Chapter 1
JESS
Six Years Ago
I’m walking through the business-class suites, on route to my economy seat, when I feel a very expensive pair of eyes watching me.
I look up.
And lock eyes with trouble in a suit.
My stomach drops, which on the face of it, sounds a little dramatic. But that’s only because the man staring at me is perfect in every sense of the word.
His eyes are arctic blue, so cold and piercing that they cut right into my soul and make me forget why I’m boarding this flight to Miami in the first place. All worries go out the window, taking my dignity with them, as my knees buckle. I’m falling.
Not in love, of course.
This is a fall from grace.
“Miss?” says the flight attendant, grabbing my wrist. She hoists me up before I face-plant on the floor. “Everything okay?”
I still feel the man’s gaze scalding my temple.
I shed my jacket and press a hand to my forehead. “Sorry. I went lightheaded there for a second. I think it’s the heat.” I fan myself with my hand.
“Yeah. It’ll be cooler up in the air.” The flight attendant releases my wrist and offers me a smile. “You want help finding your seat?”
“No, all good.” I return her smile and do something about the long, pissed-off line of people behind me waiting to sit down. Surely they’re in no rush to sit when they have three hours of that to look forward to.
I avert my eyes from the man before he makes me fall all the way this time, and head to my seat.
Jeez. It’s been a minute since I was on a plane. The last time I took a vacation was with my friends when I was sixteen. Not like me flying to Miami is much of a vacation.
Maybe it’ll start to feel like that when I arrive. My only concern at present is getting the fuck out of Boston.
I heave my carry-on up into the overhead lockers, receiving no help whatsoever from the two men sitting in my row. They remain seated, staring, probably checking out my rack while they’re at it, seeing as I’m now only in a tank top.
But the jacket had to go. I was on fire from a gaze.
What the hell is wrong with me?
God, don’t go down that rabbit hole, Jessy.
The two men remain seated when I ask to get into my seat. Middle, of course. Because this day couldn’t get any fucking better.
I collapse between them—a rose between two thorns, I’m sure.
I’m still on fire, my cheeks probably tinted a very noticeable shade of red, and now I’m trapped, a victim of manspreading, between two men who don’t seem to know a thing about flying etiquette.
Both have taken over my armrests and footwell space.
Not like I can complain too much about that. I’m on my way to Miami. Unless my ex has somehow found his way onto this flight, I’m safe to finally exhale a breath of relief.
Miami is the one place my ex Taro would never think to go. The sun’s terrible for your skin, apparently…like being pale as a ghost is much better.
I fasten my seat belt as the flight attendants run through the safety announcements. When they’re done, I plug in my earphones and listen to some music to take my mind off the excessive manspreading and the business-class man.
I’d have no problem letting him steal my armrest.
A pair of eyes have never had the ability to make me trip before. They definitely have hypnotic abilities, which explains why he can afford such an expensive seat. Someone like that could make fortunes just by looking at others.
I shouldn’t be too surprised. He might look different from the rest of his kind, but they’re all the same underneath. Money is the only thing they love more than themselves. It’s infuriating.
I get to see it all, working as a nanny. In this day and age, it’s a luxury to be able to afford private childcare. Some of the parents are grounded in reality, but others are so far out of touch that it takes everything in me not to slap them hard across the face.
You don’t just “forget” your own kid’s birthday.
The man from business-class can’t be that different from the parents who pay me to nanny their kids. There’s a good chance he doesn’t know anyone else’s name besides his own.
I wonder what it’d be like to have no problems. He certainly has nothing to worry about. If any issues pop up, all he has to do is pay someone a lot of money to make them disappear.
I wish I could do that with Taro, so I didn’t have to go to the extreme of leaving Boston
My ex was fine at first. Until he wasn’t. I don’t like being in relationships with men who keep secrets from me, and then blackmail me with evidence to force me to get back together with them.
I didn’t kill anyone. But I did leave my best friend’s child unsupervised for thirty minutes. And Taro has a recording of the kid almost burning down the place.
The plane lifts into the air. It’s a shame I’m not at the window, watching my city recede into the clouds, like in the movies when the main character leaves home for the first time. But this airline can get fucked if they think I’m gonna spend twenty-five bucks for a view.
