Chapter 3
Three
Zoey
I ’m sliding on my jacket when the doorbell rings and my phone alerts me that someone is at the door. Something my Uncle Matthew had installed when I moved into the brownstone he owned in New York. I look down at the camera and see the man standing there look up, no doubt listening to the recording telling him he’s on camera.
I grab my Gucci backpack before I head out of my bedroom and run down the stairs toward the front door. Unlocking it and pulling it open, I see the man standing there wearing a black suit. “Ms. Richards,” he says, “I’m Mr. Kent. I’ll be taking you to the airport.”
“Hi,” I say, smiling at him. “I’m ready.”
“If you have any luggage, I can take it now.” I open the door, showing him the one bag that I’m taking for the four days I’ll be in LA while meeting with Nash.
“I can take it down with me,” I tell him, and he shakes his head.
“My mother would whoop my behind if I let a lady carry her bag,” he states, stepping into the entrance and grabbing the rose-gold, stainless-steel carry-on suitcase I always travel with.
“Then by all means,” I say, pointing at the bag, “have at it.”
I wait for him to take the bag and carry it down the stairs before I lock the door behind me. I make my way down the stairs to the double-parked black Cadillac Escalade. The driver stands there with my luggage beside him as he holds the back door open for me. “Thank you, Mr. Kent,” I say, stepping into the back seat. The door shuts behind me, then he walks to the back and puts my suitcase in the trunk.
I pull my phone out of my pocket right after I buckle myself in. At the same time, Mr. Kent gets into the front seat. “Let me know if you would like to stop for coffee anywhere,” he offers over his shoulder.
I smile at him as he pulls away from my house. “I’m good, but thank you, Mr. Kent.”
I look out the window. The music plays softly from the speakers as we make our way over to the private airport. The minute I told Nash I would meet with him, it took him an hour to message me over my flight information, along with the information of the car service he had picking me up. He did not miss a beat. By the end of the workday, it finally sank in that I was going to LA until Friday. Then I would come home and prepare for our family vacation next week.
Even this morning when I got up, I did not expect Nash to text me.
Nash: Fly safe. I’ll see you when you get here.
It was eight o’clock Eastern Time, which means it was five where he was. Was he getting up at that time, or was he getting home at that time? It could be either, and I couldn’t put my finger on why the latter bothered me so much.
Me: Sounds good.
I press send, looking down at the phone, only putting it away once the SUV stops. I look out, seeing we are here, and the plane awaits us. I slide my phone into the backpack's side pocket containing my purse and my laptop and grab the door handle, but it’s pulled open before I can open it myself. “Let me help you,” Mr. Kent says, outstretching his hand for me to grab it.
“Thank you.” I put my hand in his as I step out, hooking the strap to my backpack around my shoulder before I walk toward the plane. Mr. Kent unloads my bag as I walk up the four steps toward the inside of the plane.
“Good morning, Ms. Richards,” the flight attendant says, smiling at me. “I’m Ricky, welcome aboard.”
“Good morning, Ricky,” I reply, walking down the aisle that has one seat on either side, each facing another set of seats, and a beige couch right behind one set of chairs with a pillow and folded blanket on it.
“We are ready to go whenever you are,” she says as I turn and put my backpack in the chair facing the seat I’m going to sit in. “As soon as we are up in the air, I’ll have your breakfast ready for you.”
“Oh,” I say, surprised as I sit in the chair, “I don’t think I ordered anything.” I know usually they send you a menu so you can order food before you get on the plane. But I didn’t even think about it until this very minute.
She smiles at me. “Mr. Griffin took care of it.”
“Oh,” I reply softly, “all right.” She turns around and walks back over to the plane door. I look out the window and see Mr. Kent has left already. I hear the door slamming shut before she walks into the open door to the pilots, saying something to them.
Reaching over and grabbing my phone, I see I’ve missed a text from Nash.
Nash: See you in six hours.
I shake my head and reply to his text.
Me: I’m locked and loaded on the plane. Next stop LA.
I don’t wait for him to answer me. Instead, I go to my text thread with Zara.
Me: I’m on my way to LA.
Zara: Um. Why?
Me: I’m going to check out a job.
Zara: Are you moving to LA?
Me: No. I’m literally going to check out if I want to take a job.
Zara: Ohhh, I like this play. Did you tell dickhead where you were going?
Me: Negative.
Zara: I love this journey for you.
Me: You and me both.
Zara: So who are you meeting?
Me: Nash.
I wait for her to text me back, but I know she isn’t when the phone rings in my hand. I can’t help but answer the phone laughing. “Hello.” I put the phone to my ear.
“Um, excuse me, you are going to have a meeting with Nash?” Her voice goes high. “Nash, Nash?”
“I only know one Nash.” I ignore her as the plane starts up. “But yes, he called me to ask me to take over his PR and update a couple of things. I tried to say no.”
She pffts out. “Yeah, I can imagine, ‘oh no, I don’t think I can do it, Nash,’” she singsongs. “Did you twirl your hair and bat your eyes for him?”
“Um, I will remind you I’m in a relationship.” I look out the window, hoping the plane moves so I can stop this conversation.
