Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Mason
I arrived at the airport forty-five minutes early because that’s what responsible people did. What they didn’t do was spend the previous three days obsessively checking their phone, rereading a single text that said Professional. Got it. Like it held the secrets of the universe.
I’d seen Beau exactly twice since Monday’s meeting. Once in the hallway—we’d nodded at each other like strangers. Once in the break room—he’d left immediately after I walked in, his coffee still steaming on the counter.
Professional.
I checked my bag at the counter, went through security, and found a seat at the gate with a clear view of the entrance. My laptop was open on my knees, MediCorp documents pulled up on the screen, but I couldn’t focus on a single word.
Instead, I kept replaying Saturday night.
The way Beau had looked at me across that bar.
The heat of his body pressed against mine on the dance floor.
God, and the taste of him—tequila and lime and something that was uniquely Beau.
The sound he’d made when I’d bitten his lip.
Low and desperate, that had gone straight through me.
And then the panic. The overwhelming, suffocating panic that had sent me running like a coward.
A mistake, I’d called it. The best kiss of my entire life, and I’d called it a mistake.
“Fuck,” I muttered, closing my laptop with more force than necessary.
An elderly woman sitting across from me gave me a disapproving look.
“Sorry,” I said automatically.
I checked my phone. 1:23 PM. Boarding started at 1:40. Where was Beau?
Not that I cared. But if he missed the flight, we’d have to reschedule the meetings, and Carter would have both our heads.
That’s all it was. Practical concern.
“Mason.”
I looked up, and there he was.
Beau stood in front of me wearing dark jeans, a navy cashmere sweater that hugged his shoulders in ways that should be illegal, and a leather messenger bag slung across his chest. His hair was slightly mussed, like he’d run his fingers through it too many times, and there were shadows under his eyes that suggested he’d slept about as well as I had.
He looked incredible.
“Beau, hi.” I stood up too quickly, nearly dropping my laptop. “You made it.”
“Traffic on 64 was a nightmare.” He gestured to the empty seat next to me. “Mind if I sit?”
“Of course. Yes. Sit.”
He sat, leaving exactly one empty seat between us. Professional distance, apparently, even at the airport.
We sat in silence, both staring at the departure board like it might spontaneously combust.
“So,” Beau said finally. “Ready for this?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be. You?”
“Same.” He pulled out his phone, scrolled through something, then put it away. “Carter sent the final agenda this morning. Looks like we’re starting at nine tomorrow with the executive team.”
“I saw that. I prepared briefing notes on the regulatory compliance sections. If you want, I can send them to you.”
“That would be great. I finished the medical technology provisions breakdown. I’ll forward it.”
This was excruciating. We sounded like robots. Professional, polite robots who definitely hadn’t had their tongues in each other’s mouths less than a week ago.
“Good,” I said.
“Great,” he said.
More silence.
The gate agent’s voice crackled over the speaker: “We’ll now begin boarding United flight 1447 with service to New Orleans. We’d like to welcome our first-class passengers and anyone needing extra time.”
“That’s us,” I said, standing.
“Right.” Beau grabbed his bag and followed me to the line.
We handed over our boarding passes, walked down the jetway, and found our seats. 12A and 12B.
I stowed my bag in the overhead compartment and slid into the window seat. Beau took the middle, his long legs immediately bumping against mine in the limited space.
“Sorry,” he muttered, angling his knees away.
“It’s fine.”
It wasn’t fine. Nothing about this was fine.
The plane filled up around us—business travelers, families, college students. A flight attendant appeared in the aisle, and I did a double-take.
He was probably in his late twenties, with perfectly styled dark hair, a smile that could sell toothpaste, and an energy that immediately filled the surrounding space.
“Well, hello there,” he said, his eyes landing on Beau with obvious appreciation. “Welcome aboard. Can I help you with anything? Your bag? Your seatbelt? Better yet, your phone number?”
Beau laughed—actually laughed—and I felt something hot and uncomfortable twist in my chest.
“I think I’ve got it covered, thanks,” Beau said.
“Shame.” The flight attendant—his name tag read “Derek”—leaned against the seat in front of us. “Let me know if you change your mind. Or if you need anything during the flight. Anything at all.” He winked. “I’m very attentive.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Derek’s gaze slid to me, and his smile dimmed slightly. “And you, sir? Can I get you anything?”
“I’m fine.” My voice came out clipped.
