brain refuses to revisit.
Jamie stands by the fireplace, one hand curled round a crystal glass, the other in his pocket. He hides his fist, though it’s been weeks since he laid a hand on me.
“Speak,” Richard snaps.
“I need four days,” I say. “In Paris.”
The truth outweighs the risk of feeding them a lie. If he senses fault with my plan, this will have all been for nothing. I’m relying on the hope the city holds no weight against him.
For now.
My pulse quickens at his silence. His expression doesn’t shift an inch.
Jamie raises an eyebrow. “What for?”
“It’s for the dress fitting.”
“It’s a bit last-minute, isn’t it? The wedding is fast approaching.”
As they like to keep reminding me. A few months, I’ve been told, though they like to keep the specifics concealed.
Richard narrows his eyes. “We can fly the designer here.”
“He won’t come,” I say quickly. “Not for anyone. He’s old and the only one I trust to make the final adjustments. He said he’d only do it in Paris. It’ll be easier if we fly out there.”
This is the trick. Talk like them. Make it about money and image. About control.
Jamie steps closer, liquid swirling between his fingers. “You said ‘we’ll fly’.”
“Poppy,” I clarify. “She’ll escort me there.”
The hairs on my arms stand on end. This must work. It has to.
Richard blinks. “When?”
“Whenever you’ll allow me to go.”
Both men exchange a silent look.
Jamie smiles, his need for control slipping through. “Three days. Two nights. I’ll arrange the time and the appointment. You’ll send photo evidence so I can ensure you’re not anywhere you’re not meant to be.”
Fuck.
I grind my teeth. It’ll be tight, but we’ll make it work.
I nod. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
“How are you flying?”
“Poppy’s husband will loan us his jet.”
I have an answer to every question they may have. There’s no reason this shouldn’t work out, yet the breath still sweeps from my chest as Richard grunts, “Fine.”
“Fine?”
He presses his lips into a thin line. “I don’t see why not.”
I smile pleasantly at the sight of Jamie’s narrowed gaze.
Richard presses on. “Need I remind you of the consequences if you try anything?”
“No,” I whisper, dread filling my stomach. “I remember.”
It takes me five days of answering their persistent questions to finally be allowed access onto Leo’s jet. Richard not-so-kindly pulls me aside again before I leave, detailing each consequence in grave detail.
By the time the jet comes into view, I’m itching to get on it, though dread pools in my stomach. Security searched my bags twice, and Jamie’s driver has been following me and Poppy all the way to the hanger.
Harry is already seated when we step on, legs spread wide, arms draped lazily over the back of the white sofa like a man who owns the plane. His shirtsleeves are pushed to his elbows, tattoos peeking out, and one boot rests over his opposite knee. It’s criminal how good he looks when he’s angry.
When he sees me, his expression doesn’t soften. It’s like he’s spent the past five days reminding himself of every bad thing I’ve ever done.
“Jamie agreed to let you off your leash for the weekend then?”
Bastard.
Poppy follows behind me, giving my arm a squeeze before moving to the bar at the back of the jet, giving us space we both know we shouldn’t have.
Outside, the staff are fuelling the jet, loading luggage and barking orders.
I put my bags in the overhead locker, settling in a seat across from Harry.
His eyes are like a magnet to the ring. I turn my head away, pocketing my hand in my jacket.
I debated leaving it somewhere Jamie wouldn’t find it, but it’s a necessary reminder of what I’ll return to if this plan fails.
A reminder of what I don’t want and what I must resist.
Harry leans forwards, elbows on his knees. “You’re very quiet, Mrs. Callahan.” He drags out the title out as if it offends him.
I glare at him. “I’m not married.”
“Yet.”
I hate him for making this harder. For not knowing. For needing me to bleed in front of him.
“Can we just sit in silence and pretend you don’t hate me for a couple of hours?”
He tilts his head. “I don’t hate you.”
“You should.”
A crooked smile twists his mouth. “That would be easier, wouldn’t it?”
I lean back, trying to hold myself together through sheer will. With a confidence I know I’m lacking, I stare straight at him. “We’re not doing this here.”
Harry lets out a dark laugh. “Doing what, Gigi?” He leans closer, his thigh brushing mine. It’s the kind of accidental touch that should mean nothing, but it feels deliberate.
“You twitch when you’re nervous,” he says suddenly, like a casual observation.
“You keeping a file on me now?”
“Princess, I could write a goddamn book.”
He says it like I’m his. Like I never belonged to anyone else.
Poppy gives him a pointed look as she returns to her seat, muttering something about “brooding men”. The jet’s engine rumbles. I pretend to adjust my seatbelt just to give my hands something to do, looking at him one last time before turning away.
Thirty minutes later, the plane is cutting through the clouds towards Paris. Poppy sits next to me, a laptop perched on her knees, reviewing satellite footage.
“Here.” She spins the laptop round. “I mapped the coordinates. It’s a building on the outskirts of the city in Porte de la Chapelle. No digital footprint. Satellite shows it hasn’t had power in five years, but something lit up as infrared as of three days ago.”
Harry leans in, elbows on his knees, gaze focused.
“We’re not due to land until 9 p.m., and the coordinates are a thirty-minute drive from the centre. I say we all rest up for the night.” She looks between the two of us.
I ask, “What time should we go in?”
“We need to be careful and check the place out first,” Harry says, a slight snap to his voice.
I can see it in his eyes as they flicker from me to Poppy. He still doesn’t trust me. Not completely. Not with me being promised to Jamie.
He thinks I’ll go through all this just to kill him in the end.
He doesn’t know I’m desperate for this to work – more than any of us. I can’t afford faults with this plan. The consequences are too brutal.
“We go early-morning, together. No risking a drive-by. No one plays hero,” Poppy says. “We go in armed, find out what Richard’s hiding, and get out.”
“You want us to go in blind,” Harry says.
Richard isn’t a man who leaves anything to chance. If these coordinates do lead to something, it won’t be accidental. But we all know, even if we’re struggling to admit it, the element of surprise could be the only thing working in our favour.
“What then?” I ask. “What do we do with what we find?”
“Easy,” Poppy says simply. “We use it as leverage and kill him.”
Kill Richard.
I let out a slow, steady breath. I want to believe we’ll make it that far.
We have to juggle everything in its path first. Fight whatever awaits us, sneak around undetected, get back home in one piece, and try to squeeze in a wedding dress fitting somewhere in the middle.
I breathe, “And if we can’t?”
Poppy gives me a silent look, as if to say, “Don’t think like that.”
She’s right. There’s too much riding on this for it to all amount to nothing.
Harry leans into his chair. “Let’s get to the hotel and figure it out from there.”
“About that …” Poppy bites her lip.
Then she hits us with possibly the worst news yet.
“I booked four potential hotels. One’s probably bugged, one’s too expensive, one’s too obvious, and according to a few Tripadvisor reviews, the last one smells like wet dog and has zero surveillance.” Her expression shifts grimly. “Guess which one we’re staying in.”