“I will remind you that you just ended that so-called relationship, so it’s like free rein,” she counters back, “and this is Nash.” Of course, she would bring up what I told her in confidence two years ago, after I met him, never thinking she would use it against me, but knowing that I would also use the play she is using right now.
“I know who this is, and I know I can’t ever go there, especially if we are going to work together.”
“So sleep with him before you get him to sign the contract.”
“Zara,” I snap, and she laughs.
“You can’t tell me you aren’t even a little bit curious as to what he can offer between the sheets.”
“I’m not even a bit curious,” I lie, literally through my teeth. It’s a good thing we are on the phone and not face-to-face because she would call me out on it.
“Okay, well, I’m curious for both of us, and since I’m the one who is engaged, it’s time you took one for the team.”
“I have to go,” I say once the plane starts moving forward. “We are about to take off.”
“I want updates,” she says. “Pictures, or it didn’t happen.”
“Eww,” I respond and hang up on her, the sound of her laughter the last thing I hear before I shut my phone off to Airplane Mode.
The plane picks up speed before my back is pressed against the seat, and I look out the window at the sun in the sky shining down on the city of New York, where I was born and grew up. Well, I grew up on Long Island, but I’ve lived in New York City since I turned nineteen and attended NYU in public relations and corporate communications. It started when I turned fourteen, and my brother, Stone, and my cousin Christopher made me take over their social media accounts. I would post a couple of times a week and answer all questions and dm’s, except for the disgusting ones asking me for my dick size. Even though once I wanted to grab a picture of a knife and send it back to them, saying it’s about this long but not as razor sharp. Unlike me, they did not find any of this as funny. After I did the two of them, I sort of started doing a couple of my other cousins before I thought about doing it for real.
As soon as I graduated, I started working with my Aunt Candace at her PR firm. She handed me my first client, my cousin Franny. She lived out in Dallas and had a sports television and radio division taking over all the PR they had to do. Then I was hired by my Uncle Matthew for the television and radio division he had in New York and Chicago. I was then hired for a couple of foundations, and my client list grew so big I could pick my clients. The good thing about doing what I do is I’m not constantly working with the same people all the time. I set them up, ensure everything runs smoothly, then check in on them a couple of times a week as management. I literally love my job, and I’m good at it. When Nash called me, I had no idea he even knew what I did, let alone how good I am at my job.
The plane coasts into the clouds, and I look up as Ricky walks toward me, smiling. “I have coffee or tea or mimosa.”
“I’ll have a mimosa,” I say, knowing I will be okay since I’m landing in six hours, “but just one.” I hold up a finger.
“Perfect,” she replies. “I have your fruit platter as well as a platter of cupcakes.” I just stare at her. “Along with sandwiches from the bagel shop you love.”
“What?” I ask, surprised and a little shocked. Well, not a little, like a whole lot shocked. “How?”
“It was on your list,” she says. “I’ll be back.” She turns to go back to the galley, leaving me with my mouth hanging open.
“How in the hell did he know about my favorite bagel shop in New York?” I ask myself because there is no one else I can ask. “That is so fucked up.”
“Also, if you want, I laid out a pillow and a blanket for you in case you wanted to nap,” Ricky offers once she comes back with my mimosa. I pull out the tray table from the side of the chair. She walks over to the seat in front of me, opening up that tray table, where she also puts a bottle of water for me. I take a sip before she comes back with a platter of fruit that looks so fresh, I just want to eat it all, but what I’m really looking at is the plate with my pumpernickel everything bagel in the middle of it filled with scrambled eggs and sausage.
“Thank you, Ricky,” I say, grabbing a piece of bagel and taking a bite. I finish eating the bagel and grab my laptop, opening it up and pulling up the Cottrell Group file I started reading through yesterday, when I agreed to go see what they were all about.
I move from my chair to the couch to work, only looking up when Ricky comes over to tell me we are landing in ten minutes. I close my laptop and store it back in my backpack before sitting in my seat. I see the sun shining down in LA just as bright as in New York. My hands start getting clammy as I watch the plane descend, touching the runway. I close my eyes, trying to beat the nerves away as the plane slows down. Ricky gets up as soon as the plane comes to a stop, and I unbuckle my seat belt.
I stand, smoothing out my pink pants before walking over to put on my matching jacket. I grab the handle of my backpack and sling it over my shoulder. The door opens, and Ricky turns to give me the okay to step off. “Thank you so much, Ricky,” I say before I walk out of the plane. Stopping on the first step, I see Nash standing there, or better yet, leaning on the hood of his black car. He’s wearing dress pants and a white button-down shirt that is opened at the collar. His sleeves are rolled up to the elbows, and his arms are folded across his chest. One foot is on his bumper, and I swear he oozes sex appeal without even trying, which makes me even more annoyed. He stands when he spots me, smiling as he takes off his aviator glasses. “There she is,” he says, his voice sending shivers up my spine as I walk down the stairs to the last step.
“Here I am,” I confirm when I take my first step on the tarmac.
Nash closes the distance between us, and I can see his crystal-blue eyes. He wraps one hand around my waist before he bends his head to kiss my cheek, making my knees weak. “Welcome to LA, Zoey.”