“Alright then. Buckle up, boys. We’ll be taking off soon.” Derek moved down the aisle, but not before throwing one more appreciative glance at Beau.
I stared out the window, my jaw tight.
“That was friendly,” Beau said carefully.
“Very.” I didn’t look at him.
“Mason—”
“What?”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be fine?”
“Because you look like you want to punch someone.”
I forced myself to take a breath. To unclench my jaw. “I’m just focused on the meetings. Making sure we’re prepared.”
“Right. The meetings.” Beau shifted in his seat, and his knee brushed against mine again. He jerked it away. “Sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize every time we touch, Beau. We’re both tall. The seats are small. It’s unavoidable.”
“Fine.” He angled his body slightly toward me, and suddenly his thigh pressed against mine, solid and warm even through our jeans. “Better?”
It was not better. It was infinitely worse.
Because now I was acutely aware of every point where our bodies touched—knee, thigh, shoulder — and all I could think about was Saturday night, when touching him had been intentional, when I’d pulled him closer instead of maintaining a fucking professional distance.
“It’s fine,” I managed.
The plane pushed back from the gate, and the flight attendants began their safety demonstration. Derek was in our section, and I watched with growing irritation as his eyes kept drifting back to Beau.
“He’s really going for it,” I muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Beau turned to look at me, and we were suddenly very close. Close enough that I could see the flecks of gold in his eyes, could smell his cologne—something woodsy and warm that made me want to lick him.
“Mason, are you jealous?”
“No.”
“Because it kind of seems like you’re jealous.”
“I’m not jealous. I just think it’s unprofessional for a flight attendant to flirt so obviously with passengers.”
“Uh-huh.” Beau’s lips twitched. “And the fact that he’s flirting with me specifically has nothing to do with it?”
“Why would that matter? We’re colleagues. You can flirt with whomever you want.”
“Colleagues,” Beau repeated, and something in his expression shuttered. “Right. Because you made it very clear, that’s all we are.”
The plane started its taxi to the runway, the engine noise providing cover for the tension crackling between us.
“Beau—”
“It’s fine, Mason. You were right. We work together. Getting involved complicates things. I get it.” He pulled out his phone, effectively ending the conversation. “I’m just going to review these documents.”
I stared at his profile—the firm line of his jaw, the way his hair fell across his forehead, the concentration in his eyes as he scrolled through whatever was on his screen.
I’d done this. I’d reduced us to colleagues, to professional distance, to sitting side by side and pretending we didn’t know what each other tasted like.
The plane picked up speed, and Beau’s hand gripped the armrest between us. His knuckles were white.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Fine. I just don’t love takeoffs.”
Without thinking, I covered his hand with mine.
Beau’s head snapped toward me, his eyes wide.
“Sorry,” I said, but I didn’t move my hand. “I just—you looked uncomfortable.”
“I am uncomfortable. But not because of the takeoff.”
The plane lifted off the runway, and Beau’s fingers tightened under mine. We stayed like that as Richmond disappeared beneath us, as the seatbelt sign dinged off. Neither of us spoke. Neither of us moved.
Finally, Beau pulled his hand away.
“Thanks,” he mumbled.
“Anytime.”
“Mason, we can’t—”
“I know. Colleagues. Professional.” I turned back to the window. “I got it.”
* * *
The flight was interminable.
Derek came by three more times—once with drinks, once with snacks, and once more just to “check if we needed anything.” Each time, he gave Beau that megawatt smile, and each time, something hot and possessive flared in my chest.
I had no right to feel possessive. But watching someone else flirt with him made me want to tear that wall down with my bare hands.
“Here you go,” Derek said, handing Beau a cup of coffee. “I made it extra strong. You look like you could use it.”
“Thanks, you’re a lifesaver.”
“Anything for you.” Derek’s smile was warm. “You know, if you’re in New Orleans for more than just business, I know some great spots. Jazz clubs, restaurants, places the tourists don’t know about.”
“That’s really nice of you—”
“I’m off tomorrow night if you want a personal tour guide.”
I cleared my throat loudly.
Derek glanced at me. “Something wrong, sir?”
“We have meetings all weekend,” I said, my voice flat. “We won’t have time for tours.”
“Speak for yourself,” Beau said, and I felt him tense beside me. “I might have some free time.”
“Perfect!” Derek pulled out a pen and grabbed a napkin. “Here’s my number. Text me if you’re free.”
He scribbled something down and handed it to Beau with a wink before moving on to the next row.
Beau stared at the napkin in his hand.