I took a gamble on a random seat allocation, and fell short. Extremely short. I shut my eyes and hope to fall into another world where I’m not cramped between two uncouth men.
But the second I shut my eyes, all I see is blue.
Cold, ice blue.
I see the man again.
It wasn’t just his eyes that caught my attention. It was the hair. Judging from the ice-white roots, his hair should be receding by now. Annoyingly, his hair is more voluminous than mine. I apply keratin. What the hell is he applying to his to get the curls to curl like that?
The middle part in his hair. The sharp contours of his face. Those piercing eyes staring through the bangs. No wonder I almost fell flat on my face.
There’s nothing mediocre about that man whatsoever.
Every feature had its own unique charm. His Roman nose.
His tight jaw. I never marveled like this over Taro when I first met him.
Even the man’s brow bone had something about it, the way it protruded from his face, adding extra definition to his eyes.
But what he makes up for in looks is what he probably lacks in personality.
Rich people don’t tend to consider other human beings when they make decisions. Why bother, when there’s more money to make, new Miu Miu collections to shop?
My heart stammers in its cage, nerves, adrenaline and confusion all settling in. I’m even more of a wreck now than I was after enduring three hours of airport madness. I work with kids, change diapers, cook dinner. I do not stand in ridiculously long lines waiting to get my bags checked.
“Miss?” I’m snapped out of my trance by the same flight attendant, coffee in her hand, ready to pour.
One sip of that will have me buzzing around the cabin like a fly. I’m already gassed up enough on adrenaline.
“I’m good for the coffee, thanks.”
She nods, but parts her red lips to say something else. “A Mr. Nadir Medvedev is asking for you in business-class.”
Finally, something that gets the two men’s attention.
And mine.
I frown. “Who’s that?”
The flight attendant shrugs, coffee in hand. “My co-worker told me to pass on the message.” She glances at the man past me—the one still hogging my precious armrest. “Coffee?”
Everything fades to silence after that.
Mr. Nadir Medvedev.
That’s not the man who was staring, is it? The entitled silver fox who’s every bit as smug as he is perfect?
“Thanks,” says the man beside me, taking coffee from the attendant.
A light bit of turbulence has the coffee in the man’s hand sloshing up the sides of the cup. He’s very lucky it didn’t land on my vintage Levi’s.
“Whoops,” says the man, flashing me a smile that I don’t bother returning, seeing as he’s stretching his legs back into my footwell space and moving on without an apology.
I unbuckle my seat belt and slither out of my row.
“How will I find him?” I ask the attendant. “What does he look like?”
“Oh.” A sheepish grin crawls onto her face. “I think you already know.”
Right.
I brush myself off and head over to the suites, minding the elbows and legs stuck out into the aisle. By the time I make it to business-class, I’m overstimulated from the amount of times I’ve had to dodge people.
And now my pulse is stabbing me in the throat.
Because I can feel his eyes on me again, without even needing to look up for clarification.
I brace myself on the lavatory door, hoping that I don’t trip like last time.
He’s counting on you acting like this.
He knows the effect he has on women.
I straighten my spine, act composed even though I don’t feel like it, and walk right over to him.
“You don’t happen to be Mr. Nadir Medvedev do you?” I ask, grimacing, hoping that I didn’t butcher the name too much.
I anchor myself on the suite door, hoping that the turbulence doesn’t take me. Or him.
It should be a crime to be this close to a face this perfect. I can see every fine line, every pore, and still don’t have anything to fault about the guy. Physically. The black heart underneath will tell a different story.
“Yes,” he says, “although your pronunciation of my surname could use some work.” He flashes me a half smile that doesn’t quite make it to his eyes—probably because they’re still staring at me. He pats the spare seat beside him. “Come sit.”
“Is this why you book an extra seat?” I stare down pointedly at it. “So you can seduce women on the flight to kill some time?”
Mr. Medvedev scoffs. “I like to stretch out and be comfortable.”
I trail my eyes over his body, noticing how long he is. That adds up. His feet are crossed at the ankles. On them are a pair of oxfords, the laces both double knotted. They’re black and polished like everything else about him, the suit the same midnight color as the hair and overpriced shoes.
Black. White. Blue. It’s a very contrasting color palette.
“Are you going to sit? Or should I choose another woman?”
“Funny.”
I open the door to his suite—yes, door, because he’s rich enough to afford privacy.