Chapter 4
four
. . .
Caleb
I watch Elle tuck her tablet away, her slender fingers moving with practiced efficiency. There’s something captivating about her—the way she holds herself together, all proper angles and professional barriers, while three Alphas circle like hungry sharks.
I wonder what it would take to make those barriers crumble. To see what happens when all that careful control finally breaks.
Adrian thinks he has her figured out, but I can see the fire she keeps banked behind those dark eyes. It’s the same fire I’ve seen in opponents right before I destroy them in negotiations—except with Elle, I don’t want destruction. I want surrender.
The plane jolts again, harder this time. Our drinks slosh dangerously close to the rims of our glasses. Miles grips his armrests, knuckles white against the leather. Adrian pretends to be unbothered, but I catch the slight tightening around his eyes. Control freak hates when control is impossible.
Elle, though—she’s interesting. Her face goes carefully blank, but her pulse flutters visibly at her throat. When the plane drops suddenly, her breathing hitches, just once. Adrian’s hand moves—an aborted gesture, like he wants to steady her but catches himself. I file that away. Useful.
“Enjoying the ride?” I ask her, keeping my voice light and playful.
Her eyes meet mine, unimpressed. “Immensely.”
“I’ve always thought turbulence is like good sex,” I continue, ignoring Adrian’s warning glare. “Unpredictable. Intense. Leaves you a little breathless.”
Miles snorts from his corner. “Do you ever think before you speak, Rios?”
“Thinking’s overrated,” I grin, even as the plane shudders violently. “Living’s more fun.”
The cabin lights flicker, and for the first time, genuine concern crosses Elle’s face. It’s subtle—most wouldn’t notice—but I’m good at reading people. It’s what makes me valuable to Synercom. That, and my willingness to push boundaries others won’t.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the pilot’s voice crackles over the intercom, tension bleeding through his professional tone, “we’re encountering significant turbulence due to an unexpected storm system. I apologize for the inconvenience, but we’ll need to make an unscheduled landing to wait it out.”
Adrian’s head snaps up. “Unscheduled landing? Where?”
The flight attendant appears, her practiced smile strained at the edges.
“We’ll be touching down at Pulau Emerald in approximately twenty minutes.
It’s a private island resort with landing facilities.
The pilot believes the storm will pass within 24-48 hours, at which point we can continue to Singapore. ”
“48 hours?” Adrian’s voice could freeze hellfire. “The summit begins tomorrow morning.”
“I understand, sir. The airline is already coordinating with the summit organizers to adjust your presentation slots. Your safety is our priority.”
“Our schedule is the priority,” Adrian counters, but the plane drops again, this time violently enough that even he grabs his armrest.
The flight attendant’s smile tightens. “I’ll make sure you’re all comfortable at the resort while we wait out the storm.”
After she retreats, Miles finally looks up from his tablet. “Pulau Emerald. Exclusive. Expensive. Fifteen private villas, usually booked months in advance by celebrities and billionaires.”
Of course Harrington would know the place. Titan Global probably owns shares in it.
“Well,” I say, stretching my legs out, “if we’re being grounded, at least it’s somewhere with decent booze.”
Elle closes her eyes briefly. I can almost see her mentally recalculating a thousand details—meetings, presentations, the careful architecture of schedules now collapsing like a house of cards. When she opens them again, she’s already in problem-solving mode.
“I’ll contact the summit coordinators and see if we can present remotely,” she says to Adrian, fingers flying over her phone. “We might still make the keynote slot if we set up a secure connection.”
She’s good. Adaptable. I like that in a woman—in anyone, really. Life’s too unpredictable for rigid plans, something Adrian’s never understood.
The plane begins its descent, banking sharply through dark clouds.
Rain lashes against the windows, transforming the view into a watery smear.
Through breaks in the clouds, I catch glimpses of turquoise water and white sand beaches, the kind that normally feature in vacation fantasies, not business trip nightmares.
“At least the scenery will be nice while we’re stranded,” I observe, trying to lighten the mood.
Elle doesn’t respond, too busy sending rapid-fire emails. Adrian stares grimly out the window like the storm is a personal affront. Miles, oddly, seems the most relaxed he’s been since we boarded, almost like he’s pleased with this development.
The landing is rough. The plane bounces once, twice on the rain-slick runway before finally settling with a shudder. Rain hammers against the fuselage, and wind rocks us even after we’ve stopped. The flight attendant returns, remarkably composed given the circumstances.
“Welcome to Pulau Emerald,” she says. “The resort staff will escort you to your accommodations. Unfortunately, with the unexpected nature of our arrival, availability is limited. The airline has arranged for the best possible accommodations under the circumstances.”
Adrian stands, straightening his impeccable suit. “I assume we’ll each have private rooms.”
Something flickers across her face—the first genuine emotion I’ve seen crack her professional veneer. “The staff will explain everything upon arrival.”
Interesting. Very interesting.
We disembark into chaos. The rain is horizontal, driven by winds strong enough to snatch words from our mouths.
Resort staff meet us with large umbrellas that immediately try to invert themselves.
We’re hustled into a luxury SUV, all four of us crammed into the back seat, a tangle of limbs and muttered apologies.
Elle ends up wedged between Adrian and me, her slender form pressed against my side.
She smells like nothing—the blockers doing their job—but there’s heat radiating from her, unmistakable and enticing.
The drive is short but dramatic, palm trees bending nearly double in the wind, waves crashing against the shoreline. The resort itself emerges through the rain like a mirage—sprawling buildings of glass and polished wood, somehow both imposing and perfectly integrated with the lush landscape.
In the lobby, a manager in an impeccable suit greets us with the harried expression of someone dealing with multiple crises at once.
“Mr. Cole, Mr. Rios, Mr. Harrington, Ms. Park,” he says, impressively having done his homework on the flight manifest. “I’m Marcus, the resort manager. We’re honored to have you with us, though I apologize for the circumstances.”
“How long until we can depart?” Adrian asks, cutting to the chase.
Marcus’s smile doesn’t waver. “The meteorologists are tracking the storm. At minimum, 24 hours. Potentially longer.”
“Unacceptable,” Adrian says flatly. “We have commitments in Singapore.”
“I understand completely,” Marcus soothes. “We have the finest communications technology available for your use. However, no aircraft will be taking off in this weather. It would be unsafe.”
Adrian looks like he’s considering arguing with the weather itself. Elle places a hand lightly on his arm—a brief touch, withdrawn almost immediately, but I catch it. Interesting dynamic there.
“We’ll need separate accommodations,” she says, taking control of the situation. “Four rooms, preferably in the same vicinity for convenience.”
Marcus’s smile turns apologetic. “That’s where we encounter a challenge. Due to the storm’s sudden development, we’ve had several unexpected landings today. The resort is operating at full capacity. We have only one villa available—the Presidential Suite. It has four bedrooms, but...”
“But?” Elle prompts when he hesitates.
“Three bedrooms,” he corrects. “The fourth is currently under renovation. However, there is a very comfortable sofa bed in the main living area.”
I bite back a laugh at the expression on Adrian’s face. This is better than any corporate espionage I could have planned.
Elle’s professional mask slips for just a second, revealing dismay before she recovers. “That won’t work for us. Surely there are other options. Perhaps another resort nearby?”
“Ms. Park,” Marcus says gently, “there is no ‘nearby’ on Pulau Emerald. We’re quite isolated. And I’m afraid in this weather, traveling elsewhere on the island would be dangerous.”
Elle straightens her spine, negotiator mode activated. “Perhaps some of your existing guests would be willing to relocate or share, for appropriate compensation?”
“I’ve already explored that option. Many of our guests are families with children, or couples on honeymoon.” He lowers his voice. “And several are high-profile individuals who value their privacy contractually.”
I can see Elle calculating, searching for leverage that doesn’t exist. It’s impressive, her refusal to accept defeat. But even the best negotiator can’t create options where none exist.
“We’ll take the villa,” Miles says suddenly. We all turn to look at him, surprised by the decisive intervention. “Time is wasting. The storm isn’t negotiable.”
Adrian looks like he wants to argue on principle, but practicality wins. “Fine. The Presidential Suite. How are the bedrooms configured?”
“One primary suite and two standard bedrooms,” Marcus explains, visibly relieved. “All with private bathrooms. The living area is quite spacious, with ocean views. Under normal circumstances, it’s one of our most requested accommodations.”
“I’ll take the sofa,” Elle says quickly.
“Absolutely not,” Adrian cuts in. “You’ll take a bedroom. One of us will use the sofa.”
I step forward. “I volunteer Adrian for sofa duty. He’s the one who enjoys discomfort.”